Silverfall: Stories of the Seven Sisters

don't you?'

His burly henchman peered at him a little owlishly, then reddened, nodded curtly, and spun around to plow his way roughly through the drink-swilling throng.

The false Maervidal watched him go a little longingly, and did not fail to notice that two other men she knew to be Zhents advanced smoothly to fill the gap left by Aldluck's departure. They were keeping their rabbit in a corner, against a wall.

'Loyal scrivener,' Calivar Murpeth purred proudly, 'may I introduce to you Nildon Baraejhe, who's come to us all the way from the Border Kingdoms?'

'To be sure the saisha was fresh,' Nildon said in a wet, avid voice, his eyes gleaming as he looked at Maervidal.

'And over here stands Aliphar Moongul, who deals in perfumes, oils, and medicines.'

'As well as more deadly things,' the handsome travel shy;ing merchant added with a smile, bowing.

They, uh, they certainly weren't s-subtle, were they? Storm adopted Maervidal's best stammer. 'I'm, uh, I'm not exactly sure what saisha is, that is, why is, um, why is it so … important?'

'It costs much,' the Borderer hissed, 'because the Tashlutan herbs it is made from are rare, and the recipe is secret. It paralyzes the entire body, save for the senses, the lungs, and the jaw-which it makes hang slack-for about three hours, then passes off as if it had never been there.'

'And in your three hours,' Murpeth purred, 'we'll help you to a nice, private bed.'

'A bed?' Maervidal asked faintly 'Will I, uh, feel sleepy?'

If Storm had been standing there as herself, she'd have asked sardonically, 'Where you'll slay me while I can't resist? Well, try not to get blood on the linen.' She'd almost said that, but caught herself in time. She had to remem shy;ber she wasn't being Storm Silverhand just now, but a somewhat handsome, good-natured, scholarly scrivener-a scrivener who'd be so tremblingly scared by now, hemmed in by tauntingly sinister Zhentarim, that he'd be on the verge of filling his pants.

'Ah, uh, excuse me,' the false Maervidal said, thrusting her glass into Murpeth's hand. 'I–I must visit the jakes!'

She strode between the startled Zhent leader and the Borderer, who didn't slide across to block her rush quite quickly enough. Hearty laughter erupted around the false Maervidal instead, as if she'd said something hilarious. The scrivener almost scurried as she went, clapping a hand to the seat of her breeches as if in distress.

A cold-eyed Calivar Murpeth watched her go, and lifted one hand in a casual gesture. It was a subtle signal, but two men standing near among the chattering drinkers had been watching for it, and strolled over, lifting their glasses as if in salutation, to murmur, 'Yes, lord?'

'The man we were talking to is a Harper. He knows we intend to kill him. Follow him into the jakes, swiftly, and prevent any Harper tricks.'

'At once, lord,' the two men said, turning in swift unison.

As Murpeth, Baraejhe, and Moongul watched them go, the Zhentarim leader murmured, 'our best slyblades, sirs. The more stout one is Wyndal Thone, and the taller, Blaeragh Ridranus. Thone once killed a Watchful Order mage of Waterdeep in the headquarters of the Order.'

The eyebrows of the poisoner and the merchant who'd brought him were still rising when they saw Maervidal pause in his hurrying to look back at them all. Murpeth smiled grimly. 'Yes. He's up to something.'

'One man, in a Jakes? He could kill himself, yes,' Moongul said, scratching his chin thoughtfully with the lip of his glass, 'but what else need you worry about? He doesn't look like much of a challenge. I think any one of my wives could easily down him, if they were both given knives.'

'Wives?' the Borderer asked. 'Many men find one more than enough.'

The merchant smiled thinly. 'Merchants who travel much tend to look for places they can relax at either end of a route. Few women know much about a merchant's route, let alone what's at the other end of it.'

