When they had said there would be a party, they had really meant it. The house had settled into place in a meadow, and strings of lights had been put up around a handful of tables set outside. One of those tables was piled with food, an entire roast pig, and the smell of it was enough to stop Mizuki in her tracks.

Disorganized cheers went up once they realized that she was there, and Mizuki felt a swell of happiness. There were at least thirty people at the party, familiar faces from what felt like far-away Pucklechurch, and Emperor, Alfric’s giant dog, and one face that Mizuki had really not expected to see.

“Akina!” shouted Mizuki. Her sister came over, and Mizuki wrapped her in a hug. It had been four years since they’d seen each other, and her sister had grown what felt like an impossible amount in that time, from a little girl into an actual adult. She was, basically, an entirely different person, and once their long, tight hug was finished, Mizuki didn’t have to look far to see her other sister, Chizu, who was looking sheepish. Chizu had likewise transformed into a full person, though she was only fifteen. While Akina was about the same height, Chizu, at fifteen, was three inches taller. Both were dressed in traditional Kiromon sashes, Chizu’s peach-colored and Akina’s a bright blue. “Chizu!” Mizuki said as she gave her younger sister a belated hug.

“Hi,” said Akina. “Long time.”

“What are the two of you doing here?” asked Mizuki. “How are you here?”

“Alfric asked us if we’d like to come,” said Akina. “We said yes.”

Alfric was standing close by with a grin on his face.

Mizuki was looking around, but didn’t see who she was trying to find. “Are mom and dad … ?”

“Dead,” said Chizu. “We didn’t know how to tell you.”

Akina rolled her eyes. “Alfric said no adults but also that it was up to them,” said Akina. “They said that they could come later, if it wasn’t a one-time thing.”

“You went to Kiromo?” asked Mizuki.

“It’s where your family was,” said Alfric. “Hopefully that wasn’t an overstep. I know you’ve said you missed your sisters.”

Mizuki looked around at the lights, and the people, and the roast pig. She’d suspected it from the pig, but she did spot the Pedder brothers, all three of them, and Bethany, who was staying with her husband.

“How’d you do all this with two hours notice?” asked Mizuki.

Alfric smiled and laughed, then cupped her cheek with his hand. “Mizuki, you beautiful fool, I’ve been planning this since your first day at wizarding school.”

“And you undid the day? And didn’t tell me?” asked Mizuki. That didn’t sound like him. A roast pig needed a long time though, maybe since as early as dawn.

“No,” said Alfric, suddenly serious. “No, my brother Mo told me after you’d left for class that today was the day. He hadn’t reset because of that either. I was going to reset if today wasn’t the day.”

“Alright,” said Mizuki. She let out a breath. “Good.” She beamed at her two sisters. Four years was a long time. There had been letters, but probably not enough of them, and now they were back in Inter for the first time since leaving Pucklechurch. “We’re going to have so much fun. And how long are the two of you here?”

Akina shrugged. “Alfric said we can stay the night or leave in the morning. Someone else is in our old room?”

“Er,” said Mizuki. “Yeah.”

“Grandpa isn’t very happy that you moved the house,” said Akina.

Mizuki looked at the house, which was settled on its folded-up legs. “Very upset, or just a little miffed?” she asked.

“Raging,” said Chizu. “He threw a plate against a wall then went outside to scream to the heavens.”

“He didn’t actually,” said Akina. “Sorry she’s like this.”

“I got hit on the head while fishing, that’s why,” Chizu explained with a smile.

“Nope,” said Akina.

“Alright, we’re going to make the most of tonight then,” said Mizuki. “While also not neglecting all our other guests, which is a really extensive set of people, it seems.” Clemency, the replacement bard at the Fig and Gristle, was there with Micah, the blacksmith’s apprentice, and it seemed like they were still somehow a couple. Apparently more than a few people had come from Pucklechurch, ferried in by some magical means. “Hey, how do the two of you feel about flying?”

“In the air?” asked Akina. She seemed skeptical.

“Definitely,” beamed Chizu. “I’ve only gone flying a few times before.”

“Never before,” said Akina with a sigh. “Are you going to be like this all night?”

“Yup,” said Chizu. “Mizuki doesn’t know, we can tell her anything, come on, it’ll be fun.”

“Mizuki does the same thing,” said Alfric. “Wild, crazy, totally untrue stories.”

