pondered what affect the years had had upon Jinnaoth-and the man she'd once known.
SEVEN
NIGHTAL 20, THE YEAR OF DEEP WATER DRIFTING (1480 DR)
Several blocks of cold streets passed in an unremarkable blur, Quessahn's mind elsewhere, her eyes only mechanically watching her surroundings. The gates of the House of Wonder opened noiselessly, the cold iron numbing her fingers until the warmth of the House's corridors brought the feeling back in comfortable waves. Melting snow on the back of her neck sent chills down her spine as she passed the spectral guardian and made her way to the tall stairs at the far end of the house.
The scratching of quills on parchment was the only indication she was not alone as she took the first step, grinding her teeth and steeling herself to deal with the insufferable Archmage Tallus. She'd always rolled her eyes when others mentioned the patience of long-lived elves and eladrin, for she had no patience for the archmage, but she suspected he could be of help to her. Some of the books in his library were whispered about among other students of the Art, and having had only fleeting glimpses at the tomes, Quessahn knew that at least half of the rumors were true.
If anyone possessed the knowledge to unravel the spell being cast in spilled blood, it would be Tallus. The other masters she did not know as well and was not sure who among them she could trust, but with the archmage at least she knew where she stood. It would have to be enough.
The hallway at the top of the stairs stretched several strides to the south, far longer than any exterior view of the building might have led the casual observer to believe, just one of the many wonders in the old house. Her lip curled in disgust, expecting any moment to be accosted by Gorrick, Tallus's lapdog apprentice and as intolerable as his master. But halfway to the archmage's door, Gorrick never appeared, nor did there seem to be any light shining beneath the door at an hour the archmage was usually up and about.
She listened at the door, hearing nothing, and tentatively knocked just loud enough to be heard by anyone awake. There was no answer. She laid a hand on the handle, heart hammering in her chest, and the door opened easily, unlocked and barely shut. Pushing it open fully, she gasped in wonder, wide eyed at the bare walls, faint outlines of bright paint where shelves had once stood, impressions in old dust where a large desk had sat. Naught remained but a square of light from the window and the burned-out nub of a candle on the ledge.
Tallus was gone.
'Bloody Mystra,' she swore, her mind racing at the possible implications, thoughts coming back around to what had brought her to the room in the first place. 'If anyone possessed the knowledge,' she muttered and closed the door behind herself, swiftly crossing the mystical hallway as if it, too, would disappear and leave her stranded somewhere between reality and nothing.
NIGHTAL 21, THE YEAR OF DEEP WATER DRIFTING (1480 DR)
The afternoon sun painted the winter sky pink and violet as Jinn strolled slowly through Pharra's Alley, searching the faces of a dispersing crowd. Hopeful students gathered daily before the gates of the House of Wonder, some performing minor tricks for passersby. Illusions danced at their feet and flew through the air, their makers' chants accompanied by the occasional clink of a coin dropped into tin cups at their feet. Jinn saw no familiar faces among the crowd, but he hadn't truly expected to. He was passing by the House only on the remote chance of spotting Archmage Tallus.
Quessahn, after informing them of the archmage's disappearance, had remained strangely quiet, she and Mara regarding one another with a chilled silence he hadn't yet deciphered. He ignored their discomfort. Having last seen Tallus at the Storm's Front, just before Allek had been killed, he was more than eager to question the wizard.
As the bells of gateclose sounded, pealing through the streets, one crowd's dispersal seemed to cue the slow appearance of another. Jinn smiled slyly as they passed by the alley's mouth in small groups. Formal costumes of black and white, chased in silver and gold, were the favored looks for the evening as early celebrants gathered in the failing light. Painted masks leered as they drifted by, some simple with subtle designs, a few others garishly designed with feathers and fanged mouths. A pair of coaches sped toward one or another of several celebrations, false faces blurred within the confines of thin glass as they turned left up the street.
Jinn had no particular love of the revived Winterfirst celebrations, an archaic and mystical ceremony reduced to an excuse for expense and pomp among the wealthy. But he could not deny its usefulness. He adjusted the plain white mask over his features and pulled his hood low, nodding respectfully to a passing patrol of the Watch. For one night at least, he could conduct his business without too much complication.
'We can't just knock and expect to be invited in as guests,' Quessahn said as they made their way up Flint Street. 'Tallus is not entirely fond of either of us to begin with. If he's involved in these killings…'
'We'll only observe,' Jinn replied. 'At first.'
'Then we'll knock,' Mara added, smiling from behind her thin-handled mask. 'I am infinitely curious to peruse his library.'
They passed the hollowed remains of the Storm's Front, the windows not yet boarded up and the area still smelling of smoke. Jinn turned toward a district of tall towers and large homes, putting the tavern to his back, his stride quickening at the thought of Allek left to bum inside. He whispered a prayer for his friend's forgiveness just as he caught sight of a swaggering figure near the end of the street.
'Dregg,' he said and slowed, sliding casually into the shadows of closed shops on the north side of the street. Though well out of sight, he soon realized he needn't have bothered. The former swordcaptain's swagger seemed well enhanced by early drinking. His uniform still dirty from the previous evening, his boots still grayed with ash, the acting rorden seemed comfortable in his new role-until, Jinn reasoned, the Watch superiors caught up to him.
Fortunately for Lucian Dregg, much of the Watch's attention was focused elsewhere; a gang war stretching from Mistshore into Downshadow had left the relatively peaceful Sea Ward under Rorden Allek's supervision for some time. Dregg would have time to enjoy his usurped title.
'Jinn,' Mara whispered, pointing at the human. 'The dagger.'
Jinn narrowed his eyes, noting the glint of silver at Dregg's belt, an ornate dagger standing out on the unkempt rorden like a lit candle in a dark room. He balled his fists, eyeing the number of people in the streets with a curse.
Too many witnesses, he thought.
'What is it?' Quessahn asked.
'The dagger belonged to Allek,' Jinn explained. 'I gave it to him when he became rorden.'
'Gods,' she replied. 'He stole it from Allek's body.'
'No he didn't,' Mara said, lowering her handled mask. 'Allek never wore the dagger.'
Mara's eyes remained fixed on the rorden as Jinn turned, seeing something in her face he'd glimpsed only a few times. She had been friendly with Allek Marson out of habit, a part of her disguise, but she had been among mortals for longer than even he knew. He would never see tears in her eyes, never remorse or regret, but the hag knew revenge, that he could count upon.
'Stay here,' he told Mara. 'Keep an eye on Dregg. See what he gets up to.'
'Where are we going?' Quessahn asked, laying a firm hand on Jinn's arm and forcing him to face her, adding, 'Do not even think you'll leave me here as well.'
'No, I'll need your help,' he answered and turned back the way they'd come. 'We're going to Allek's home first. We'll catch up to Tallus later.'
They rushed back down Flint Street to the southern end of the ward, hiding themselves in groups of party- goers, ducking down side streets to avoid Watch patrols. He had no fear of being recognized by Dregg, but he expected the men under his command to be more competent. They would begin questioning random citizens, ask for masks to be removed before moving on-all the trademarks of a well-trained force. It was Allek's legacy in uniform, and Jinn worked to avoid each patrol, not wanting to have cause to harm that legacy.
After several turns and a long, winding path through the southern part of the ward, they approached the modest home of Allek Marson warily, hiding in the shadows of early evening between the houses. Few in that area
