Moorcroft noted that Calibex did not answer his question about how he had gained entry, but decided to let it pass. He ran a hand over his face and was surprised to discover that he was now sweating. "What makes you think I require anything from you, mage?" he asked, although he knew the wizard had his own secret ways of discovering things.

"I have heard that the princess is...shall we say, 'lost,' for want of a better term, Your Grace," he said, moving over to gaze out the window at a rising sun, his grey robe trailing along the floor. "Mayhap I can be of service in locating her. If you so desire my assistance, that is," he added, turning back to face the minister.

"Well, I offer my thanks, Master Calibex, but I think we have things in hand, at the moment," Moorcroft said. He did not trust the wizard; in point of fact, he rather feared the old magician, and would just as soon have as little to do with him as possible, but dared not make him an enemy. He did have his uses, after all.

"I am sure that you do, Your Grace," he said, and Moorcroft noted a touch of sarcasm in his tone. The wizard moved to the table and picked up a cup of wine that stood there. Moorcroft blinked at the goblet as Calibex took a sip; he was sure there had been no wine on the table just a moment before. He gripped the arms of his chair more tightly. "Even so," the wizard said, setting the goblet down and wiping his mouth with a thin, bony hand, "mayhap Your Grace has indeed overlooked an avenue of possible search."

"What...what might that be?" he asked, still staring at the wine goblet.

"You have sent birds to the east and to the south, advising your people to be alert and to watch for Isabelle," Calibex said, returning to look out the window at a growing dawn. It was a statement, not a question, and Moorcroft wondered how the old wizard already knew of his plans, when he had only just given them to Goetz. "And yet," Calibex added, softly, "somehow you have neglected to send word of our 'lost' princess to the north."

Moorcroft frowned at the wizard, not understanding. "Why would Humphrey take Isabelle north?" he asked. "They have no reason to go into that desolate area."

Calibex turned and nailed Moorcroft with his steely gaze. "Exactly, Your Grace," he hissed. "Since he has 'no reason' to travel in that direction, I would suggest that is exactly where they are going." He moved back over to stand near the minister, his face within the cowl of his robe nearly hidden in shadow. "They have no sure friends in all of the southern or eastern Westerlands; in fact, all who he encounters may be enemies, for all Sir Humphrey knows. So, it is only in the north that he may find some willing to aid him."

Leaning back from the wizard's closeness, Moorcroft asked in a small voice, "Who?"

Calibex shrugged his shoulders, once again. "I do not have answers to all questions, yet, Your Grace," he said, with a thin smile. "But I shall endeavor to discover them for you."

A knock on the closed door startled Moorcroft, and he turned to the portal. "Come!" he shouted.