details, but rest assured that it is absolutely imperative that the priceless legacy of Geerling Ambersong be moved to safekeeping.” He smiled and clasped his hands together like a solicitous concierge. “And we need you three to help.”
Schreders snapped to attention. “It would be an honor!” he announced. “Thank you, Mr. Blade, for even thinking of us!”
“Not at all,” Pryce replied humbly. “It is our duty and responsibility to protect these materials so vital to our nation’s security. We can’t safeguard them here any longereven do not have the energy to cast a protective spell powerful enough to shield my own master’s life’s workso we must turn to you for help.” He then turned dismissively to Inquisitrix Lymwich. “And get that body out of here. It’s blocking the entrance.”p›
Sheyrhen Karkober naturally took up the rear. Some things never change, Pryce thought as he carefully and quietly approached her. Whether in Merrickarta or Lallor, serving wenches usually deferred in the presence of their superiors or customers… but only in their presence. Left alone to her own devices, Pryce imagined Sheyrhen could juggle wine casks, but when in a mixed group such as this one, she played it safe by allowing the male egos to lift the big packages and lead the way.
Pryce carefully moved alongside her in the cavern, watching her walk in her tightly laced waitress costume. “Ah,” he said casually, “I see you have the girdle of priestly might.”
“I beg your pardon!” Sheyrhen said with offense. “I work very hard to maintain my figure.”
Pryce slapped himself on the forehead, but kept pace with her. “No, no,” he quickly corrected. “Not yours… his! Geerling Ambersong’s.” She looked at him blankly. “It’s what you’re carrying,” he said, pointing at the magnificent jewel-and rune-covered vest in her arms.
She looked at it, then at him. Then she dissolved into giggles. “Oh! Oh, of course!”
“It’s not an actual girdle of priestly might, of course,” Pryce said casually, walking beside her. ‘That only appeared after the Time of Troubles. Priests of Mystra took it as a sign that the goddess had regained her power. This is my master’s… Geerling’s… version of it. It is said to give him greater strength and protection when worn.”
“Really?” she said blandly. “How endlessly interesting. Why don’t you wear it, then?”
“The power can’t be transferred,” he told her, taking interest in her disinterest. Was there something she was trying to hide? “In fact,” he continued, “it might have a calamitous effect if I were to try it on.”
“Oh!” she exclaimed, looking at it now with a certain misgiving and holding it farther away from her. Pryce smiled, noticing how the eyes of each militiaman they passed followed them with only their eyes.
“I’m sure there’s no danger to you,” Pryce told her, trying to ignore the disconcerting way one militiaman’s eyes would stop at the right side of his sockets and the eyes of the one next to him would start. “I totally agree with you. No girdle should mar the perfection of your form.”
He watched her reaction carefully. Her eyes shifted toward him with a moment of suspicion, then mutated into a look of pride and pleasure when she decided he wasn’t being vulgar. “Thank you, Mr. Blade.” He could see she was still waiting for him to poison the conversation with an ill-chosen, licentious reply.
So he didn’t even attempt a “Call me Darling.” Instead, he said, ‘That was quite a humorous misunderstanding back there.” “When?”
“When I approached.” “Oh?”
“Yes, and talked about the girdle.” “Oh! Oh, yes.”
“I actually haven’t had a chance to fraternize much. I’ve been too busy studying. I leave all the socializing to Gamor Turkal.”
He might as well have said “Call me Darling,” for the reaction he got. Sheyrhen did not show disappointment, but she grew distant without moving a millimeter away from him. “Gamor,” she repeated flatly.
‘Yes,” he said. ‘You knew him, didn’t you?”
“Oh, yes… I knew him.”
Pryce kept walking beside her, but turned his head toward the ceiling. “Ah, yes, Gamor. He always had an eye for a beautiful wench, serving or otherwise. I always think of them as people first and waitresses second. He always thought of them as… as
“As chattel?” Karkober said coldly. He looked at her in surprise. However, she did not avert her gaze or soften her retort. “I’m sorry, Mr. Blade, but I didn’t like your… friend… Gamor Turkal. He never once looked at me with anything approaching humanity. If I wasn’t a vessel for his fantasies, I was little more than a piece of furniture bringing him his ale.” Only then did she lower her head sadly. “Is that so terrible?”
“No,” Pryce assured her, looking calmly ahead. ‘That’s not nearly as terrible as the other thing we’ve been doing since I first introduced the subject.”
She looked at him with surprise and just a touch of misgiving. “What’s that?”
“Speaking of him in the past tense,” he revealed with a cheerless smile. “Excuse me, would you?” Pryce hastened his stride to move down the passageway until he approached Azzo Schreders.
Unlike his serving wench, Schreders seemed honestly glad to see him. “Blade! Let me say how honored I am to be chosen to even touch, let alone carry, such valuable magical items. I’ll be telling my grandchildren and great- grandchildren about this! Eh, eh?”
“And hopefully even your not-so-great grandchildren, unless they’ve been sent to bed early,” Pryce quipped feebly. Before the barkeep could summon up a forced laugh, Covington continued. “How could I have thought of anyone but the man who makes Lallor run? Everyone knows that if you need refreshment or information, Azzoparde Schreders is at your service.”
The man’s wordless acknowledgement was lacking a bit of his previous bonhomie. Pryce continued, unabashed. “How did you secure such a superlative establishment in the first place? Prices must have been prohibitive, especially a building with such an extensive liquor grotto. What’s your secret, Azzo?”
The man looked stunned by the questions and more than a bit concerned. “Come, come, Azzo,” Pryce said with genuine amusement. “You can tell me. After all, I’m the great Darlington Blade.”
“Sir,” the tavern master started slowly, losing all familiarity and licking his lips, “I wouldn’t want to bore you with the details of my education, training, and experience as a manager of eating and drinking establishments.”
“Of course not,” Pryce agreed. “But I would like to know, in all seriousness, how a man of your education, training, and… what was the third thing again?”
“Experience.”
‘Yes, thank you. Experience… What was I saying?”
“In all seriousness… a man of my experience…” “Ah, yes! Tell me, Azzo, how could you not know about these caverns?”
Azzo blinked, swallowed, and replied, “I did.” “Yes?”
“Oh, yes, Mr. Blade, certainly!” Azzo practically burbled in his rush to confess. “I knew about them all along. This area is attached to my grotto by a small opening high on the rear wall. I knew they were here, but as you can see, I would have had to do extensive renovating to make them suitable for my liquor cellar. Besides, I had no idea where they led to and had no desire for all manner of creatures having access to my liquid refreshments. So I placed a large wine cask over the opening to seal it off.” His smile was tentative. “I even filled the cask with our least distinctive vintage.”
“Really?” Pryce replied with appreciation. “Not much chance of that particular cask being drunk dry, then, eh? Eh?”
Schreders chuckled nervously at Pryce’s imitation of his verbal habit. “You’d be surprised,” he said with forced friendliness. “Why, it was the favorite brew of many, shall we say, less discerning palates?”
Pryce chuckled back. “Like Gamor Turkal’s?”
Schreders stopped chuckling. He even went a little pale. “Why, yes… come to think of it… it’s the only thing Gamor ever drank.”
Pryce nodded. “How endlessly interesting,” he commented, quoting the nervous serving wench. ‘Thank you, Azzo. You’ve told me what I needed to know. Excuse me, won’t you?” He quickly bounded over to where Asche Hartov was heading up the retinue. “Ah, Asche, leading the way, I see.” The mine owner didn’t reply. Pryce tried again. “Spellbooks,” he said, glancing at the volumes the man carried.
‘You have a solid grasp of the obvious,” Hartov said coldly.
