Jarlaxle ended up no further than the bar at the inn. He judged that this must be a well traveled town, for even at this hour in the morning the common room of the inn was half full, though it was cloaked in silence. He nodded approvingly.

This was the time of night frequented by people that knew the value of staying quiet. He wondered at the fact that Artemis always insisted on being asleep by the time this new crowd of people came out.

The scrawny serving wench taking her turn as bartender took his nod as an indication for another drink.

Ah well, that's not so bad, he thought, letting her take down another bottle of apricot brandy from the bottle-laden shelves.

She fixed it the same way as the last one, on the rocks.

The fact that he liked ice in it seemed to disgust the other patrons at the bar, and when they saw him having another, most of them drifted away to fill the empty tables instead of enduring his company.

That was alright, too. Yes, everything was alright, and he didn't care if the night ever ended.

At least, this was how he felt after one drink.

"Any of'er drow come through here?" Jarlaxle asked the bartender, leaning forward. He blinked and thought, This is unusual. I've never felt this way after one drink. Maybe three or four, maybe, but never one drink of apricot brandy.

"Sure," the scrawny, blonde thing said, shrugging. "Lotsa times. Mostly like yerself." She seemed remarkably blasé about it. Her dark blue eyes, shrewd as a rat's, seemed misplaced in that little body, fair-skinned and freckled, with her golden blonde curls piled on top of her head. She was smaller than some elves Jarlaxle had seen.

"I doubt that," Jarlaxle said, and grinned. He poked the one of the red feathers in his cap triumphantly. "I have a purple hat!"

She smiled at him. "Mercenaries," she said. "Mostly poor folk, and down on their luck, as it were, what with so much…" she leaned forward, almost as if what she had to say was confidential. "Pre-dji-diss," she said, taking care to get the word right. "That's what means an unreasoning dislike o' some kinds."

"I know," Jarlaxle said, smiling at her tolerantly. Abruptly, he got up and slapped his hand on the bar counter. "How much?"

"You didn't finish your drink," she said, looking confused.

He'd forgotten about the second drink, somehow. If Entreri finds me like this, already awake and waiting for me, I'll be hung out the window by my earrings. Without thinking anything besides 'I have to get back to Artemis', he downed the whole drink in one gulp. "How much?" he repeated. Jarlaxle felt a minor earthquake ripple through the floor, which almost knocked him off his feet. It's lucky I'm so well prepared tonight, or someone could sneak up on me and kill me before I had a chance to say hello, he thought.

"Forty gold," the blonde said.

"What?" Jarlaxle lifted his eye patch with one hand and gave her a look of surprise with both eyes. "Why? That's the most expensive peach brandy I've ever heard of. Or was it apricot brandy?"

Her cunning blue eyes drilled into him, implying a smirk on her pale, innocent lips. "Ain't a peach or apricot brandy anyhow," she said.

That took a few moments for Jarlaxle to understand. He swayed unsteadily, glanced over his shoulder, and then flipped his eye patch down and squinted at the two glasses on the counter, trying to focus. "They're not?" She shook her head innocently. The drow stopped trying to clear the fuzz from his vision and looked away before he gave himself eye strain. "Oh." He perceived that some further response might be expected of him. "What are they?"

Her eyes lit up with amusement, but she was trying very hard to maintain her innocent expression. "Elverquisst."

Jarlaxle almost fell over in surprise. He swerved, regained his balance, and suspiciously spun around to examine the crowd of people at the tables. His right hand shook slightly out of fear. It's a good thing there aren't any elves around here tonight, he thought. They'd kill me if they saw a drow drinking their precious spirits!

He spun on his heel and faced the bartender again. "Don't go spreading this around," he said, leaning heavily on the counter with a hand down to steady himself. If I don't die, I'll be drunk for a week! He drew out three heavy 20-piece gold coins from his purse as quietly as he could and set them on the counter in front of her hand. An extra 20-piece to keep her silence, and possibly buy her services – it wasn't often he admired a serving wench's mind as much as her body. She was a dangerous one, pulling this on him. He grinned at her.