“This is true,” said Mizuki with a solemn nod. “Maybe later tonight I’ll tell you about some of our dungeons. Or the time we pulled a hundred magical lutes out. Or when I met a dragon.” She grinned at Alfric, then looked back at her sisters. “Sorry, I never made introductions, though I guess you’ve already met him. This is my boyfriend, Alfric.” It felt so, so good to say, though she was a bit nervous, because it was her first time calling him that.

“He’s nice,” said Akina. “He doesn’t really look like a dungeoneer though, no offense.”

“You haven’t seen him in a dungeon,” said Mizuki. “He is literally the best dungeoneer, our team wouldn’t be a team without him.”

“Mizuki does most of the damage,” said Alfric. “Having a sorc has been a lot more of a boon than I’d expected when we went in, but then … some of the monster we’ve fought have needed a fireball.”

“She always did love her fireballs,” said Akina.

“Let’s not talk about fireballs,” said Mizuki with a frown.

“Problem?” asked Akina. She looked worried.

“Trouble at school,” said Mizuki. “They’re calling me the ‘Mad Fireballer’ and saying I have an ‘explosive temper’ and that I burned someone’s face off, and all kinds of things.”

“None of that is true,” said Alfric.

“Well, it might as well be,” said Mizuki with a sigh. “Whatever, this is promising to be a wonderful surprise party, I’m going to forget all that and have a wonderful time. With my sisters!”

~~~~

Alfric had been planning the party for a long time, but he’d had plenty of help from the others. It wasn’t a surprise party in a conventional sense, it was a surprise party in the sense that it would be a surprise to everyone exactly when the party would be. This presented certain logistical challenges, and pretty much guaranteed that a few people they’d wanted wouldn’t be able to make it. And since the party was set to happen whenever Mizuki had her breakthrough, it was entirely possible that the party would just never happen.

Turnout had been good though, thanks in part of Mo, who had slipped behind Alfric’s back and gotten a lot of the work out of the way starting very early in the morning. Alfric had been the one to go to Pucklechurch and arrange a ‘ferry’ to the house, offering either a place to sleep or a ride back later in the night. He’d been mildly surprised how many of the invitees were taking him up on the offer of a place to sleep for the night, but they had plenty of beds to spare, along with bedrolls. That, at least, came with being a dungeoneer.

The Pedders had roasted a pig and brought it as the centerpiece, and Hannah had made plenty of breads, both savory and sweet, which had meant that Alfric only had to deal with a few token sides. It was a monstrous amount of food, particularly the pig, which meant that they would be eating leftovers for a few days, even if they sent people home with wrapped up meals.

That this was all taking place on land that they were only borrowing was another hurdle, but Alfric had found that people were, overall, pretty friendly, especially if palms were greased with a few rings. The house was also getting a bit of a reputation as they’d gone along, partly by virtue of going slow, and the reputation was a good one.

Alfric always made sure that they left every site they used better than they’d found it, and Isra was often in charge of making sure that the fields and meadows they had mildly trampled were as verdant and healthy as they could be. Their stops were often long enough for Isra to put in some labor at a discount, which was another form of palm-greasing. Most farmers put a high value on a druid’s time, even if it was just for diagnosis. Pointing out a single sheep’s ailment and a course of treatment was easily worth having some strangers spend the night in a fallow field.

Because Alfric was running this party, he was on alert, staying sober and making sure that everyone’s needs were met. Dinner was eat-as-you-please, with everything kept warm through ectads, and there was wine and ale in significant quantities, including a case that Akina had brought from Kiromo.

“It’s the second year the winery has produced anything,” she explained to Mizuki. “It’s a huge investment, and won’t recoup for another few years, but once we hit that point, there’s a lot of profit to be had.”

“Grandfather is treating her like a grape,” said Chizu. “Making sure she’s ready to be squished and bottled.”

“There are so, so many more steps between pressing and bottling,” said Akina with a sigh. “But yes, grandpa is hoping that I’ll run the winery.”

“Dad doesn’t want to?” asked Mizuki.

“Dad has his own pursuits now,” said Akina.

“He’s in training to be a wortier,” said Chizu. “Grandpa isn’t pleased.”

“Er,” said Mizuki. “Why a wortier?”

“It’s complicated,” said Akina. “He thinks there’s room for a publishing house to specialize in going between the countries, and he thinks that he’s uniquely positioned for that.”

“He wouldn’t just hire a wortier for that?” asked Alfric. “It’s a difficult skill to learn.”

Akina had a glass of wine in hand, and it sloshed as she shrugged. “This is a conversation that has floated around the house for quite a while now.”

“Little brother!” came a shout from across their area. Alfric turned and saw his brother Mo with a smile on his face and arms wide.

“Mo,” said Alfric, accepting the hug. His brother was wearing an outrageously colorful outfit, of the sort that was popular in Dondrian, splashes of shimmering maroon and accents of gold. “Glad you could make it.” He gestured to Mizuki’s sisters. “This is Akina and Chizu, Mizuki’s little sisters.”

“Pleasure!” said Mo. “Kyrie’s here too.” He stepped to the side and revealed their sister.

“Hiya,” said Kyrie, giving a little wave. She wasn’t the hugging type. She had on an orange sarong, which somehow seemed sedate in comparison to Mo’s choice in clothing.

“Mo is oldest, Kyrie youngest,” said Alfric. “I’m smack in the middle.” He looked around. “You’re it for the siblings?”

“I’ll give you the list of excuses later,” said Mo. “There’s a chance the others will show up later on, but it’s short notice, and we’re a family of planners, apparently.”

“No big deal,” said Alfric. “They’ve got their own lives, I just thought since it was a party, I’d let them see how I’m living.”

“Nice digs,” said Mo, looking at the house.

“Thanks!” said Mizuki.

“And you’ve upgraded to girlfriend, and to dual-class sorc-wizard,” said Mo. “Moving up in the world, I see. I’d say my brother is a catch, but,” he leaned in, “he can’t even do magic.”

“Except the one trick,” said Kyrie.

“It’s a pretty good trick,” said Alfric.

“You’re all chrononauts?” asked Chizu. “How many times have you done this day?”

“Second for me,” said Mo.

“Second for me too,” said Kyrie.

“First,” said Alfric.

“We didn’t go to the party the first time,” said Mo. “So this is our actual first time meeting.” He looked at Chizu, narrowing his eyes slightly. “She’s a much younger sister?”

“I’m just short,” said Chizu with a smile.

“Fifteen,” said Akina.

“Same age as me!” said Kyrie. She stepped forward. “You’re from Kiromo? Wanna ditch these grown ups and talk about it?”

“Absolutely,” said Chizu. They went off together almost at once to marvel at the pig.

“She’s not actually the much younger sister,” said Akina. “Our actual youngest sister is three years old. Momo.”

Mo whistled. “Quite the gap. Our mom had us all one after the other, separated by a year each. She was going to have us all share a birthday, but dad talked her out of it.”

“Come,” said Alfric. “I’ll give you a tour of the house, and then I need to go check and make sure that we’re still set on supplies.”