Murpeth smiled. 'As to your question, Moongul, we worry about nothing, but try to keep costs down. If our fleeing scrivener sets fire to this place, or hauls out an enchanted sword, say, the costs of taking him increase. Some of our most powerful mages and priests can afford waste, but they tend to frown on ah, purely local wastage. You could say that fleeing man has already been a waste to us.'

When Thone and Ridranus shouldered their way into the jakes, they found it empty of the 'purely local waste'- and everyone else. It had one small window, a vent grate, a washbasin, and the glory-stool. The first two were closed and secure, even when Ridranus pitted all of his not-inconsiderable strength against them, and he was a far stronger man than the fleeing scrivener. The third offered no concealment for anything larger than a spider, and the fourth emptied down a chute large enough for a cat, per shy;haps, but not a man. That left either magic, or-'That alcove, beside the door,' Thone hissed, whirling around. 'Quickly!'

When the two slyblades jerked the alcove curtains aside and plunged into the gloom within, they found themselves in a cloakroom. It held cloaks on pegs, a rude bench around the walls beneath the hanging cloaks, and a person, turned away from them with one foot up on the bench.

They could see it was not the scrivener. Out of habit the slyblades moved swiftly to block any escape before Thone murmured, 'Excuse me …'

The lady escort who was standing adjusting her garters turned unconcernedly to face them, not bothering to lower her silvershot gown to cover the wisp of silk and the magnificent legs beneath. 'Yes, gentlesirs?' she asked with a half smile. 'If Talantha can be of service to you in any way….'

Ridranus tried to lean and peer past her-one had to be sure, and the scrivener had been a smallish man, and he might be crouching under the bench in her shadow, mightn't he? — and she lifted an eyebrow at him. 'Interested in spending a little coin?'

Long, painted-nailed fingers drew aside the gown to reveal a pert breast capped by a dangle-tassel made of fine strips of goldendazzle. Thone grinned at it despite himself.

When Ridranus started to rumble a refusal to the wench and thrust her aside, Thone caught at his com shy;rade's wrist and said with a gleam in his eye, 'Yes. Ten silver, to come and talk to us for an hour. The drinks are on us. There's some special wine we want you to try.' His gaze swept slowly from her head to her toes, collecting her impish smile en route, and when he was done he added with a soft smile, 'Depending on what we discuss, we may be able to find more coins later.'

The revel was in lull swing-a term that for merchants had nothing to do with dancing and little to do with lady escorts. No, it had to do with swilling wine and gobbling trays of various succulent hand-tarts almost absentmindedly whilst talking …

. . and talking, and talking, excitedly remaking the world and almost out of habit trying to forge deals. As the Zhentarim guided their find back through the clusters of loud, flush-faced men, Faerun was being enthusiastically examined and reshaped, here in this crowded feast hall.

'… if one contrives, from time to time, to stop lusting after things, much money and distress, I find, are to be saved.'

'… I think your attitude in this matter is weak-'

'… some priests strive for the calm face, yes, but I find the nearest stump or statue can do the blank look even better-and probably think deeper thoughts than the priest, to boot.'

'. . trappings of power, man? What trappings of power?'

Calivar Murpeth was looking like a thundercloud when the slyblades came back to his corner with a woman- an over-painted lady escort at that, despite the fact that she was very pleasant to look upon, and moved with quiet grace-and not a frightened scrivener. Thone went straight up to him and murmured in his ear, which resulted in a few more hand signs, and certain men hur shy;riedly leaving the press of Sembian game hunters, outlander merchants of all sorts, and even a few dale shopkeepers still crowding the feast hall.

'… so you have a fortune, yes, but do you deserve it?'

'… the name escapes me, but I remember those br-'

'Yes, yes, just so. I remember them too.'

'… and 'tis a most reprehensible habit.'

'. . yet it is obvious-to me at least-that our social spheres are widely different. You boast of something I would never dream of doing-that every Saerloonian, I daresay, would never dream of doing.'

'. . you deceive yourself, sir. Why, I-'