Surprise registered on the magic-user's face. That wasn't the answer she'd expected at all. Still, Midnight recovered from her surprise quickly and continued her questioning of the butcher. 'Were there any artifacts or books left behind by the worshipers of Liberty's Maiden?'
'Ah,' Beardmere said, convinced that he had finally pegged the inquisitive mage. 'Are you a collector, as well?'
Midnight smiled when she saw Quillian hovering nearby, obviously listening to the conversation. 'I am,' the mage said, a little louder than needed. The black-haired boy blushed and turned away.
The butcher nodded and led Midnight and Quillian into the back of the former temple, through a few rooms that had been converted for storage and office space. They reached the top of a stairway, then Beardmere grabbed a torch and ushered the mage and her young guide into the basement.
A musty smell assaulted Midnight's senses as she stepped off the landing and found herself in a small, dirty room filled with abandoned items from the former temple. There were empty shipping crates scattered across the rough dirt floor, and waterlogged ledgers tossed here and there around the damp cellar.
'I sold quite a bit of what was left behind, you understand,' Beardmere said, wiping a cobweb from his face. 'But many of the items were of no value to anyone in the city. Of course, it would have been sacrilegious to destroy them, so I've kept them stored down here. Someone from the city tried to cart them off, but I wouldn't let him. Just wouldn't seem right, somehow.'
Midnight pushed aside a crate and gasped as she found herself staring into the eyes of a beautiful, white- skinned woman. It took her a moment to realize this was the statue of Waukeen, the Goddess of Trade. One of the two golden lions that had once adorned her temple lay at her feet.
Withdrawing the sphere of detection from her travel bag, the mage held the magical item close to the statues. She had no reason to believe that Bane would hide the Tablet of Fate in its original form. In fact, the tablets were probably carefully disguised.
But when the sphere touched the statue, nothing happened. The mage methodically searched the entire basement, her heart thundering in anticipation. Each time she touched an item from the temple, though, the results were the same. The magical sphere of detection remained dark and intact.
Beardmere and Quillian watched Midnight as she moved around the basement. 'See anything you like?' the butcher asked at last, his attention riveted on the amber sphere in the mage's hand.
Midnight's disappointment was evident in her voice as she put the sphere away. 'I'm sorry, no.'
Beardmere nodded. 'What exactly are you looking for?'
The mage forced a smile. 'I can't really say but I'll know it when I find it.'
Midnight thanked Beardmere for his patience as she left the shop. Then the raven-haired mage and her guide took to the streets once more.
'What was that thing?' Quillian Dencery asked, trying to appear casual. 'That yellowish orb you were waving around. Is it magic?'
'No questions,' Midnight said firmly. She stopped walking and grabbed the black-haired boy's arm. 'How many times do I have to tell you that it's better that you don't know anything? Where's our next stop?'
'It's almost time for eveningfeast. I thought we might stop off at the Dark Harvest Festhall to grab a bite — '
Midnight squeezed the young man's arm a little tighter. 'Quillian, for what I'm paying you, I expect to be taken very seriously. I do not intend to wander aimlessly, visiting pubs instead of — '
The young man twisted free of Midnight's grasp. 'For a scholar, you don't have much patience, do you?'
Midnight said nothing.
'I happen to know that worshipers of Bhaal, Lord of Murder, meet in the gaming rooms of the Dark Harvest almost nightly,' Quillian snapped, rubbing his arm. 'If you're looking for something specific — and I think you are — you should go there.'
'Perhaps I misjudged you,' Midnight noted warily, trying to keep the excitement from her voice. Bhaal was an ally of Myrkul, and Bane had stolen the Tablets with Myrkul's assistance. 'The Dark Harvest it is.'
The pair traveled south for three blocks, then headed east to the festhall. Midnight looked up toward the blinding face of the sun; its position hadn't changed since she first arrived in Tantras. Daylight had continued, as the watchmen at the harbor had warned her, twenty-four hours a day.
Turning her attentions to the festhall, the mage was not surprised to discover that the squat, one-story building had been painted black with blood-red trim. Agents of the Black Lord and worshipers of Bhaal, the God of Assassins, would find the Dark Harvest a welcome sight in this colorful merchant city.
But as Quillian grabbed the door to the tavern, Midnight realized how foolish she was being by entering a place frequented by the God of Strife's allies. 'I've changed my mind,' the raven-haired mage told her guide. 'We'll find somewhere else to dine. We can always come back here for information later, if we're not successful anywhere else.'
The young man shrugged and looked away. 'Whatever you say, milady. We could head south and pass through the ruins of the Temple of Sune on our way to another place to eat.'
At the mention of the Goddess of Beauty, Midnight thought of Adon. For the first time since she'd left the Lazy Moon, the mage was thankful that she had gone to search the temples without her friends.
Quillian quickly led Midnight through a few alleys. Within ten minutes they were at the ruined temple. 'It burned to the ground a few weeks ago,' the young man told the mage as they stood near the heaps of scorched timber that were once part of the house of worship. 'Rumors say the clerics destroyed the place themselves, just to spite the Tormites. The Sunites left the city right after the 'accident'.' Midnight walked through the wreckage with the sphere of detection and was disappointed once again. After a few minutes of fruitless searching, she turned to Quillian and said, 'Why did the Sunites leave?'
'I really don't know,' the dark-haired boy said. 'But there may be a way to find out. In many circles, the Curran Inn is known as the Wagging Tongue. A few discreet inquiries and you should be able to learn what you want to know.' Midnight shook her head. 'Another inn? I suspect you're just taking me there so I can buy you eveningfeast.' When Quillian shrugged, the mage smiled and said, 'Very well. Let's go to the Wagging Tongue.'
Quillian led the mage west, to a small inn several blocks from the harbor. The taproom of the inn was filled to capacity, and raucous laughter could be heard a full block away from the tavern. To get a position at the bar, Midnight had to push between a pair of off-duty guards who wore the gauntlet of Torm. Quillian stood waiting behind her.
Staring at the wiry, dark-skinned man behind the bar, the mage grinned. It had been a long time since the days when she had traveled on her own and frequented noisy, smelly inns like this one. And though she could remember all the points of 'etiquette' that one used to be accepted in the company of crude, ill-mannered louts, Midnight felt strange about using it. She wanted to be able to ask her questions, receive the proper answers, and be on her way. That thought would have shocked her three months ago, when she still considered herself a 'wild' adventuress.
As Midnight pondered that thought, the innkeeper placed his elbow on the bar and leaned in close to her. His foul breath and bloodshot eyes shocked her out of her musings. 'Would it kill you to actually order something?' the man grumbled.
'That depends on what poisons you're trying to pass off as fine ales,' Midnight remarked without flinching.
The man tilted his head slightly. 'Afraid I'll get you so drunk that you'll fall prey to my charms?'
Though she quickly found that she hadn't lost any of her wit, Midnight soon tired of the little game. She would have ended it and simply asked for some information, but the mage knew that she wouldn't learn a thing if she didn't play along for a while, at least. 'Under those circumstances, I'd have to be dead, not drunk.'
'Or dead drunk!' one of the two guards flanking Midnight said with a slurred voice then broke into a fit of uncontrollable snickering. It look him a moment to realize no one else was laughing.
Midnight let a slight laugh escape her as she said, 'Give me a double of whatever he's having. Then maybe you can tell me something.'
'I can tell you plenty,' the innkeeper grumbled as he took a large red bottle out from behind the bar. Both fighters mumbled in agreement.
'I'm sure you can,' Midnight sighed. 'But what I'm interested in is that burned-out building a few blocks
