After crossing his arms over his chest, he looked like a man bracing for a storm. 'All right. If you insist.'
Cale hesitated, suddenly unsure of where to begin. He longed to get the secret off his soul, but feared Jak's response. If the little man balked, he had no one else to whom he could turn. He forced himself to begin. 'You know that I came to Selgaunt from Westgate?'
Jak nodded. Westgate straddled the trade route between the Inner Sea and the Sword Coast; a large, rich city brimming with merchants and thieves, pirates and assassins.
'I came here because I was running.'
Jak leaned forward at that, his green eyes curiously intense. 'From what?'
Cale looked at his hands while he spoke, embarrassed by his past. 'When I was just a boy, I was recruited by the Night Masks.'
Jak gave a low whistle at the mention of Westgate's infamous, but now defunct, thieves' guild. 'Dark,' he softly cursed.
Cale ignored him and continued: 'I received all the standard training…' He hesitated at Jak's raised eyebrows. The halfling obviously had some idea of what Night Mask 'standard training' entailed. Cale hurried on. '… but got moved to letters work pretty quick.'
Jak gave a start. 'You? A letters man? Translations and such?' He chuckled softly at Cale's nod. 'I always knew you were too damned smart for your own good, Cale. How many languages do you speak?'
'Nine.'
'Nine!'
Cale sighed in exasperation. 'If you'll stop interrupting,' he snapped, 'maybe I can tell you the rest before dawn.'
Jak started to say something, thought better of it, and closed his mouth with pop. He sank into his chair, sulking.
Cale suppressed a smile. The little man looked like a petulant child ordered into a corner. Cale spoke his next words in a soft, tense voice. 'For a lot of years, I did what Mask guildsmen did-steal, kill, intimidate. I got tired of it, even doing letters work, so I started skimming coin. When it got too hot, I ran-here.' He gestured expansively and gave Jak a slight smile. 'You know the rest.'
Jak sat silently for a moment, staring at Cale as though wondering whether or not it was all right to speak. When Cale gave a nod, Jak sat up in his chair and adopted an overly serious mien. 'Indeed, I do know the rest of your sorry tale, my bald friend. It goes something like this: Despite the advice of your intrepid and fearless halfling friend, Jak Fleet, you foolishly fell in with the Righteous Man and his gang of thugs. The guild being otherwise filled with incompetents, you rose quickly through its ranks. Ultimately, you developed this harebrained scheme to place guild operatives in the noble houses.' He looked up with a straight face, his green eyes all innocence. 'So far, so good?'
Cale smiled despite himself. Jak grinned and went on.
'Unfortunately for you, you came to actually like Thamalon Uskevren and to care for his daughter even more. You protected them over the years by feeding the Righteous Man harmless information. Oh, you occasionally dropped some juicy bit that hurt this or that noble family but never anything that seriously compromised the Uskevren. Now that very scheme has turned around and bitten you in the tail.'
Korvikoum, Cale thought.
'And now your pigeons have come home to roost.'
Cale nodded.
'And now-'
'I get the point,' Cale snapped.
'Good.' Jak sat silently for a moment. He shook his head and his face grew serious. 'That's a tangled web, my friend, and a lot for one man to carry around. I don't know how you've done it.'
Cale held his tongue. He suddenly felt very tired.
'Erevis Cale isn't even your real name, is it?' The halfling spoke softly. 'Can you tell me?'
Cale shook his head. 'You don't want to know.'
Jak accepted that with a slow nod. 'I guess what I call you doesn't really matter anyway. I already know what makes up the man.' Thoughtful, the halfling reached into his belt pouch and pulled out his ivory-bowled pipe. Cale watched silently while his friend tamped the pipeweed and lit. His entire life turned on Jak's next words. After a time, Jak spoke.
'This doesn't change anything, Cale. I'm still your friend and I'm still in.' He blew out a cloud of aromatic smoke.
Cale merely nodded, overcome, too grateful for words. He had a chance.
'Plan?' Jak asked from around his pipe.
Cale smiled. 'Ever drive a nobleman's carriage?'
Near midnight, Cale returned to the brooding turrets of Stormweather Towers and found the household dark. He quietly entered via the servant's entrance and padded up the spiral staircase to the spartan suite that served as his quarters. Needing to speak to Thamalon right away, he changed into his butler's attire-ill-fitting black pants, white shirt, purple-and-black laced doublet-and silently made the rounds of the great house for what might be the last time.
After tomorrow night, he thought sadly, I may never set foot here again.
The plan to ambush the Night Knives hit team presented tremendous risk. He and Jak would need Tymora's own luck to get out alive.
I've got no choice, he reminded himself. Telling Thamalon the truth would cost him everything. The Owl would not trust him again, and Thazienne would never forgive the betrayal. He could run away, of course, as he had from Westgate.
Back in Westgate, though, he had had no friends, no home, no loyalties, nothing to keep him from turning tail. Now, he had a family, he had a friend, people he loved.
I'm through running, he resolved. Fortified, he strode downstairs to look for Lord Uskevren.
He found him seated amidst the book-lined walls of the first floor library, his lord's typical nighttime haunt. Thamalon sat in his favorite chair-a plain high back fashioned from Archendale walnut-and considered an unfinished chess match that sat on the low table before him. A pair of silver goblets and an open bottle of Storm Ruby rested on the floor beside his chair, the wine nearly half gone. The glow of the blazing hearth fire highlighted the tense lines of Thamalon's face.
Cale stood silently in the doorway, suddenly unwilling to disturb his lord. Taking in the wine and incomplete chess match, he knew that another game between Talbot and Thamalon had ended in shouting. Perhaps now was not the best time 'Erevis!' Thamalon caught sight of him and gave a tired smile. 'It's good to see you back. How went the business with your cousin?'
Cale winced inwardly. Years ago, when it had become clear to him that information about the goings-on in Selgaunt's underworld would be useful to Thamalon, he had concocted a fictional cousin, a disreputable man who moved in the darker circles and with whom Cale remained in reluctant contact. While the information Cale provided under the guise of this cousin had repeatedly proven useful to Thamalon in sniffing out this or that plot by a rival house, mention of it only served to remind Cale that his life was a lie.
'The business went well, my lord. It took an unexpected turn, but all is well. Or will be. The affair is yet incomplete, and I must ask a favor.'
'Of course.' Thamalon gestured at the cushioned chair on the other side of the chessboard. 'Come in and sit down, old friend.'
Cale strode slowly across the hardwood floor and sat rigidly in the chair.
'Wine?' Thamalon asked as he refilled his own goblet.
'No thank you, my lord.'
'Care to finish? ' Thamalon gestured at the chessboard, the beginnings of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth.
Cale returned the smile halfheartedly and studied
Talbot's jade pieces. Thamalon always played ivory. After a few moments he shook his head. 'My lord seeks to entrap me. Ivory checkmates in four moves.'