~~~~

Verity was trying something that she’d never tried before: having a band. It was a one-night-only affair, playing three to five songs, and for friends only, which took all the pressure right off of her. If they sucked, no one would ever remember it, and if people did remember it, then it would be as a failed experiment, not as a creative expression that didn’t live up to its promises. It was the difference between a dashed-off song made up on the spot and something she was playing in a concert hall. Verity liked being able to hide behind improvisation and experimentation, anything unserious really.

That was part of why their band had a gimmick.

“Alright,” said Mizuki when she’d come downstairs from giving a tour of the house. “I’ve got to ask, why are there four of you?”

Verity smiled at Mizuki. “Why do you think?”

“Time travel,” said Mizuki.

Verity rolled her eyes. “You know that’s ridiculous.”

“Clones?” asked Mizuki.

“No, a cloning entad would be ridiculously expensive to even rent,” said Verity. “And temp clones from a cleric of Bixzotl — well, that would be expensive too, and we’d need them on-site, and — no.”

“Alright,” said Mizuki. “I’m stumped then. Illusions? I’m bad at this game.”

“It’s just alteration,” said Verity. “They’re other musicians who just look like me.”

“Wait wait wait,” said Mizuki. “Then how do I know I’m talking to the real Verity?”

“That’s what’s fun about it,” said Verity. “It’ll wear off before the night is out.”

“I think no way would I ever let anyone have my body,” said Mizuki.

“Alfric?” asked Verity.

“Well, yeah, but that’s different,” said Mizuki.

