"Why?" Emriana asked, realizing the disgust in her tone was obvious but not caring.
"Because, my dear niece, it made your grandfather unhappy," Xaphira replied. "And I enjoyed making him unhappy, just like you enjoyed making Dregaul unhappy." Then the older woman sniffed once, perhaps recalling some wistful memory about her deceased brother. "Besides, it felt good to be challenged," she added after a moment. "The folks here don't tend to fight fair, but they also don't tend to fight to kill. A black eye or broken hand was worth the experience of learning to brawl." Xaphira caught the eye of the barkeep and motioned for service, then turned back to Emriana. "It was fun," she finished.
Emriana tried not to roll her eyes. "You're lucky you didn't come home with a broken skull," she said derisively. "Actually, you're lucky you made it home at all."
"That is too true," Xaphira said, nodding in agreement. "So now you know why I told you to stay alert. I would be in the deep stable muck if I brought you home tonight with a split lip. I don't think even Hetta could save us from your mother, then."
Emriana tried to scowl at the thought of having to explain such a condition to her mother, but the thought ended up making her laugh instead.
After the barkeep served both Xaphira and Emriana a mug of some sour-smelling concoction and Xaphira tossed a couple of coins on the counter, the older woman led her niece back across the room toward a set of stairs leading up to the second floor. Emriana tried to ignore the stares she drew as she followed her aunt. She couldn't help but overhear more than a few lewd comments directed at her, and she was sure her cheeks were crimson by the time they reached the balcony of the second floor.
Emriana had no idea what Xaphira was planning, but the older woman seemed to know where she was going, so the girl followed her without question. Finally, Xaphira stopped at the open curtains of an unoccupied alcove and slipped inside. Emriana gratefully followed and settled onto the coarse wooden bench opposite her aunt.
"What now?" she asked, sipping at the mug Xaphira had procured for her. The beer inside was weak and bitter, and Emriana set it down and slid it away from herself.
"Now we wait," Xaphira replied, watching the girl with a bemused smile. "Quill will find us. I'm sure he already knows we're here."
True to her prediction, a man appeared a moment later, filling the doorway to the alcove. Emriana started at the sight of him, tall and sinewy, with disheveled hair and more than a few wrinkles. His clothes were just as mussed as he was, but there was a brightness to his eyes that told the girl he was both clever and dangerous. Emriana stared, noting that he eyed her right back, and there was a hint of a hunger in his expression as he appraised her. She wanted to shrink back, but Xaphira was up and taking the man's hand before she could react.
"Quill!" Xaphira said, pulling the man into the booth next to her. "Stop looking at my niece like that. You're old enough to be her father," she said.
The man blinked a couple of times, still looking, and despite Xaphira's admonition, his appreciative stare did not abate. But in the next moment he was all smiles for Emriana, reaching across the table and introducing himself as he took her hand and shook it. Emriana returned the greeting, though she saw that he could sense the coolness of her tone.
"So," Quill said, turning his attention back to Xaphira, "you decided you needed someone to watch your back tonight? What's the matter, don't you trust me anymore?" he asked, chuckling.
"I never trusted you, but no, she's here merely to observe." Then Xaphira's smile faded. "Did you learn anything?"
Quill's own pleasant facade melted away to a deep frown. "Always one to get straight to the point, weren't you?" When Xaphira didn't respond, the man sighed. "Very well. Yes, I found someone who can help you. He's prepared to meet with you right now." Then he glanced over at Emriana and added, "But only you. I didn't tell him anything about a niece, and if we try to change the conditions now, he'll bolt in a heartbeat."
Xaphira nodded, frowning. "Em, stay right here. Don't go anywhere; don't do anything until I get back. You got it?"
Emriana looked across at her aunt reproachfully, but she only nodded. "Not going anywhere, not doing anything," she said, "that's me."
"All right. I'll be back in a little while." Xaphira turned her attention back to Quill. "Lead on," she said, gesturing to the entrance to the alcove. Together, the pair scooted across the bench and out through the curtains, leaving Emriana by herself.
