Corbel leaned back in his chair, brought his fingers together thoughtfully, and sat quietly for several minutes. A pipe on the desk floated into the air, flashed for a moment, then drifted forward gracefully into Corbel’s mouth, trailing pleasant smelling smoke. He accepted it without changing his expression or the distant point his eyes focused on, clearly unimpressed by the odd behavior of what was usually an inanimate object.

After a few puffs, he seemed to come to some decision, for his eyes regained their normal sharp glint and he leaned forward. On the desk in front of him sat a small medallion he had been using several hours before in his conversation with El Sid, a simple gold ring that held the Bradford’s message to the Sid, and a small, clear crystal ball. Three polished sticks of dark cherry wood held the ball. The sticks were bound together two thirds of their length from the desktop by a loop of leather. The bottoms were spread apart as far as three short strips of similar leather between them allowed. The resulting tripod held the ball securely and rather stylishly.

Corbel picked up the ball, tossed it carelessly in the air, and paid scant attention to more odd behavior, as the classic parabola prescribed by it’s arc was suddenly and inexplicably interrupted. The ball departed what most would consider it’s normal path and made a beeline for the exact center of the desk, where it stood absolutely still two inches above the warm brown walnut that composed the desk’s surface.

Corbel was use to odd behavior by many things in this room, and indeed, in the entire house he occupied.

Another time, he would have amused himself by applying physical, mental or magical force to try to move the ball. The raw power of the spell used to hold it where it stood was impressive, even for someone having Corbel’s rather extensive background with such things. It was so powerful, in fact, that it effectively screened any other item in the room from D-mag. This was, of course, the reason Corbel had made it in the first place. It was also a spell variant so far off the normal hierarchy of known spells that it would take weeks of effort for a high caliber wizard to determine that it, in fact, did one thing extremely well. That one thing was the completely pointless act of staying two inches over the exact center of mass of the largest piece of the desktop it currently hovered over unless it rested in it’s cherry wood stand.

It was, in Corbel’s opinion, an extremely effective decoy.

He took the wooden base the ball had rested in, set it in front of him, and concentrated for a moment. After a few seconds, the air over the tripod began to shimmer like heat from a fire, then suddenly turned opaque. A soft contralto spoke from the mist. "I’m sorry," it began, then said "Jason Gorwell" in a gruff, chopped voice, then continued in the original voice "is away from his Crystal Ball or busy. If you’d like to leave a message, please speak at the sound of the beep, or say "Cranapinitaboranboilerbang" if you need immediate assistance."

"Crana… what the hell?" Corbel said out loud, clearly irritated. "I hate these damned answering demons."

The white mist replied in a new voice, high pitched and raspy. "If I was damned, I’d still be on the seventeenth level of hell, you jerk. I’m the one that has to sit here for a millennium and try to sound pleasant to a bunch of old stiffs who think their soooooo hot because they’ve learned a few summoning spells, so don’t whine to me!"

Corbel sighed. "Belzebab, can you just put me through?"

"Sure."

Corbel waited for a few moments, then added "I meant now" with irritation in his voice.

"Come on, Corby, You’ve got to say the magic word."

Corbel closed his eyes. "Please."

"No, you old dope, I meant Cranapinitaboranboilerbang."

Corbel gritted his teeth, then forced out "Cranipinitaboranboilerbang."

"It’s Crana, not Crani. Come on, you’re not that stupid, you can do it."

Corbel stopped for a moment, then spoke slowly and distinctly. "Belzebab, you’ve got to the count of three, or I will grant your wish and send you back to the seventeenth level. I can always snag another pompous loudmouth demon who’d appreciate the opportunity to escape living hell if I have to. One."

"Corby, come on, you wouldn’t do that to me! Why…"

"Two."

"Hey, Corby, come on, it was just a joke, you know…"

"Thr…"

"OK! OK! Connecting…."

There was a pause, a few clicks, and a few minutes later, a voice. "Wazzzat…. Wha… What the hell, it’s three in the morning? Who is this?"

"Corbel."

A grunt. "Damn. OK, hang a sec…" and after a few seconds of rustles, the opaque screen cleared to show a older man in a bathrobe sitting on a sumptuous bed. The wall behind the bed was the classic dovetailed stone that was common in many areas of eastern Kethem. The man’s hair was gray, shot through here and there with black. His medium length beard was black shot through with gray. His faced, like his hair, had and odd blend of old-around-the-eyes and young-around-the-mouth, such that when you looked at him, you first thought he was ancient, then middle aged, then maybe younger or older than that. The eyes, however, were slate colored and, on close inspection, almost mercurial. Behind him in the bed, Corbel could see an outline that even under the blankets look rather voluptuous. Corbel raised his eyebrows. Gorwell glanced over his shoulder. "Sleep spell. She won’t hear anything."

"Ferengi?"

Gorwell shrugged.

"I would have thought you’d learn your lesson after Sabrina."

Gorwell’s mouth tightened slightly. "Can I assume you didn’t wake me to discuss my preferences in women?"

Corbel sighed, but moved on. "The Bradford hold thing. It’s coming to a head a little faster than I thought."

"Is that a problem? Do you think you’re compromised?"

Corbel laughed, but without humor. "Not likely. I’m squeaky clean on this one, other than passing messages between the interested parties. This group I’ve been telling you about pretty much did it on their own. I just thought you’d like to know."

"Really." Gorwell did not sound pleased. "Are you sure they’re clean? You know the elves…"

"I know. They’re clean," Corbel said, but he squirmed slightly, thinking of Krinn.

"OK, and good enough, I guess. Anything else?"

Corbel nodded. "Know anything about the Enclave of Karak?"

Gorwell thought for a moment, then said "Something. Ya, I remember… center Pranan, fourth Orc Human war… stayed there while I was leading a mop up team chasing Urakai. Decent place, and amazingly enough pretty much left alone by the Orcs. A nice if somewhat naive philosophy about brotherly love among all races. The high priest was convincing. Very convincing. I almost went back just to talk with him, but other things came up. Why?"

"It’s still there. The group I’ve told you about is asking, and I have to say that based on current experience that’s a sign of trouble."

"In what sense?"

"In the sense that these people seem to be a magnet for it. Think about what they’ve found in less than two months on the peninsula."

"I see what you mean. Well, as far as I know, there aren’t any major secrets there, but I can dispatch someone if you think it’s wise."

"I do. And have them bring gold. Apparently, this place has not only survived, but has an impressive library to boot. May be some valuable pre-fall stuff in there."

Gorwell nodded. "Done."

Corbel nodded. "Good enough. Take care and," looking meaningfully past Gorwell, "be careful, all right?"

Gorwell yawned. "Sure. You too, not that you need to worry too much out there in the boonies. Teleport in some time for a visit. We’ll have some fun."

Corbel nodded, waved, and the image was gone. He scooped up the crystal ball in the holder and it became a regular piece of clear stone instead of the proverbial immovable object, placed in thoughtfully back on the desk, and wondered when he would see Krinn again, and why it mattered so much to him.