'The second, sire?'
'The first being waking up to discover myself next to the Tharchioness, who still happens to be breathing.'
'Yes, sire,' Rickman acknowledged, quickly returning to the matter at hand. 'In an effort to, how shall I say, tie up all of the loose ends, I am afraid that I have discovered one that is not all that easy to tie up.'
'How so?'
'That thespian who was released yesterday.'
'Yes?' demanded the High Blade, beginning to loose patience.
'We can't locate him.'
The High Blade could barely contain the rage that had been building within him since he had first discovered his wife's plot against him. The captain of the Hawks hastened to continue his debriefing.
'My spies have narrowed down the source of his sanctuary to two possible allies in the city.'
'So he is still in Mulmaster?' Selfaril asked. 'Are you sure of this?'
'The city watch at the gate is quite confident he has not left the city walls since his release from Southroad Keep.'
'Well that is a small consolation,' the High Blade acknowledged. 'Who are these possible allies? Spies and agents within the city perhaps? Maybe a Harper agent?'
'No, your majesty,' Rickman replied with great confidence and surety. 'My sources are quite confident that organizations such as the Harpers and their ilk have no presence within the city walls of Mulmaster. The Cloaks constantly scan the area with their psionic surveillance, and have always come up empty. Harper interference is the least of our problems.'
'Go on,' the High Blade instructed, relieved that one of his fears was unfounded, though still perturbed by the amount of dancing around the truth that Rickman seemed to be doing. 'So who are these potential allies of this common itinerant thespian whom your men saw fit to release?'
Rickman tried to skip over the reference to the incompetence of his men and continued. 'Since we have safely ruled out all normal residential city inhabitants, this reduces our suspects to recent arrivals to the city.'
'Agreed.'
'Unfortunately, your majesty, our most likely candidate is one of your wife's people, or more specifically someone in her entourage.'
Selfaril's composure began to slip again.
'You mean this so-called harmless itinerant thespian was a Thayan spy!' he shouted, confident that the soundproof walls of his office prevented anyone from eavesdropping. 'Your men released from their custody a Thayan spy!'
'No, your majesty,' Rickman quickly tried to explain. 'What I meant to say was that your wife's people, for some reason presently unknown to us, might be offering him refuge.'
Selfaril winced at Rickman's repeated use of the phrase 'your wife's,' but continued his interrogation nonetheless.
'You said there were two possible allies for the thespian within the city. Who is the other one?'
'A writer of some renown who arrived at the city the day after the thespian. One Volothamp Geddarm, guide book author and world traveler,' the captain of the Hawks explained. 'Curiously enough, he seems to have secured himself accommodations for two, though the city watch reported that he entered the city alone.'
'Well, have him arrested,' Selfaril ordered matter-of-factly. 'If he knows the location of your harmless thespian, we'll no doubt get it out of him with torture. If not, we will at least have succeeded in ridding Faerun of one more annoyance. If there is one thing worse than an itinerant actor, it's an itinerant writer. Believe me, he won't be missed.'
'Unfortunately, at least according to the city watch, it would appear that he has already left the city, though there is every indication that he plans on returning as he has maintained his lodgings at the Traveler's Cloak Inn, paid in advance.'
Selfaril fingered his carefully coifed beard with a neatly manicured fingernail that he kept sharp enough to draw blood.
'Issue a warrant for his arrest and for the thespian as well,' the High Blade ordered. 'Search his lodgings immediately and confiscate his belongings. If anyone asks what he is suspected of, be vague, but leave the implication that they are both involved with a plot to kill my dear sweet wife, just to make it interesting.'
'Yes, your majesty,' Rickman replied, admiring the deceitful mastery that the High Blade choreographed as he tightened the noose around the Thayan bitch's neck. 'And are there any new instructions concerning your brother, sire?'
The High Blade gave his second a glare that could only be described as a death look.
'Rickman,' Selfaril said in an ominously controlled voice, 'you are quite valuable to me, but not so valuable that I would hesitate having you permanently removed in a millisecond should the mood strike me. It would be in your best interest to refrain in the future from the use of any familial terms in my presence. Do you understand?'
'Yes, your majesty,' Rickman replied, his lone eye averted and downcast.
'As for the prisoner,' Selfaril concluded, 'there are no new orders. I can't imagine that we will have to keep him alive much longer. Soon he will be used to embarrass the Tharchioness by exposing her seditious plot, and after that, he will be disposed of. For the time being, he's harmless, and he's not going anywhere.'
At the Traveler's Cloak Inn:
Passepout, though he had slept well past the midday point, was still quite groggy, and slightly queasy from the previous night's merriment.
A sensible individual would probably have taken things easy, until his hangover had passed. Unfortunately the chubby thespian's mammoth appetite had no desire to be ruled by common sense, and as a result Passepout soon found himself in the dining room placing a food order that at once combined the sustenance and bulk of a midnight snack, breakfast, brunch, and lunch.
'You'll be sorry,' the usually understanding and accommodating Dela advised.
The chubby thespian just harumphed back at her, trying to clear his head of the miasma of Morpheus, and paying no mind to the worldly wisdom offered by the best hostler in all Mulmaster.
When the plate was placed in front of him, he immediately dug in without so much as a thank you or other acknowledgement for the efforts of the hard working innkeeper.
True to the advisement of Dela, he was midway through his second plateful when his stomach revolted, and his faced turned a sickly color of pea green.
Dela, who had been keeping a close eye on her least favorite guest of the moment, decided that she had taken quite enough abuse up to this point. She strode over to the chair that was straining under the weight of the heavy thespian and, taking him by the collar, none too gently escorted him to the door.
'There will be no getting sick in the Traveler's Cloak Inn for as long as I'm still the proprietor,' she sternly instructed. 'I don't care if you are a friend of Volothamp Geddarm's, or not. You are an embarrassment to all of the well-mannered gentlemen who have passed through these doors before you. I don't care where you go, just don't come back here until you have learned yourself some manners.'
The portly thespian tried to protest but found himself unable to hold back the upcoming deluge from his stomach and formulate words at the same time. Passepout instead concentrated on just keeping from passing out.
Releasing the actor's collar, and with a little bit of encouragement from the sole of her shoe, Dela propelled the green-faced thespian out into the Mulmaster city streets, where the human projectile quickly wandered off, and passed out.
Moments later, Dela's afternoon tea was interrupted by a contingent of Hawks with a warrant for the arrest and confiscation of goods for both Volothamp Geddarm and Passepout, son of Idle and Catinflas.
Dela, the perfect innkeeper, informed the guards that both guests were no longer on the premises, and that if either of them returned, she would immediately inform the local authorities.
Mentally she added in her own mind, once I've warned them and sent them on their way, of course.
Dela had no desire to alienate either the local authorities or her guests, which is probably why she was
