Author's Note: Minor revisions to incorporate the Janit storyline.

Chapter 11…Hostile Eyes upon Her

Until Blacklake was reopened, it seemed there was little she could do. So while Duncan returned to his tavern, Carona returned to Moire's guild house. Duncan did not want her walking the streets of the Docks alone but she insisted.

"I'm not some yokel fresh off the farm," she said. "I've lived here five years. I know what I'm doing." Actually, she had come to grief on a number of occasions but there was no point in dwelling on them, lest her new-found uncle become as protective as Khelgar.

Carona was led to the back room where Moire was perched on a desk, speaking to Caleb, one of her lieutenants. Caleb's white hair and beard were neatly trimmed and his clothes were clean and well cut. A thug's a thug, no matter how he looks. He stopped talking when Carona entered and met her sneer with one of his own. She'd had several run-ins with Caleb in the past, none of them pleasant.

"Ah, Carona, is it?" Moire asked, swinging her legs casually while her eyes sized her up. Moire was tall for an elf, close to Carona's height, with dark, sleek hair and a lithe, athletic figure. It was never easy to judge an elf's age but Carona guessed that she was far, far older than Daeghun. Daeghun had suffered in his long life and that pain ate away at him, yet if half the stories she'd heard were true, Moire had found satisfaction, nay, pleasure in pain—in inflicting it upon others.

"Where disaster has struck so many of your guild house, it is interesting to see that you are well," Moire said.

"Janit sent me to discover what has been happening along the coast road," she said. "I have just returned today."

"Did he? Interesting timing." The district master stared at her a long moment. Carona stared back. What was that supposed to mean?

"Moire, what has happened to Janit? Where are the others? I could find no one from the guild in the Merchant's Quarter."

"Janit swung from the gallows," Moire said. "And many of your fellows have been taken for the labor gangs. The rest lie low."

"I could scarce believe—but how did this happen? And why? What could Janit have done to be given such a death?"

"Does it matter? Somebody sold him out."

"Who?"

Moire gave her another long look. "There are those in the Watch who have decided to try to drive the Thieves from the city," she said softly. "They whisper in Nasher's ear that our activities are—disloyal. They have decided that harsh measures are needed to free Neverwinter from our 'parasitic activities'." Carona wasn't sure who she was quoting but Moire's eyes glittered with anger. "Janit's crime was that he showed weakness—he let his enemies walk away and he has paid for that."

"He was too soft," Caleb said scornfully.

"As for who informed against him, that I do not know," Moire said. "Yet. But when I do—" She smiled a little to herself and Carona tightened her lips.

"Will you tell me?"

"Why should I?"

Caleb laughed. "Janit's little bed-warmer is going to avenge him? That's a good one."

"Shut up," Carona growled. She turned to Moire. "Will you?"

"Perhaps," she said. "Unless, of course, I find that you are the one who betrayed your master." She raised her brows in a pleasant expression that Carona found unnerving, as Moire no doubt intended. "But meanwhile, I suppose I should find something to do with you."

"I finished Janit's task. Am I to report to you on what I learned?"

"This is concerning the missing merchant caravans?" Moire asked. "Very well, tell me what you found."

She seemed bored, as if she considered the assignment a pointless one, but Carona spoke of the bandits and the lizardfolk attacks, leaving out any mention of the bladeling attacks. She also left out any mention of Marshal Cormick's involvement, uneasily realizing that if Moire was to learn of it later, it would likely bring her suspicions to a dangerous head.

"Well, well, you've been a busy girl," Moire said at last. "So you took it upon yourself to slay this bandit leader, did you?" she asked but she didn't seem to actually expect an answer.

"It needed to be done," Carona said. "What am I to do now, Moire? Who do I report to?" she asked and just in case the point wasn't clear, she added, "Who will see to my pay?"

"Ah, your pay."

"Janit promised me two hundred gold," she said. "And with all that I accomplished, I think I deserve more than that."

"Do you? Do you have proof of what you were promised? Indeed, do you have any proof of what you claim you have done?"

"I am no merchant, to tie up my word in contracts," Carona said. "I had his hand on it."

"His hand lies buried with the rest of his body in an unmarked grave outside the city walls." She laughed. "At least until some necromancer digs him up to make him his plaything."

For a moment, Carona felt almost dizzy with rage.

"Look at her hands shake," Caleb said, with a gust of laughter. "Watch yourself, Moire, I think she's going to hit you."

Carona compressed pale lips. The sooner my business is done with this bitch, the sooner I can get the hells out of here. "There is no need for you to honor my agreement with Janit. Send me to whoever's taking over the district."

Moire gave another of her strange smiles. "With the unsettled state of the guild right now, no promotions are being announced." She leaned forward and spoke in a dramatic whisper. "You see, there is a traitor in our midst. And until we find him—or her—" And she spread her hands wide in an assumption of helplessness.

"So what does that mean? Are you cutting me loose?"