“I meant him becoming a temp clone of you,” said Verity.

“Right, right, me too,” said Mizuki with a nod. “But it would be different, you know. I would almost be offended if he got offered to take my body for a ride and said no.”

“And the same if someone offered for him to become a temp clone of you,” said Verity.

Mizuki gave her a playful slap. She was happy, and cuter when she was happy. Verity was happy for them, though it did cause a pang of loneliness in her. There were a few romantic prospects at the party, but she had no direct plans, and it did seem like something that you couldn’t count on happening organically.

“Well, I’m looking forward to seeing your wild and crazy band of Verities,” said Mizuki. “Do you have a band name?”

“We do not,” said Verity. “A band name would make it official.”

“No one is going to take you seriously without a band name,” said Mizuki.

“The point is that we don’t want to be taken seriously,” said Verity. “It’s not like the people I have can just drop their lives and pursue this, so at best we’d have a few concerts and recordings. We wouldn’t be a troupe or anything.”

“Oh, you’ve got it bad,” said Mizuki. “Talking about concerts and recordings, basically the top tiers of music we have?”

“The recordings aren’t that,” said Verity with a frown.

“Oh, I never told you, did I?” asked Mizuki. “Guess what was playing at the party?”

Verity groaned. “It was The Brave Knight Gave, wasn’t it?” she asked.

“Ayup,” said Mizuki.

“And did they like it?” asked Verity. That was the sort of question she wished that she wasn’t so compelled to ask. It would have felt awkward not to ask though. Pretending that you didn’t care what other people thought was one thing, but it was beyond credulity to just let it lie when you heard that someone had taken in a performance. After Verity got her answer, then she would play it cool.

“Oh they loved it,” said Mizuki, which was the correct answer, insofar as there could be a correct answer. “They played it almost twenty times. Admittedly, toward the end, they were doing some wizard thing where they were seeing whether their perception of the song changed after hearing the exact same performance a lot of times in the row, and some of it was just playing with a new toy, but —”

“They loved it,” said Verity. “That’s all I needed to hear.”

“Right,” said Mizuki. “Loved it.”

“Thank you,” said Verity.

Mizuki gave her a hug and then wandered off, and Verity made her way outside to where the stage had been set up by Alfric, along with four of the chairs that were normally in the dining room. It would be a short concert, three songs, nothing more, and they had barely practiced at all, and she was trying to calm her nerves, as she always did. Outwardly, she was cold as ice, and once the concert started, she’d get into the swing of it.

Bib came running up to her, carrying his ‘girlfriend’ on his shoulders. He was barechested, as always, and he flashed her a winning smile. Carrying her was pretty plainly a strain for him, but there were no complaints to go with the heavy breathing or the sweat.

“Bib,” said Verity, giving him a nod. “Bab.”

“Parties are great,” said Bib.

“We’re an adult,” said Bab. “Together, one adult.”

“The effect is ruined somewhat by the all of it,” said Verity.

“She wanted me to be her bird,” said Bib.

“Can we have wine?” asked Bab.

“No,” said Verity.

“Mean!” shouted Bib, and then ran off with Bab, who shrieked in delight.

When Verity reached the stage, two of the other Verities were already there. One of them was Grig, and the other was a girl that Verity had met in Dondrian while recording for her father, Shaso. Verity didn’t know which was which, only that their fourth member, who Verity had met in a tavern, was apparently late.

“I’m so, so, incredibly nervous,” said one of the other Verities, probably Shaso. She had Verity’s voice, but had kept her own cadence and body language.

“Literally no one cares about this,” said the Verity who was probably Grig. “Haven’t you done proper performances?”

“Recitals and things,” said Shaso. “And two recordings now, but that was part of a group. Performing before an ectad device, that’s nothing.”

“We’re still waiting on our fourth?” asked the one who was definitely Grig.

“Neema will be here,” said Verity. “She said she’d be here.”

“Just inviting random people to a jam, huh?” asked Grig.

“We’re not a band,” said Verity. “We’re the suggestion of a band. And if we do another session after this, this will be the last time we don’t get paid.”

“Oh no,” said Grig, flashing a grin at her. “She’s starting to take this seriously.”

“‘Just a simple jam session with friends’,” said Shaso. “‘But you will need to come halfway across the world.’”

“I don’t think that’s a direct quote,” said Verity.

