an unfortunately early end.
He paused in the stairwell to alter his appearance, just in case he ran into any of the well-heeled folk he’d met at the historical society, the theater opening, or Lady Moonbrace’s tea. He changed his hair color, thickened his nose, and added twenty years of lines and crow’s-feet to his face, then proceeded to the lobby. Seila’s suspicion was a disappointment, to say the least. Somehow he would have to find his way back into her good graces, but other events would seem to suggest that the best thing he could do for the moment was to drop out of sight. With the wizard Tarandor and Dresimil’s dark elf warriors both looking for him, the lower his profile, the better. Matters were entirely out of hand; he could hardly make a show of repairing his good name when he dared not show his face in public.
He descended the stairs to the house’s lobby and spied a wine steward arranging his service at one side of the room. Jack crossed the gleaming marble floor, eying a goblet of Chessentan red. “Five talents, sir,” the steward said.
“Half a crown for a cup of mediocre wine?” Jack grumbled, but he fished the necessary coinage out of his purse and paid the fellow. He was not the only audience member up and out of his seat; a handful of others were in search of refreshment, or on their way to or from the powder rooms. Putting his back to the wall, he turned to watch the fine folk come and go-and then he saw Fetterfist. The tall, yellow-haired lord wore a tunic of blue with a great gold chain and a shapeless blue hat; he had a pair of striking beauties on his arms, one with dark hair and the other with hair of burnished copper.
Quickly Jack turned back to the wine steward and gestured discretely at the unknown lord. “Who is that fellow in blue, the one with the redhead and brunette in his company?” he asked the servant.
The steward gave a small shrug. “Why, I am not sure if I remember his name.” Jack produced a gold crown and pressed it into the steward’s hand. “Ah, wait, now it comes to me,” the steward continued. “That is Lord Cailek Balathorp, of the Balathorp family. His companions I do not recognize, but he seems to be in different company each time he attends.”
“My thanks,” Jack said drily. He stood watching Balathorp-Fetterfist-while he considered his various difficulties … and then a bold idea came to him. He examined the notion carefully, considering it in all its aspects, and nodded firmly to himself. Two different parties wished to deprive Jack of his freedom; very well, he would see to it that their ambitions were fulfilled, so that perhaps they might leave him in peace.
Draining the last of his cup, Jack ambled toward Balathorp and gave a small bow. “My lord, might I have a discreet word with you?”
Balathorp glanced at Jack with a look of annoyance. “Do I know you?” he asked.
“No, my lord, but we share certain business interests.”
“I do not attend the opera to discuss business.”
“I will not take much of your time.” Jack raised a hand to his chest, and made a show of wrapping the fingers of the other around his wrist as if to massage an ache … or to imitate a manacle.
Balathorp’s eyes narrowed, but he acceded. “Mirta, Saneyn, excuse me for just a moment,” he said to his companions. He followed as Jack drew him aside to a quiet corner of the room, where no one else stood within earshot. After a quick glance around, the tall lord scowled at Jack and said, “This had better be important. I never permit my business interests to intrude in the social circles I customarily inhabit.”
“Do you know Jack Ravenwild? Sometimes called Jaer Kell Wildhame?”
“The rescuer of Seila Norwood. What of him?”
“Our friends in Chumavhraele are anxious to get their hands on him.”
Balathorp hesitated. “Who are you?”
“Let us say we share an employer,” Jack replied. “What would you say if I were to tell you that I can have Ravenwild waiting for you at the warehouse of Mumfort and Company in Bitterstone-say, the night of the seventeenth at midnight?”
“I would wonder why you needed me.”
“Transportation of goods, my dear sir. It is your area of expertise, is it not?” Jack pressed on quickly; intermission had been announced, and audience members by the dozens were beginning to arrive in the lobby. “I can get Ravenwild to the warehouse and have him ready to be moved. All you need do is take him … downstairs. I understand there is a substantial reward for his capture. Are you interested?” That last remark about a reward was simple speculation on his part, of course, but he thought it had a certain plausibility; if Dresimil was willing to send her warriors up into the streets of Raven’s Bluff, she was likely willing to pay well for his return if someone else arranged it.
“I am well aware of the reward for Ravenwild,” Balathorp answered, confirming Jack’s guess. “But how do you profit from this arrangement?”
“I am well paid for my services,” Jack said with a sly smile. “You might say I am on retainer.”
Balathorp-Fetterfist-studied Jack for a long moment, his eyes cold as steel. “The fact remains that I do not know you, and have no real reason to trust you,” he finally said.
“You will have to accustom yourself to the former condition. I have reason to avoid giving you my name. As for the latter …” Jack gave a small shrug. “You are regarded as a reliable fellow, and I would be happy to employ you. But if you are not interested, I can find someone else.”
Balathorp glanced around at the increasing crowd, and lowered his voice. “Fine: Mumfort’s, two nights from now, twelve bells.”
“Excellent,” Jack replied. He nodded and began to leave, but Balathorp reached out with one long-fingered hand and grasped him by the upper arm. The slaver’s grip was strong, and he did not spare his strength.
“I have my ways of getting to the bottom of things,” the tall lord murmured. “If you wind up wasting my time, I will find out who you are, and you will have cause to regret trifling with me. And one last thing-never approach me in public again.” Then he released Jack and headed back to rejoin his companions.
Jack surreptitiously rubbed at his arm, and allowed himself a smile. “One down,” he remarked to himself. Then he let himself out of Rundelstone and headed into the gloomy night.
Putting his unfortunate argument with Seila out of his mind for the moment, Jack hurried back to the Smoke Wyrm with a tentative answer to his difficulties taking shape in his mind. The night was damp, cool, and windy; a waning moon peeked through fast-scudding clouds from time to time, but otherwise the sky was dark and starless. He retained his nondescript magical guise until he reached Vesper Way, just in case anyone with sinister intentions toward him was skulking about in the shadowed alleyways and looking for a wiry, dark-haired, dark-goateed fellow with a confident manner and impeccable taste in clothing. No dark elf war parties or cabals of scheming wizards put in an appearance, so Jack deemed his precautions a success and trotted down the steps to Tharzon’s tap- room.
The Smoke Wyrm was as full as Jack had seen it. Close to twoscore laborers, clerks, touts, merchants’ wives, and dancing girls crowded the room, all of them speaking loudly at once to be heard over the energetic strumming of a trio of minstrels who played by the far wall. It was a merry little scene, and Jack had half a mind to join in the revels for an hour or two … but he had serious business to attend, and there would be time for good ale and dancing later. He paused to study the crowd and spied the brawny half-orc Narm against the wall, nursing a mug of Old Smoky.
Jack made his way over to the swordsman and inclined his head. “Narm, I believe you are just the fellow I am looking for,” he began. “Did you get your cut from Tharzon?”
“Not a quarter-hour ago,” Narm answered. He patted his left side; there was a jingle of mail and a clink of coin. “Tharzon called me over as soon as I walked in the door. A good thing, too, because I was beginning to wonder whether you had a notion to play us false.”
“Such a notion never crossed my mind,” Jack said nervously, belatedly asking himself if Narm was in fact the fellow he needed at the moment. “I merely retained the book until I was certain the entire sum was forthcoming.”
Narm nodded. “A wise precaution. When one agrees to perform a dangerous task in exchange for a certain sum of gold, one expects to be paid.”
“I agree wholeheardedly,” Jack replied. There was no need to bring up the additional fee he’d negotiated for the Sarkonagael’s return. “Now, speaking of employment … would the Blue Wyverns be interested in assisting me the night after next, around nine bells? I need to arrange a difficult transaction, and I am willing to pay each of you
