In a move they hadn't anticipated, while three arrived on a mission to the Sirrup House, it was four that would ultimately leave to complete it. Having desperately held onto the Zauber Players with more urgent tasks and hints at remuneration; Master Pie could no longer find excuses enough to keep them.

At the door, their cloaks long since readied, they were all but off when Lyre appeared, with Ramun and the curious Mistress Hen in tow.

"Oh!" said Master Pie as he received them, "Are you the ill wind I felt blowing this way? Was it only you Lyre?!"

"Ill wind would be right," Cuttle remarked beneath his breath, "Now that I see Ramun is with her."

The bearded beauty gave his one-time rival an affected bow.

"Ah! Master Pie," began Lyre, "This good lady is Mistress Hen. We er... we're looking for my missing cart. After delivering Fiepet Strahl and your curricle to the palace, I have come in search of my transportation. As you can see," she said, brandishing her muddied feet at the proprietor, "We were forced to walk here just that I might get it back!"

Master Pie's jowls jiggled with confusion.

"But my girl!" he cried, "Your cart will be with the self-same thief that Mr Strahl was after! Would you not have been best and most intelligous to stay with him and make the search together?!"

"Ah!" replied Lyre, "But of course we are working together! With Mr Strahl remaining at the palace to beseech the Counsel for his help, I have come on behalf of us both to look for clues we may have missed! To that end... Cuttle, may I have a word?"

Adjusting the costume sack on his back, the actor graciously stepped aside to speak with her.

"And what's your act?" Master Pie asked of the pretty maid left standing with Ramun.

"Did I fool you?" asked Ramun, "You thought she was real, didn't you? I've been practising with Lyre that I might improve my puppetry."

"But she doesn't much resemble you," said Master Pie, "I'm surprised you managed to turn one out with quite so many differentages. I was given to understand it hard to make one apart from one's own image."

"What's that supposed to mean?" challenged Ramun, "Aren't I just as pretty..?"

Hen was too busy looking past the men into the foyer of the Sirrup House to hear any of their silly conversation. The Zauber Players were twiddling their thumbs as Lyre and Cuttle spoke in private beside them. It seemed as though negotiations were underway; but Hen was unable to figure out who looked to be getting the better end of the deal. Both Cuttle and Lyre seemed equally dissatisfied.

With a summoning nod, and a decision somewhat reached, Ramun and Hen stepped inside where the news could be delivered all at once.

"Stoat," Cuttle began, "You can take the others back to Relmund without me. I should return in time for our engagement at the Wellwithin Playhouse; but since Lyre has begged for my assistance, I can but humbly comply."

Lyre bit her tongue.

"He's coming with us?!" Ramun demanded.

Cuttle's catty sneer was not easily suppressed. "Would you rather I didn't?" he asked, "It seems that I'm the only one capable of taking you to find last night's troublemaker... only I can speak his name into the wind and hear its answer."

Ramun regarded him with skepticism.

"Lyre, is that really the best we've got? What of the clothes the fair brother left behind? You said you made him change before he was taken. Weren't we going to try the Witling Woman's way?"

That was the impression she had certainly given when they made their way to the theater; knowing full well how much Ramun disliked Cuttle. She thought it best not to mention that she'd no firsthand knowledge of such expert finding magic, and would require some assistance when it came to tracking down Delphin Strahl.

Cuttle himself didn't have much interest in finding the man he'd been upstaged by, and yet, in learning that Fiepet remained in pursuit of him, had generously elected to donate his time to the cause. It was somewhat disappointing that the elder Strahl was not to accompany them on the hunt, but wouldn't he be impressed when he learned how instrumental Cuttle had been in acquiring his dearest brother? 

Despite Lyre's protestations that he need only tell them which direction to follow, the helpful little actor was adamant that he should be with them until the end. Until the part when the brothers were reunited, and he had opportunity to once again cross paths with Fiepet Strahl.

"Let's argue about things on the way," suggested Lyre, a cautious eye glancing out towards the distant lane, that any moment could herald the Counsel's arrival. "Cuttle comes with us, the others return to Relmund."

A victorious smile settled on Cuttle's lips, as his weary companions wished him luck, and hurried homewards to their beds and out of the clutches of Master Pie.

"Do we travel by cloak?" Cuttle asked.

Lyre shook her head. In the event the Counsel dispelled their magic again, it wouldn't do to find themselves stranded in the middle of nowhere.

"A cart would be better," she replied.

As though her musings became an incantation, Master Pie's curricle was delivered to the theater right on cue.

"You there!" cried the driver, "This transport is returned on behalf of the beneficent Counsel of Madning."

His perfunctory declaration completed, the liveried man jumped down and unhitched the postilion he'd been riding; delivered a polite bow, and quickly rode off the way he'd come.

"Ah!" sighed Master Pie happily, "It's come back to me much faster than might have been expected. Does its return signify that the Counsel agreed to see him?"

"It means the Counsel must have sent it for our use!" Lyre replied, "It's clear that Mr Strahl has thought to include us. You wouldn't disobey the Counsel and refuse us your curricle, would you, Master Pie?"

"What?! No no, of course not! Make haste child! And do not keep the Counsel waiting!"

"Ramun," proposed Lyre, "You walk Cuttle back to collect the carriage, and Mistress Hen and I will take Pie's curricle from here on out."

The thought of cozying up to the sweet scented miss as they rattled along in two-seated seclusion was rather appealing. And should the lady chance to grow tired, Lyre's willing shoulder would make for a convenient pillow. Ramun, however, had other thoughts on the matter.

