<em><strong>That</strong>, specifically, was the brightly clad young woman in a domino-style mask, a street performer's peasant blouse and skirt, and a wide grin, who strode up to them and hooked her arms through both of theirs.<br/><br/>"Gentlemen!  Welcome to Crail!"  Her accent, all back-alley and underworld, seems as much an affectation as the mask.  She pecks each of you on the cheek and says, much more quietly, "Long Live the Crown."<br/><br/>She leans back and giggles.<br/><br/>"But why haven't you gone to find our uncle?  He's up in the Tower of Smoke, and the poor fellow has lost the key to his own door, so you will probably need to help him out a little.  Won't that be fun?"</em>