“I’m just thankful that you thought of me,” said Shaso. “I’ve been looking forward to this.”

“I hope you didn’t cancel plans,” said Verity.

“I skipped a different party to get to this party,” said Shaso. “But if it’s a choice between rubbing shoulders with politicians or playing with — becoming! — the great Verity Parson, arguably the most famous lutist in the world, then yeah, it’s pretty obvious which I’m going to choose.”

Verity hadn’t quite realized that she had clout, not until she’d asked Shaso whether she wanted to come join the very temporary and unserious band. Shaso had practically leapt on the offer, in spite of the uncertain date and the enormous distance she’d need to travel. Mo had been the one to bring her, so it hadn’t cost anything but time and a bit of nervousness, but it was still a long way to go. Verity wasn’t just an accomplished lutist, she was now famous, at least among people who followed the goings-on of musicians. She’d gotten famous for being Chosen of Xuphin, more famous for disappearing, more famous again for returning, and then had the scandal of canceled concerts on the back of an original, unscheduled song. Her father’s efforts had pushed her into the realm of myth, at least for someone like Shaso, and part of that was because people thought she had something to do with the machine.

The average person on the streets of Dondrian would have no idea who she was, of course, and Verity had no illusions that she was anything like a household name. Still, there was clout, obvious clout, and she didn’t really have any idea what to do with it.

Neema showed up, somewhat out of breath and only moderately late. There wasn’t a schedule to the party, in spite of Alfric’s best efforts, only some vague plans for games and activities, along with a whole roasted pig and a crate of wine.

Neema was a petite girl, the regular bard at one of the taverns two hexes back. She had been worried about Verity coming in to play a ‘special session’ and had insisted that Verity’s performance be bookended by the tavern’s ‘normal’ music. Verity hadn’t minded at all, and if she was playing at a tavern that had a bard, she tried to make friends. Neema had given her the cold shoulder until she heard Verity play, and then after the performance — and Neema’s after-performance — they had talked for what felt like a long time. Neema had a wild way of playing a lute, sometimes plucking the strings instead of strumming them, other times slapping against the belly of it. Verity had talked about ‘the band’ only in passing, but Neema had practically jumped at the chance, so long as she could get to wherever the house was.

That Neema was attractive in a dark, brooding, subversive way was a part of it, certainly. She had tattoos, and she’d played with her sleeves rolled up, showing snakes and birds battling on her forearms. Her left ear was pierced in three places, and her right ear not at all. This was all secondary to the almost angry way that she played the lute, which was the most attractive thing about her.

“Sorry, sorry,” said Neema. “I had to put in a half shift at the tavern.”

“No worries,” said Verity.

Neema looked at the three of them. “Are we really doing this?”

“We are,” said Verity. “The effect lasts for three hours. It’s a gimmick, something for people to remember, just to test it out.”

“And are we a proper band?” asked Neema. “What’s our name?”

“The Loners,” said Verity.

“Because we’re all using loaned lutes?” asked Grig. “Or … some other reason?”

“Loners,” said Verity. “As in, we’re all solo acts.”

“And we all look like you … because?” asked Neema.

“Exactly,” said Verity. “It would work for any of us, maybe we could rotate if people have feelings about that.”

“Bad for the brand,” said Grig. “Besides, I would be uncomfortable if it were just a bunch of me.”

“Should we be distinguishing ourselves?” asked Shaso. “Like, maybe do our hair different? So we’d have a Verity with braids, one with pigtails, a big bun, something?”

“Shaved head?” asked Neema, who had a shaved head.

“Wonderful,” said Verity. “Let’s do it.”

They were ready to go twenty minutes later, and Isra ran into the house to gather everyone up for the performance. The wand they had used put everyone in the same outfit, but the hair styles were different, with Verity wearing her hair long, Grig in buns, and Neema ‘shaved’, and Shaso with braids.

“Thank you everyone,” said Verity to the crowd. She was the temporary band’s leader, for obvious reasons, clout being one of them. “I’m Verity, and we’re the Loaners.”

It was so, so tempting to say that they hadn’t really rehearsed, that this was their first and probably only gig, that everyone should lower their expectations — but that would have been a coward’s way of handling her fears. Do not predispose the audience to thinking you’re crap. It was advice an old tutor had given Verity, and it had stuck with her.

