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Is my family, too, said the wizard.

Not any good as mooring lights because you'd have to be sailing into the harbor mouth to even see them. It's a signal? Torch asked. We imobiliare are expecting company, replied the wizard. The red lamps will tell them where to find the Witch among all these coastal vessels. From the castle we look just like all the other boats. This is a very old trick among smugglers. Who is coming? asked Timothy. Peter will bring the Warlockin just after midnight. I want her moored nearby. Mizar went below and Timothy followed. After a few moments, Torch re-entered the aft cabin and sat down. He found Timothy sitting at the table drinking a glass of icy meltwater from Mattie's icebox. Faint sounds came from one of the forward cabins. Torch gazed through the window at the castle on the hill. Were there people in the castle counting the boats, on watch for unusual activity? He supposed there must be, otherwise smugglers could operate openly. Why bother hiding the signal unless there was someone looking for it? Mizar emerged from the hold carrying a shaving basin and a razor. Are either of you any good with a razor? I feel the need for a shave. I would probably cut your throat with it, Torch admitted. Accidentally, I mean. We monks have to shave our tonsures, offered Timothy. I'm a fair hand with a razor. Good, then, said the wizard. You can help. He filled the basin with hot water from the brazier, dipped a towel in it, and scrubbed his face with imobiliare bucuresti soap. He let the suds sit for a minute and then rinsed and imobiliare bucuresti lathered again, working the soap deeply into his mustache and beard. He stropped the keen edge of the straight razor on the side of his boot, for lack of a better object, and pulled a lamp nearer to the basin. Here you are, he said, handing the razor to Timothy. The friar stepped around behind Mizar and leaned over his face. Just the neck, or are we removing some of the beard? asked the friar. All of it, said the wizard. As clean-cheeked as a young girl. What are you doing? asked Torch. Getting a shave. The razor sliced away part of Mizar's beard. Timothy looked critically at the result. No blood. But why? I am preparing one of imobiliare those magic spells you keep asking me about, replied the wizard. He chuckled to himself. Timothy waited for him to quit talking, then gingerly sliced off half a mustache. Does your magic potion require a hairball of whiskers? Torch was only half kidding. Wizards might do anything, and Mizar was a very strange wizard. No, Mizar replied, speaking from the corner of his mouth. It is a spell that won't work with whiskers. Ihave to get them all off. You are going to lose you nose, too, if you don't stop talking, cautioned the friar. Very well, said Torch, sitting back to watch. You missed a imobiliare bucuresti spot near the corner of his mouth. No, the other corner. Thanks. In a few short minutes the deed was done, and Mizar toweled the remnants of lather from his face. There were a couple of nicks, particularly around the nose and chin, but nothing too serious. He imobiliare bucuresti thanked Brother Timothy, picked up the shaving supplies, and went back to his cabin. Torch could hear him moving around for a few minutes, and then suddenly he reappeared again. Mizar had changed costume, and now wore a richly-made floor-length tunic with a square neck and long baggy sleeves. The neck and cuffs were