For the first few moments, the girl sat there, studying the rough wood of the table, thinking about how unpleasant the whole excursion had become. She had had no idea just how rough-and-tumble The Silver Fish would be, or she might have decided to remain at the country estate. Then she shook her head, angry with herself.
You get to prowl around the city with your aunt, she scolded herself, and you'd rather be at home, sitting and listening to mother read poetry. The girl rolled her eyes at her own foolishness and decided to get another look at the riffraff below.
Emriana slid out of the seat and peered cautiously through the curtains, checking in both directions before getting up completely. Then she crossed the balcony to the railing and leaned over, looking down. Most of the patrons were busily talking, singing, or drinking, and men were playing dice at one table. It seemed that no one was aware enough to look up and see her watching them, which suited her just fine.
The girl spent a few moments just studying the various individuals in the room, noting the cut and coarseness of their clothing, their unkempt appearance, and the way they carried themselves. Though she found them generally repugnant, she had to admit that they seemed to be enjoying themselves to the fullest. One man, small and wiry with greasy hair tied back from his head, was seated almost directly below her. Her eyes were drawn to him when he began to laugh, for he really guffawed, slapping his hand on the table and sloshing drinks. Across from him, a bulky woman in a bodice that barely contained her ample breasts sat on another man's lap, a huge bear of a fellow with a thick beard and mustache. He was laughing and singing along with the song being performed on the stage, and the hefty dame was bouncing in time to the music and singing right along with him. Though Emriana was embarrassed that the woman seemed to have no shame, the girl was also a bit envious that she seemed so comfortable in the company of the men she was with.
Emriana sighed and was just about to turn back to the safety of her alcove when she noticed a face staring up at her. It belonged to another woman, though she was obviously a bit more refined than the plump matron the girl had been watching. Dressed in purple leggings tucked into supple leather boots and a magenta vest over a white shirt-both of which were unlaced to an indecent level near her navel-the woman had short blonde hair and piercing blue eyes. She was sitting alone on a bench that rested against the far wall and had no table to accompany it, and she was staring right at Emriana intently.
The girl began to stare right back, cocking her head to one side as if to say, "What, exactly, do you want?" When the stranger realized she had been spotted, she shook her head once in consternation and got to her feet. She glanced up once more as she made her way toward the rear of the establishment. Emriana thought the woman had a smug smile on her face. The girl frowned, unsettled by the silent confrontation, and started to follow. Then she remembered her aunt's warning and restrained herself.
No, she trusted me to come with her tonight. I'm not going to make a mess of things.
Emriana returned to her seat in the tiny alcove and waited. After a while, growing bored, the girl began to examine the surface of the table. Countless knives and daggers had carved up the wood, cutting names, simple caricatures, and cryptic symbols over the entire surface. Even so, the wood looked fairly new, not stained and dark as she would have expected.
I wonder how often they have to replace them? Emriana pondered, remembering her aunt's tale of the previous night, when half the furniture in the common area below apparently took a beating. Imagining such a brawl made the girl grin. She could just picture Xaphira in the mid
st of it all, leaping, kicking, and punching, just as she had against the dire-cats earlier that day. She must have been intimidating, the girl thought.
Emriana began to get restless. Xaphira's meeting was taking longer than she would have imagined, and the girl was growing agitated. She did not want to have to sit there and wait much longer.
When another quarter-hour must have gone by, Emriana realized she was growing genuinely worried. Several times, she half rose from the seat with the intention of hunting her aunt down, just to make certain the woman was fine, but each time, she stopped herself, not wishing to interrupt whatever delicate negotiations might have been taking place.
Suddenly, Emriana remembered her pendant. Fool! she silently snapped at herself. It's been hanging around your neck the whole time.
The girl snatched up the opal dangling on the chain and withdrew it from inside her shirt. Clutching it, she closed her eyes and envisioned her aunt, dressed in her telltale red shirt and cloak. Emriana began to speak.