A tilt of his head and a soulless smile, and Lyre understood that there wasn't a chance.

"You wait here," he told her. "Master Pie, you may drive me down to pick up our own carriage; we've no need for yours, but thank you for the offer."

A journey alone with nothing but Cuttle's complaints wasn't worth it; even if it meant putting a stop to the end of the world. If they had no choice but to bring that odious creature along with them, then Ramun had every intention of seating him next to Lyre. It really was the least she deserved.

When the two left, Cuttle watched Hen intently. He didn't much like meeting people that were prettier than he was.

"You can find Delphin Strahl?" Hen asked him, "Or the man that took him? The Innate do far more magic than I would have suspected..."

"The Innate?" puzzled Cuttle.

"Of course he can find him!" interrupted Lyre."Go on then," she urged the little actor, "Show her what you can do!"

Cuttle cleared his throat and tossed back his hair. Stepping beyond the threshold into the space outside the theater, he held his finger up to check the direction of the wind. Turning his body to face the breeze, he took a deep breath and exhaled the name aloud.

"Delphin Strahl," he whispered.

His thumb hooked on the bridge of his nose, and his pointer finger extended to the heavens, he waited for the wind to change its course.

"Well?" asked Lyre.

"Are you sure that's his name?" Cuttle queried, "Or that he's even still alive..? The spell isn't always that accurate, but I've never had it fail so completely before. There wasn't even a flicker."

Lyre tested her magic, and five purple clad figures appeared and vanished in an instant. The Counsel's words of suppression had clearly worn off.

"It could be that his name isn't known here," she reasoned, "And the Isle is yet to recognize it. What of the one who took him? Mistress Hen you may know him; a tall youth of roughly two hundred; the only man besides the Warlock I've ever seen so close to the Counsel."

Hen pondered as to when Lyre had found the chance to closely observe her masters, but of course the Innate must have been keeping tabs beyond her infrequent reports. With the exception of Remora the valet, she had only heard rumors about the Counsel having once been close with the brother of Rel the martyr.

"What was his name..?" she asked herself aloud. "I know I've heard it... it was something like... No, not that. Or was it..?"

Cuttle and Lyre exchanged a look, but there was little they could do to help without the thoughts in her head to go on. Despite the evident need for haste, Lyre was content to be patient, while Cuttle was not. His lips barely parted, and Lyre intercepted the sting of his biting wit before he had the chance to use it.

"Has someone come to mind?" Lyre asked her gently.

"The Hofingrad Survivor," Hen explained, "Brother of the Martyr. Before the Cimbran Isle changed its name, the Counsel was said to have kept him under watch in a private household attached the palace. He was very particular that the youth should be protected, to the point that some suspected him a prisoner. I heard tale that he escaped, rather than left of his own free will..."

"Then you should know, Cuttle!" Lyre declared, "Your terrible play is all about the Warlock and the Martyr. What's his brother called?"

Cuttle had to admit an awful truth. But not before swallowing the knowledge that Rel's brother had been witness to their show the previous night.

"The Hofingrad Survivor? Are you sure..? Oh praise Jophis he didn't take Marlin's head for his dreadful performance! We've never thought to include him in the story though... he didn't do very much from what I gather; his only virtue being that he survived. Besides, we struggle to fill the roles as it is."

"So you don't know his name then?" asked Hen, "I can't for the life of me remember what it was. He's no longer spoken of in the palace, though I've heard him referred to as 'the drunkard' by Remora once or twice."

"Try that!" suggested Lyre.

Cuttle rolled his eyes. "How many others do you think have been called 'drunkard'? You need to give the wind more to go on than such a common epithet. If I called for 'the whore' it wouldn't necessarily point me in Ramun's direction..."

They were running out of options, and it was only a matter of time before said whore returned with the carriage. 

"Does it need to be the real Delphin Strahl we produce..?" asked Lyre, "If a copy could be made of him, do you think it would suffice..?"

Hen's charmingly furrowed brow indicated it would not. Cuttle had begun to feel somewhat lost in the conversation, that there was possibly more to it than a disappearing brother and a missing cart. He eyed the two women cautiously.

"Are you sure I'll get to see the elder Strahl at the end of all this?" he wanted to confirm, "Because if you can't give me a better name to ask for, then I'll just call his into the wind and follow it there myself."

Second only to the praise and adulation that finding Delph on his own would elicit, would be to help alongside the dashing Fiepet, and give him whichever hand he had a mind for. There were so few upstanding men on the Madning Isle, and Cuttle had determined that this one demanded a closer look.

"That isn't necessary!" cried Lyre, racking her brain to think of something useful.

Hen's worried eyes were cast upon the floor. There was something they could try, but it was almost an impossibility.

"I think I remember his name," she said, her resolute gaze now firmly fixed on Cuttle, "Repeat exactly as I tell you; but say it quietly sir, for I fear myself a fool should I have gotten it wrong."

Cuttle acquiesced with a bemused nod.

Lyre found it quite adorable, Hen standing on her tip toes as she coquettishly whispered her guess in Cuttle's ear. She was so enamored that she failed to notice his reaction, or the earnest pleading of Hen's eyes that he should not speak it so loud that Lyre might hear it.

It wasn't going to work; the pessimistic look he flashed her indicated as much. But regardless, Cuttle pressed his thumb to his nose and his pointer to the heavens. He whispered the name he was given... and felt the wind change its direction.

"Impossible," he said, before trying it a second time and coming to the same baffling conclusion.

This way, the wind replied, the Maddening Witch is to the west...