Jarlaxle walked away with as much dignity as he could muster, and almost reached the stairs before he stumbled over his own feet. Then he realized the blasphemy of it all. Drinking elverquisst with ice in a brandy glass. He made a face. Thank the gods for being understanding and not striking him down then and there. The drow felt his face grow hot. If Artemis learns about this, he'll be bothering me about it for the rest of his life. He unobtrusively levitated up the stairs. Under the circumstances, he thought, turning and looking at the narrow, steep stairway, it probably saved my life.

He concentrated on making his footfalls silent as he crept up the hall to their room. Having looked around and found no indication of anyone else about, he happily concluded that danger was past and pushed their door open, marching into the safety of –

Jarlaxle's foot caught on the carpet and sent him into a strangely graceful dive, rainbow cape fluttering behind him, until he hit the floor with a loud thump. The gust of wind dislodged his hat. It settled down in front of him with the wide brim resting on his nose. I think, mayhaps, that I have been caught.

He heard the worn springs of the bed creak, a footstep, then their door slamming angrily shut and being locked with a mechanical click of metal. He flinched at the sudden globe of light above him. "What…are you doing?" Artemis said, somewhere behind or beside him.

Jarlaxle thought about this. "Falling down," he said. Ridiculously, the first thing he did was reach out and squash his hat back onto his head. Then he lay there passively.

"You have already fallen," Artemis informed him, nudging him in the ribs with the toe of his boot.

"Really?" Jarlaxle said. "I didn't feel an impact. I'm still falling, falling, falling…" He made swimming motions with his arms. He wasn't really that dazed, but he was beginning to find entertainment in his situation, and if he could just get Artemis to laugh, he might not kill the dark elf for being drunk enough to fall flat on his face.

In the silence, he thought he felt Artemis grin. Then the assassin's hand was suddenly around his throat, yanking him to his feet. He found himself face to face with his companion. Jarlaxle waved his arms helplessly. "If you please, let go," he said. "I'm trying to regain my balance."

The assassin stared at him impassively, seeming displeased, but unclenched his hand from around Jarlaxle's collar.

The drow mercenary easily stood on his own two feet. He gave a deep bow to his rescuer, which ended with another dive to the floor.

Artemis made a small sound like a bitten-off chuckle. "You've found a new sport," he said. A mean glint was in his eyes. "Either that, or you're having an affair with the floor. I think I'll retreat and let you two lovebirds alone to whisper sweet nothings."

"How do you know they're empty promises?" Jarlaxle asked, pretending to be indignant. He tried to push himself up, but his arms were wobbling badly. "I don't care how they feel about you in this town," he said to the floor. "I'm not letting anyone walk all over you again!"

Once he got to his feet, he saw Artemis looking at him in disbelief. "That is…one of the worst…jests, I have ever heard you say." He used the word as if he doubted the things Jarlaxle just said qualified. He sniffed. "What have you been drinking?" He added as an afterthought, "And for how long?"

"That, my friend, is a quedshun for a certain little serving wench," the drow said.

Artemis truly must have been in a bad mood, for he immediately said with a raise of his eyebrow, "'Qued-shun'. I am fairly familiar with the Drow language, but your meaning escapes me."

"Don't be cruel."

"Being cruel is my nature."

Jarlaxle said, "Or merely your habit. I doubt that you have a cruel bone in your body."

The assassin stiffened. "Whether or not it is a habit is none of your business."

Jarlaxle frowned at him, sensing that his conversation was getting out of control. Worse, if he didn't contest the man's claim right now, Entreri would assume that it was correct, and wouldn't allow Jarlaxle to interfere anymore. That was simply unacceptable. "Now wait just a minute – "

Artemis cut him off. "You. Are drunk."

"That doesn't make me stupid," Jarlaxle said. "You can't tell me that you were born making fun of poor, innocent drunkards and slitting throats. You didn't start stabbing people for candy and worked your way up as you got older."

"What you're saying is offensive, and I suggest you stop before I take advantage of your crippled state and usher you out of this world forever," Artemis said. He quietly drew his dagger. "I am going back to sleep."

"What were you thinking of this evening?" Jarlaxle almost blurted, but at the last moment he realized that that would tip the balance of Artemis' fight to control his temper, and held his tongue for fear of starting a serious argument. As it was, it could take days to adequately apologize for the transgressions he'd made.

Perhaps he would kill the serving wench after all.