"Aunt Xaphira, are you well? It's been quite a while since you left, and I'm worried about you. Do you need help?"
She paused and waited for a response. There was nothing but silence.
Growing more concerned, Emriana looked at the pendant, wondering if it was functioning properly. She had no way of knowing whether the enchantment had ceased to work or if Aunt Xaphira could not respond at the moment. Either way, she was going to have to find out the old-fashioned way.
Rising to her feet, Emriana slid out of the booth and to the balcony, wondering which direction Quill had taken Xaphira. She was just about to start down the row of alcoves, intent on poking her head inside each one, when a flash of red caught her eye down below, in the common area.
"Aunt Xaphira!" Emriana called out, but her aunt had her back turned and vanished beneath the stairs, never turning around.
Emriana darted down the balcony toward the stairs, rushing to catch up to her aunt.
What's she up to? the girl thought, reaching the bottom of the stairs and pushing past the people milling about. Why did she leave without me?
Emriana was so focused on catching the older woman that she no longer noticed the leering stares or the crude comments uttered in her direction by the other patrons. Just beyond the base of the staircase, a narrow hallway ran toward the back of the establishment, leading to a set of private rooms, including a kitchen or pantry of some sort. Emriana had to dodge and weave to make her way through the passage, for it was crowded with serving folk both coming and going. One skinny fellow with grease stains on an apron covering his front shouted an obscenity at her and told her to get out, but Emriana ignored the man and slipped to the far end of the hall, where it ended in a doorway leading out into the night.
Once through the doorway, Emriana had to stop and let her eyes adjust to the dimness of the evening. The alley in which she stood was dirt, and it stank of rotting vegetables and raw sewage. It couldn't have been more than three paces across, and all the buildings on either side were at least two stories tall, most even higher than that. But there was no sign of the other woman.
"Aunt Xaphira!" Emriana called, taking a few steps away from the doorway and the noise issuing forth from it. She then stood very still and listened. At first, she could hear nothing except for the din of conversation from inside the rathrur and the trickle of some fluids running down the alley, but a moment later, she caught wind of a faint scuffling noise off to her left.
Growing suspicious, the girl turned in that direction, slipping into the shadows and padding silently along the alley, peering into every dark cranny she came upon, listening still for further sounds of movement. At the juncture of The Silver Fish and the next building over, she found what she had been looking for. There was a gap between the two structures, not really wide enough for a man, but certainly spacious enough for a more diminutive woman or girl to squeeze into.
Emriana peered cautiously into the gap, but she did not see anyone moving through it. Then a thought occurred to her and she gazed up just in time to catch the silhouette of someone climbing up the gap, using both walls as support. It was too dark to make the person out clearly, but from Emriana's vantage point, it certainly looked like a woman in a cloak.
Convinced that she was not following her aunt, but rather someone who intended to look like her, Emriana hesitated. She was wary of a trap, but her growing fear for Xaphira's well-being pushed her onward. As silently as she could, she began feeling for hand- and footholds, following the mysterious figure above her. She found the going fairly easy, and she had pulled herself halfway up the building when the figure she was pursuing reached the top and disappeared over the side of the roof.
Damn it all, Emriana silently fumed as she continued her ascent. She'll be long gone before I can get up there. She hastened her pace, hoping against hope that perhaps she could make up some ground and keep her quarry in sight.
As Emriana grabbed at the next handhold and began to haul herself up, there was a bright flash of light overhead and a gout of flame roared down from above, directly at her.
CHAPTER 9
Pilos hurried along a dimly lit and rather uninteresting corridor toward the narrow door at the far end. Though the chances of the Abreeant encountering another priest in that particular section of the temple-a seldom-used wing devoted primarily to storage-at that time of the night was unlikely, he did not wish to be seen. Even the suggestion of impropriety on his part would make the young priest lose his nerve and return to his quarters. And his quarters were the last place in which he wished to spend any more time.
