days. He'll be gone by the winter, I think.' He nodded to the tent flap. 'You can't put this off forever, lass. Best get it over with.'
'You're right.' Reluctantly, Icelin approached the closest tent. She called out, 'Fannie Beblee. Are you in there?'
For a breath or two, there was no movement or response from within the tent. Then the cloth flap shuddered and was torn aside by a small brown hand.
The woman who peeked out was so tanned Icelin could barely distinguish her from the darkness of the tent. She peered at Icelin through muddy brown'eyes. Her hair hung in graying, lank halves from a part in the center of her scalp. Sand grains sparkled in the tangled locks.
An angry dust devil, Icelin thought.
'Did you call Fannie Beblee?' The woman spoke in a rush, shoving the two names into one.
'I did,' Icelin said, stepping forward. 'We were sent here from the Dusk and Dawn. I have something to give you.'
The woman's jaw hung slack. She clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth. 'You come from Whalebone Court. A criminal's alley, that is. What you bring me from there that's any good?'
Icelin held Ruen's dice up to the firelight so the woman could see.
'The bosoms are on the bottom,' Sull muttered. Fannie took the dice, pressing them between her two hands. Her face lit with a wicked smile.
'You bring me cursed dice,' she said. 'The boy is cursed.'
'Ruen Morleth?' Icelin said. 'What do you know about him?'
'The world is cold to him,' Fannie said, 'even old Fannie Beblee. So why not be cold right back to the world, eh? That's his way.'
'Is that why he's a thief?' Icelin asked.
'A damn good thiefl' Fannie shook a finger at Icelin and Sull. 'He gave me this.' She worked the strings of her raggedy cotton dress.
'That's all right,' Sull said hastily. 'We don't need to see any of… ahem… whatevet you got under there.'
Fannie shot him a scandalized look. 'You think I'm going to give you this show for nothing?' She propped a hand on her bony hip and stood on her knees, swaying back and forth. 'You pay, then we talk, big fellow. But later. I'm busy now.' She waved a dismissive hand.
Icelin didn't have to look at Sull to know his face was bright red again. She bit her lip hard to keep from laughing.
'This is what I mean.' Fannie pulled a leather cord from around her neck'. Attached to one end-which had been buried in the bodice of her dress-was a tiny quill. A black crow feather, the quill had been stripped of its barbs, and the shaft appeared to have been dipped in gold. There was no longer a hollow end for the ink to reach parchment. So far as Icelin could see, the quill was for decoration only, and served no functional purpose. Yet Fannie gripped the gold shaft like a writing instrument, her tiny brown fingers fitting perfectly around the tip.
'It's… lovely,' Icelin said. 'Ruen gave this to you?'
'From his collection,' Fannie said proudly.
'Collection?'
'Darzmine Hawlace's collection. They say he is mad- Darzmine, not Ruen-but he is not. Smart was the word. Hoarded items of power, disguised as art. Ruen was smarter. He knows art and power too. Knew just what to take from old Darzmine.'
'So this is one of the pieces Ruen stole, the theft that got him imprisoned.' Icelin looked at the quill with new eyes. 'What is its power?'
Fannie's smile broadened. 'I show you, but only you.' She waved Sull away. 'He don't understand.'
Icelin and Sull exchanged glances. Icelin nodded at the water. 'Wait for me over there. If trouble comes, I'll scream until my lungs burst.'
Sull hesitated, and nodded. Icelin watched him stride down the shore to where the brown water lapped at the sand.
'What wouldn't my friend understand?' Icelin asked. But the woman didn't seem to hear her. She squatted in the sand and bent close to the fire. By the light, Icelin could see her tanned skin hanging in tiny ripples off her neck. She must have been almost fifty winters old. How long had she lived out here, alone?
Fannie looked up to make sure Icelin was still watching, whistled like an angry bird, and went back to her work.
Icelin realized she was sketching a picture in the sand. The gold quill matched the fire in color and movement. Remnants of the crow feather quivered in time to Fannie's scrawling.
'Here it is,' Fannie said. 'Now look. Move, girl.'
Icelin hiked up her skirt and crouched in the sand, bending her head close to the prostitute's. The figure she had drawn in the sand was a hawk. She could see the predator's talons and curved beak. For a sand drawing, the picture was remarkably vivid. The depression where Fannie had placed the raptors eye almost seemed alive.
Icelin gasped. The bird's head and body were rising, drawing sand and separating from it at the same time, as if they'd been buried and not merely a sketch. The thing took on shape and mass before Icelin's eyes. She had seen castles forged from sand or mud, but she'd never imagined the childish images coming alive.
The bird shook out its wings. Sand flew, catching a shocked Icelin in the face.
'Is it real?' she whispered, afraid to disturb the air and cause the sand-bird to disappear.
Fannie laughed. 'No, no. Magic tells it what shape to take, and magic holds it together. Won't last long, but it makes a pretty art. Turtles,' she said, chewing her lip. 'I like turtles better. They don't move so fast, and the shells make them last longer.'
Icelin reached out to touch the slender bird's wing. When she pulled her fingers back, they were glazed with sand. The bird did not react to her touch. It spread its wings as if for flight, and collapsed into a pile of sand.
'See,' Fannie said, disappointment heavy in her voice, 'they try to fly and fall.'
'That was amazing,' Icelin said.
'Aha! I knew you would understand,' Fannie said. 'He will like you, poor man.'
Abruptly recalling why she was there, Icelin sobered. 'You mean Ruen. I need to find him. I was told that you could help me.'
'Oh, I can,' Fannie said. Her gaze turned shrewd. 'But what can you give to Fannie for helping you?'
Icelin didn't know what to say. She was rapidly running out of coins, and she suspected a woman like Fannie had as little use for them as the woman and het bean pot.
Inspiration struck her. 'My friend, the one you sent away'-she waved an arm to get Sull's attention down the beach and motioned for him to rejoin them-'is the finest cook in Waterdeep.'
'Is he?' Fannie watched Sull with renewed interest.
In truth, Icelin had no proof that Sull was any good in the kitchen, but she hoped Fannie wouldn't know the difference.
'Sull,' she said, when the butchet approached, 'I wonder if you would be willing to cook a meal for Fannie, as payment for telling us where to find Ruen Morleth?'
Fannie nodded eagetly, but Sull was looking atound at the barren camp.
'Be happy to,' he said. 'But I've got no tools here.'
'I have them!' Fannie scurried back into her tent like a mouse going to ground. She came up with a small black frypan, which she handed to Sull. 'You cook for me with this.'
Sull scratched his sideburns. 'I suppose I could do a little fishin',' he said slowly. 'Don't know what I'll catch that's not contaminated.'
'Just try. That's all I ask,' Icelin said, and turned back to Fannie. 'Sull will cook for you, but we haven't much time. I need you to set up a meeting for me with Ruen. Can you do that?'
'Ah, I do one better for you, since you cook for Fannie.' The woman pointed out to the harbor. 'You find him out there. He takes a little raft out every night, to catch his own fish. You take a boat, go beyond Whalebone Court, and you find him. You'll see his light on a sagging pole. Only he goes out far enough to waltz. You'll find him.'
Sull shook his head. 'I don't like the sound of this,' he said. 'You're not going out there alone while I'm here cookin'-'
'It's our bargain, Sull,' Icelin said firmly. 'Besides'-she lowered her voice-'if it is a trap, at least you'll be on