The actual playing went well, though Verity was hopeful that all the bumps and warts weren’t as audible to the audience as they’d been to her. Clemency was the only musician in the crowd, and she was tapping her foot and smiling, which was the sort of thing that Verity really shouldn’t have been noticing while playing and singing.

They played old classics for the first three songs, but the fourth, which was a bonus, leaned into the improvisation, and the fifth, which was a double bonus, was a song dedicated to Mizuki which Verity had more or less made up on the spot, about a cat who had decided to go to dog school and ended up showing them all up.

The whole thing was an incredible learning experience, and when they took their bows, Verity thought that she would be able to fill a notebook with observations, so many that it was difficult to have them all in her head. Each member of the band had their own way of playing, not just things like Neema’s percussive style, but the way that Grig would jump in as backup, weaving his own melody in her wake when she improvised a line in a way that was downright impressive. They had worked well together, and she was surprised, because these were more or less random people she’d mentioned the idea to. Neema was just a workman bard, and she’d adapted herself so well.

Maybe she shouldn’t have been surprised. She’d taken the idea from Alfric, after all, scraping together a bunch of people and then trying something without much preparation or placing too much burden of expectation on anyone. Perhaps that was how all the best things happened, spontaneous, or nearly so, getting at least that first thing out of the way by just doing it. And then if someone wasn’t working out, or the name was wrong, or having four of Verity with different hairstyles was stupid or narcissistic, then at least you had done something, made something.

The four Verities sat together, happily chatting about how their tiny little concert for friends — or nearly-friends — had gone. Verity tried to make sure that she wasn’t dominating the conversation, but there was something about them all having the same body that made it a little easier to handle, put them all on even footing somehow. Maybe the next time they could use the blending entad that would mix them all into the average of all their bodies, though she’d have been more enthused about that if they didn’t have a guy in the group. Some people could slide from one gender to another and inbetween like it was absolutely nothing, but Verity thought for her it would be more akin to having a piece of clothing that just wasn’t laying right, or an itch she couldn’t scratch. She would have to try it sometime, maybe for the band.

“I’m not sure how I feel about being Verity and the Verities,” said the Verity who was Grig. “I think it’s interesting, and I definitely think there’s some artistic merit to it, but if that’s something we’re going to do in order to leave an impression, I want it to be … I don’t know. I’m talking nonsense, I’m just a dungeon bard, barely even a musician.”

“Oh, it’s brilliant,” said the Verity who was Shaso. “We’re all the same, but different. The hairstyles were a good touch, but next time, costumes? We were all wearing the same thing, but we should have been wearing variations on the same thing, or the same outfit worn in different ways. I don’t think we need to be saying anything, not with the getup, not with the music, but so long as it makes you feel something? That’s art.”

“The masses don’t understand art,” said Neema.

“No,” said Shaso. “But they do feel things, even if they don’t understand them. And so long as it makes them feel something, it’s worth doing.” She turned to Verity. “Are we ever doing this again?”

“I’m … not really a leader,” said Verity.

“Sometimes we get pushed into leadership,” said Grig. His smile was unlike Verity’s normal smile, unassuming and a little sheepish. At least, Verity didn’t think her smile was like that.

“Are you all interested in doing another?” asked Verity. “One that’s a little less last-minute? One that we practice for? That we get paid for?”

“Absolutely,” said Neema. She looked down at herself. “I’m on the fence about this, to be honest.”

“I loved it,” said Isra, who’d come up to their table. “You see personalities and styles shining through. It makes you more distinctive, somehow.”

“I’d need transport,” said Shaso. She looked a little guilty. “I mean, I’m in Dondrian, and I doubt I can count on dashing chrononauts to ferry me all the way across Inter just to play. Not every time.”

“Me too,” said Neema.

“Me three,” smiled Grig. “I mean, Vertex is traveling along with you for now, but we’re not going to be stationed in Plenarch forever, and once the two parties part ways …”

“Right,” said Verity. “So we need a custom entad that can transport three people from basically all over, or three entads that all have a pretty long range.”

“And a useful, specific entad would be prohibitively expensive,” Neema frowned.

“Hmm,” said Verity. “For that, I have a plan. But in the meantime, can I interest the three of you in seeing my collection of lutes?”

“A collection?” asked Neema. “How many lutes can one person have?”

Grig laughed. “You will be very surprised.”