True to his expectations, none of the high priests of Waukeen had sent any kind of word to Pilos on the Grand Syndar's condition in well over a day. As the Abreeant had suspected, Grand Trabbar Lavant had had no intention of keeping Mikolo's attendant informed of the old man's health or potential for recovery. Though he had tried to remain obedient, Pilos could not stand to await news any longer.
Of course, the Abreeant could not approach the Grand Syndar's chambers and demand an explanation. At the very least, the high priests would order him back to his chambers with an admonition to perform some penance for his indiscipline. At worst, they might permanently remove him from his duties and assign him to baser tasks as punishment.
If they didn't just decide I was unfit to serve Waukeen altogether, he silently lamented.
With that thought, Pilos nearly halted his progress and spun around to return to his rooms as fast as he could. The very idea of being denied the opportunity to bathe in the glory that was the Merchant's Friend was abhorrent, and part of Pilos dared not even consider the consequences of what he was preparing to do in place of a frontal confrontation.
When the priest reached the end of the small hallway, where the narrow door faced him, he paused, taking a deep breath and peering back over his shoulder one last time to make certain there was no one there to witness his transgression. Satisfied that he was alone, Pilos slipped a key into the lock of the wooden door, twisted it, and half smiled at the sound and feel of the faint click. Nervously, he pushed the door open, slipped inside, and hurriedly shut it again.
In the dark Pilos could see nothing, so he clutched at his holy coin, which hung from a chain around his neck, and muttered a quick prayer to Waukeen. Instantly a tiny ball of illumination appeared, conjured onto the coin. The light was sufficient for him to see the entirety of the small room, the same as if he had lit a torch, though the glow of his coin was of a more pearly hue, like moonlight. He let the symbol settle back against his breast and peered about.
It was nothing more than a storage closet, a small room lined with shelves on the walls holding linens that were not in use during the summer season. In the fall, when the weather cooled once more, the inhabitants of the temple would very likely retrieve the warmer bedclothes, but for the moment, no one would venture into the closet for any reason…
Unless they knew something unique about the chamber, as Pilos did.
; When he had first been raised to the level of Abreeant and awarded, for his pious service in the temple, the position of servitude to the Grand Syndar himself, Pilos discovered a few secrets-or rather, he was taught those secrets by the Grand Syndar himself-about the architecture of the temple. One such secret was the numerous concealed passages that threaded their way through the temple structure, passing through the thickest of the walls and following narrow and steep staircases to different levels. The Grand Syndar seldom used those covert passageways, but they were there in cases of dire need. As Mikolo explained it at the time, one never knew when the Grand Syndar might need to move from one locale within the temple to another "unmolested," as the old man had put it.
Pilos had never been able to imagine what use the Grand Syndar might have had for such secretive modes of travel, but he did not question their existence, nor did he ever reveal to anyone else that he was aware of them. Right then, he was feeling more than a little gratified that the Grand Syndar had seen fit to share their presence with him.
Moving to the back of the closet, Pilos stared at the shelving attached to the wall for a few moments, trying to recall exactly how the Grand Syndar had made them function. He remembered something about a loose stone, but he could not recall exactly which one might be suitable. He shrugged and began to feel with his hands each of the stones that made up the wall. After the fourth or fifth one, he began to grow frustrated.
Perhaps it wasn't a stone at all, he thought, pondering.
Then the young priest remembered. There had been a loose stone at chest height, but it was on the other side of the wall. From the closet side, the trigger mechanism was actually one of the shelves. In fact, Pilos remembered, it was the bottommost shelf. He reached down and felt with his fingers along the bottom of the lowest one. When they brushed across a small stud, he pressed it in and tugged. The entire shelf shifted, and there was a deep click from inside the stone wall. Very carefully, Pilos stood and pushed against the wall, watching with satisfaction when it swung backward, revealing the narrow passageway beyond.
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