'Of course not. I'm named Crone.' Her head bobbed mockingly. 'At your pleasure, Lord.'

Baruk hesitated, considering. After a moment he sighed and said, 'Very well. I've returned my guards to their posts. My servant Roald comes with the leavings of supper, if that's agreeable to you.'

'Excellent!' Crone waddled across the floor to settle on the rug before the fireplace. 'There, Lord. Now, a calming crystal of wine, don't you think?'

'Who has sent you, Crone?' Baruk asked, walking over to the decanter on his desk. Normally he did not drink after sunset, for night was when he worked, but he had to acknowledge Crone's perceptiveness. A calming balm was exactly what he needed.

The Great Raven hesitated slightly before answering, 'The Lord of Moon's Spawn.'

Baruk paused in the filling of his glass. 'I see,' he said quietly, struggling to control his surging heart. He set the decanter down slowly and, with great concentration, raised the goblet to his lips. The liquid was cool on his tongue, and its passage down his throat indeed calmed him. 'Well, then,' he said, turning, 'what would your lord have of a peaceful alchemist?'

Crone's chipped beak opened in what Baruk realized was silent laughter. The bird fixed a single glittering eye on him. 'Your answer rode the very breath of your words, Lord. Peace. My lord wishes to speak with you. He wishes to come here, this very night. Within the hour.'

'And you're to await my answer.'

'Only if you decide quickly, Lord. I have things to do, after all. I'm more than a simple message-bearer. Those who know wisdom when they hear it hold me dear. I am Crone, eldest of the Moon's Great Ravens, whose eyes have looked upon a thousand years of human folly. Hence my tattered coat and broken beak as evidence of your indiscriminate destruction. I am but a winged witness to your eternal madness.'

In quiet mockery Baruk said, 'More than just a witness. It's well known how you and your kind feasted on the plain outside Pale's walls.'

'Yet we were not the first to feast on flesh and blood, Lord, lest you forget.'

Baruk turned away. 'Far be it for me to defend my species,' he muttered, more to himself than to Crone, whose words had stung him. His eyes fell on the shards of glass littering the floor. He voiced a mending spell and watched as they reassembled. 'I will speak with your lord, Crone.' He nodded as the glass pane rose from the floor and returned to the window-frame. 'Tell me, will he as easily disdain my wards as you did?'

'My lord is possessed of honour and courtesy,' Crone replied ambiguously. 'I shall call him, then?'

'Do so,' Baruk said, sipping his wine. 'An avenue will be provided for his passage.'