She took the book and read the title from the spine. 'Seeds, Cuttings, and Transplants: A Gardener's Tome for All Seasons.' She passed the book back. 'This is worth something?'
'To an herbalist,' he said, 'yes.' Or to a ranger or druid, and Jaeleen was neither. Baylee wrapped the book in protective leathers, then shoved it into the bag of holding.
'I've never even heard of the author.'
Baylee knew that despite her greedy nature, Jaeleen was well-read. That had been the only chance he'd taken in letting her see the book. 'You've never read any of Iwann's herbologies?'
'Why would I read something like that?'
Baylee had only read the single volume he'd found that mentioned the book in the sacrificial well, but there had been a monograph on the man. 'To learn.'
'About plants? I've got more discriminating tastes than that. Are you done here?'
Baylee stood and nodded.
'Then let's be off,' Jaeleen said, 'before those damned ores decide to gather again.' She looked around the chamber. 'And staying down among the dead when they no longer have anything of worth is more than I can stand.' She grabbed the rope and started up with sinewy grace.
The words stung, but as Baylee watched Jaeleen climb the rope above him, watched how the fabric of her breeches tightened over her hips, he minded less. Jaeleen had a good side; a person just needed to know where to look for it. He smiled, and started up the rope. He'd found his prize, and the night was still young.
5
'As your friend, Fannt, you know I have only your best interests at heart.'
'You, my dear Keraqt, only have my best interests at heart when it is good for your purse.' Fannt Golsway chuckled at the embarrassed look he saw in the other man's face. They sat at a circular table out on the balcony of Golsway's home. The balcony was festooned with a dozen different flowering boxes. The sweet aroma of the moon blossoms circumvented the wind blowing over the Sea Ward of Waterdeep from the Dock Ward. 'But, of course, that very predictability about you is what makes you so endearing. I've always found a man should know what motivates those he keeps company with. Would you care for some more wine?'
Thonsyl Keraqt shifted uncomfortably in the plush chair on the other side of the crystal table. He was a broad man gone to fat with his successes. His robe appeared voluminous, cut of lightweight blue and white silks. His round face beaded with perspiration in spite of the cooling breeze. Long red hair striped with gray hung to his shoulders, echoed in the short beard. He motioned to his nearly empty wine glass.
Golsway poured. He knew Keraqt was only there visiting to find out what he could regarding the old mage's recent renewed interests. It was amazing that Keraqt's lackeys within Waterdeep had discovered the new venture so quickly.
'I'll not bother to respond to your taunts,' Keraqt announced, lifting his glass in a silent toast. 'Not when it is the only price I have to pay for imbibing of such an excellent vintage.'
'You like the wine?'
'Most definitely. I've never had this at your home before.'
'No. It is new.'
'A new vintner?' Unbidden, Keraqt leaned forward with considerable effort and grabbed the wine bottle's neck to check for a label or a wax seal bearing the bottler's crest.
'Actually, yes.' Golsway said nothing about the other man's ill manners. Those who knew the merchant ignored his failings if they intended to use his skills or his resources. What was sad to think for the old mage, was that a merchant who could be as churlish as Keraqt came close to being his best friend in all of Water-deep.
That was of Golsway's own choosing, however. With his home base of operations in Waterdeep, he had never allowed many into his home. He neither needed their pandering or their questions. Usually there were too many maps and books and little-known documents scattered throughout every room and on every conceivable surface to permit anyone to come visiting. As a result, usually the old mage went calling, or a meeting took place in an agreed-upon tavern or inn.
Despite his years, Golsway remained a lean, tall man. Age had not stooped his back yet, nor robbed him of his vigor. His silver hair lay forward on his scalp, coming down to a widow's peak, cropped close in a military- styled cut. He wore a goatee that scarcely covered his chin, then tucked neatly under to come to a point. His ears lay back against the sides of his head, though the right one had a notch bitten out of it. He had never had the wound properly tended to in order that it might be made to look more presentable. He chose to wear it to remind him that he was not infallible. His hooded eyes and narrow face made him resemble a hunting falcon to a degree that he could never deny. He wore a brilliant red robe with a field of stars that announced his fealty to Mystra.
'And who is this new vintner?' Keraqt asked.
Golsway cocked an eyebrow, a move that was known to send those who knew of him into conniption fits. 'Do you press me on this matter?'
Keraqt shook his head then laughed. 'Press you about a vintner, you say? You have always had the tongue for pretty thoughts, haven't you?'
Golsway turned a hand over. 'The new vintner is myself.'
'You jest.'
'Should I show you the basement where I have casks fermenting now?'
'No. I believe you. What I find hard to believe is that boisterous Fannt Golsway, self-appointed re-discoverer of Toril, should spend his days raising and pressing grapes.'
'You admit that the wine is good?'
'Readily.'
'Then my efforts are not met with failure.'
'But to be squashing grapes when you should be putting expeditions together, my friend?'
'Things have changed. I no longer run willy-nilly through the forests and deserts and mountains seeking the truth in some frivolous tale of wonder or drunkenness. There are books that must be written, and I have put them off far too long if I hope to inspire another generation to seek out the mysteries of the ancients.' Golsway shook his head. 'Too many of them are only grave robbers, destroying priceless relics for the gemstones and beaten gold before they know what they hold in their hands.'
'It is the times,' Keraqt lamented. 'You remember the brand of fleeting youth. How it drove us to do things that we should never have done.'
'But my agenda was always clear,' Golsway replied. 'Never did I destroy anything that would advance our knowledge of the past.'
Keraqt kept silent.
Golsway knew the other man could not make that claim. Though in recent years, the merchant's tastes had changed. He had enough money and riches now to be more discerning about what he did with objects that came within his grasp. Many times Golsway had learned that Keraqt had taken less of a profit from some items to place them in the proper hands rather than break them up. It was one of the things that had convinced the old mage to open up his friendship more than it had been.
'Getting back to the wine,' Keraqt said. 'Do you have any flasks ready for sale? I'll send a boy around in the morning. With a fair price only, mind you, and not one copper more.'
'It's not for sale.'
Keraqt spluttered in denial. 'Everything is for sale. It's only a matter of finding the proper time to buy.'
'Send a boy around in the morning,' Golsway invited with a smile. 'I'll send him back with a few flasks I can spare.'
The merchant sipped his wine again and smacked his lips in appreciation. 'What an evening this is turning out to be. First you invite me over for one of the best meals I've had in five tendays or more, then you promise me free wine, and offer to send it to my door.' He linked his fingers in front of him, his elbows resting on the table. The candlelight from the sconces in the corners of the balcony splintered from the jeweled rings on his
