heir.'
The tale was beginning to amuse Pinch, in as much as it was all his adopted family deserved. He lay back on the pillows, although one hand was always near the knife. 'Throdus and Marac didn't agree? By Beshaba, dissension in the house.'
'There'll be civil war!'
'So when they're all gone, you want me, the forgotten ward, to come to Ankhapur's rescue and carry on the family name? How generous, Cleedis.'
Cleedis stabbed at the floor in anger. 'I'll not put a thief like you on the throne!'
Pinch sprang to the edge of the bed. 'Ho! Little kingmaker Cleedis now! My, what you've become. So what is it you want of me then?'
The courtier stalked back to his chair. 'Just a job. A quick and quiet solution to our problem.'
'Why me? You could get any queer-bird to lay them down with a cudgel, just for freedom from the gaol-or have you lost all your influence with Manferic's death?' The aged courtier's glare told Pinch all he needed to know. 'Aye, now there's a turn of Tymora's wheel. You used to inspire fear in them, and now you probably don't even have the coin for a black spell from a Thavian outcast. That's why you've come to me.' The rogue let loose a gloating chuckle and settled back onto the silken pillows.
'It's not that way,' was Cleedis's terse reply. 'First, it's not the princes we're after. If anything odd should happen to your cousins, there'll be war for sure. In the second part, you can dance on the twisted hemp before I'd come looking for you. I'm here at Manferic's bidding.'
'Oh, dear guardian; so like Manferic. He plots even after his death.' It was time to be off the bed and to the door. 'Go back to his grave, Cleedis, and tell him I'm not coming. I like things just as they are here.'
'Heard there was trouble in town last night,' the elder drawled like a snake uncoiling. Pinch knew he was hearing trouble, but he kept his stride steady. He wasn't going to play the chamberlain's game.
'You are a fool, Janol-or Pinch, should I call you? Here I am in Elturel, where nobody's even heard of Manferic or Ankhapur, and you don't even wonder how I found you.'
That stopped Pinch with his hand at the door.
The seat creaked and then the floor groaned with a heavy thunk-clunk as Cleedis hobbled over, sword as cane. 'The priests of Ankhapur,' the courtier wheezed out, 'have gotten quite good at tracking you. Shall I tell you where you were last night?'
Pinch stared blindly at the woodwork in front of him. 'I was drinking.' He could hear his own words locking into the cool monotone of a lie and cursed himself for getting caught.
'Maybe you were. It doesn't matter,' the courtier allowed with the smooth, cold smile of a basilisk. 'Guilty or innocent, it doesn't matter to me or the constables- what are they called? — Hellriders of this town. Just a word is all it takes.'
Pinch turned a half step toward his tormentor.
'Not a bit of it, Janol,' the old man said as he weakly swung his sword to guard. 'You can't imagine me trekking to Elturel alone. I die and you're surely doomed.'
'Bastard fool, you've got no proof and I've got evidences who'll swear for me.'
Sword still up, Cleedis blew on his free hand to warm his finger joints. 'Of course you do, and that's all good for the constables, but are a high priest's bodyguards less impetuous here than in Ankhapur? The news through the entire city is that they lost a pretty piece of property, a piece of some high holy man's jewelry they'd been safeguarding.'
Resigned, Pinch leaned back against the door. If he couldn't bluff the old man, he would at least pump the chamberlain for what he could. 'You know a lot for being new here.'
'Don't assume I came in yesterday. I learned a lot in Manferic's service that's served me better than the sword. So, are you coming or will you wait for some temple brave to cut you down? They will find you, trust me.'
There was no choice. Pinch needed to stall.
'I've got others who need consulting-'
'Let them hang on their own.'
'And things to get together. This evening-we'll meet again.'
The old chamberlain considered the offer, the fierce energy that had sustained him all night draining away. 'Where?'
'Here,' was the quick answer. Pinch wasn't about to reveal any of his hideouts, either the boozing kens where he spent his days or the stalling kens where he passed his goods to the brokers.
Cleedis nodded acceptance. 'Don't turn me, cousin. I found you once; I'll find you again.'
And I'll be ready for you next time, Pinch thought to himself. At the door, he gave a quick bow, part old habit and part mockery, before leaving the apartment and slipping through the dawn-drowsy halls of the inn.
The rogue was wary as he made his way back through the early morning streets. By now his head was thick with the sluggish residue of stale ale, sleep deprivation, and overexcited nerves. He had to thread his way through the sunrise press of greengrocers, tinkers, and kitchen maids on their morning rounds. A butcher's apprentice splashed by, hurrying through the muddy streets and balancing a fresh side of mutton on his shoulder while a pack of gnome striplings chased him, trying to nick bits of meat off the carcass's dangling shank. Here and there Pinch saw a fellow knave- Dowzabell, the prison trusty; Dun Teddar, who did a counterfeit of mad singing; and Ironbellow, a dwarf who limped because one foot was a bronze peg. He begged coins, claiming he'd lost his foot as a Hellrider fighting the Zhentarim, but Pinch knew in truth that a surgeon had taken it last winter after Ironbellow had passed out from drink and got a case of frostbite and gangrene.
It wasn't the unpredictable palliards or the murderous wild rogues that made Pinch wary, though. Like him, the ragged tramps and overdressed cutthroats were from the night world, the land of darkness and shadow. Now, as the sun rose, they, like himself, felt their powers wane.
It was the ones who knew no hour that worried Pinch-the Hellriders who patrolled the city. It was the rogue's greatest failing that he was too well known to the catchpole and his constables. No doubt they'd be looking for him after last night.
And the Hellriders weren't all either. The patrico's guard would want a hand in this also, to redeem the damaged honor of their jobs at the temple. With daylight, they'd be out in force.
Finally, there was Cleedis. Given whom the old man had served all these years, it was certain the sword- master was not to be underestimated. Hellriders, even temple guards, Pinch could predict. He could not say the same for Cleedis.
It's all my own vain fault, a biting voice gnawed within him. It was hardly fair to call this his chiding conscience, for while always at his shoulder, the sharp words didn't care about the causes of things. Pinch's inner voice saw the flaws in plans that might have been perfect. The trouble was, it almost always spoke in the rogue's ear when it was too late to do much anyway. The voice seemed to relish the power of hindsight that Pinch denied himself.
So Pinch moved warily. He slipped down alleys with names like Kennel Lane and Mucker's Mews, where the half-timbered houses leaned so close over the street that their roof peaks almost touched. He chose ways that kept him on the edges of the day markets and far from Elturel's High Hill. Traveling thus, skirting this and flanking that, it was not until well into the morning that Pinch returned to the Dwarf's Pot.
As the old rogue pushed open the alehouse's creaky door, Therin unexpectedly stepped out from the shadows. 'Piss in Ilmater's wounds-where've you been, Pinch?' The thug's voice was torn between relief and stress, and it was mirrored in the long knife clutched in his hand even as his body sagged back against the wall. Pinch knew by the knife it was serious business, not just because Therin had a knife out, but because it was a skene, a long, thin dirk. It was a blade favored by Therin's honor-obsessed people, the Gurs-Selune's children, the people of the highway. The skene was a sure sign of deadly intent.
'Pizzle it yourself. What's the play here?' Without waiting for an answer, Pinch slipped to the side where he could get his back against the wall and face his foes directly. Even though Therin wasn't threatening anymore, a man would be a fool to think all was well. With his hold-back dagger already in hand, Pinch scanned the common room for more danger.
It was empty, which even at this hour was not right. There was always at least one drunk or well-paid doxy