"My dear girl, would I want to lose such a talented thief? Janit always spoke well of you, you know." Carona couldn't tell if Moire's laugh was mocking or sincere. She took a key out of the pouch at her waist and tossed it to Caleb. "Fetch me three hundred pieces of gold," she told him. "Now then," she said, once he had left the room. "With the loss of Janit and so many of your fellows, there is much to be done. If we show weakness now, the Watch will redouble their efforts to drive us from the city. There is little we can do about the mess in the Merchant Quarter at this time and Blacklake is, for all practical purposes, closed to us. But—"

"For all practical purposes?" she interrupted. "Does that mean that there is some way to enter Blacklake? I have pressing business there."

"If you serve me well, we can discuss Blacklake," she said. "For now, it is out of the question. There is much that needs to be done here in the Docks."

"I don't work the Docks," Carona said.

"You do now," Moire said coldly. Caleb returned with a heavy pouch, and from his expression, she could guess that he had short-changed her. Before she could demand a count, Moire added, "You will report to Caleb. He will detail your duties. Go now."

The next few days were very frustrating for Carona. Instead of using any of her talents, Caleb had her run menial errands and collect protection money from the minor storekeepers along the docks and even from the shoddy and illicit little stalls that popped up along the lanes near the wharves like mushrooms after a storm. The meager coppers taken from these folks hardly seemed worth the time it took to collect them. She could not understand why they bothered to squeeze people who were barely making a living as it stood. It made no sense.

In the Merchant Quarter, Janit expected these transactions to be conducted civilly. No one likes to pay taxes, official or unofficial, but protection was actually extended for what was paid. The guild provided a silent and unseen escort to merchants carrying home their till and they assimilated or eliminated freelance thugs and alley-bashers whenever they came across them. Even in the Merchant Quarter, the Watch was stretched thin and could not be relied upon. Janit's people filled a genuine need. And there were always those who required protection but could expect little but hassle from the Watch—the unlicensed money-lenders, the peddlers who dealt in smuggled goods, and the like.

It was different in the Docks. Moire's thieves were truly parasites, offended though she seemed by that word. They drained off the life's blood from the merchants and provided nothing in return. Janit had allowed and indeed expected his people to use their judgment. If a merchant had a bad run of luck and couldn't make their payment, well, sometimes that happened. To force them to go to the money-lenders and start a downward spiral of debt was not good for business. The Thieves were expected to know their clients well enough to smoke out legitimate excuses that should be forgiven from lies or pure ineptitude, neither of which should be encouraged.

But it was different in the Docks. If a merchant claimed he couldn't pay, Caleb and his bully-boys would pay him a visit and extract a toll of pain, meant more to serve as a lesson to others than as an inducement to come up with the coin. Caleb, seeing her distaste for this attitude, made sure to bring her along anytime he planned to break someone's arms or administer a beating in some back alley. Carona, certain that this was all part of some test set by Moire, grimly did what she was told (when there was no way out of it) but her dissatisfaction grew with every passing day.

Short of leaving the city, there seemed no way out. And Carona wasn't convinced that self-exile was even an option, for she thought Moire was having her watched. It seemed incredible that she could be suspected of betraying Janit and her fellow Thieves, but all too often as she was about her business, she would get the uneasy feeling that hidden eyes were upon her. As a child hunting with Daeghun, he had warned her never to stare directly at one's prey, for the beasts would feel the attention and be wary. And this was how she felt.

But perhaps it was not only her fellow guild members who watched her. On her third night in Neverwinter, she was attacked by bladelings.

Luckily she hadn't been alone. Elanee and Neeshka had joined her to go shopping at the pawn shops in the poorer sections of the Merchant's Quarter, where clothing and other useful things could be picked up cheap. Carona had little more than the clothes on her back and Neeshka, although close-lipped about it, had suffered a similar loss. Elanee also had little but that seemed a normal state for her.

On their return to the Sunken Flagon, as they passed the entrance to a dark and noxious alley, Elanee's badger, Naloch, growled. That gave Carona time to drop her purchases and pull her blade. Neeshka stood ready with a dagger in each hand as the six bladelings rushed them.

They were outnumbered and the fight might have gone badly except that Elanee, her feet planted apart, hair whipping in a wind that came out of nowhere, her face limned by the moonlight that had found its way between the tall buildings that surrounded them, brought down lightning from the night sky. For a few breaths, Carona was blinded. None of the bladelings survived the blast.

"Hells, Elanee, remind me never to get on your wrong side," Neeshka said. Elanee tried to smile but it was clear that she had been shaken badly by the attack and her own reaction to it.

"Let's get out of here before the Watch shows up," Carona said. She scooped up everyone's packages, then handed them all to Elanee so she could keep her weapon hand free. They made it back to the Sunken Flagon without incident. Neeshka settled Elanee at a table near the fireplace while Carona fetched the elf a glass of wine.

"What's wrong?" Duncan asked, seeing their worried faces. Neeshka launched into the tale but Carona left the bar to sit beside the druid.

"How are you?"

"Fine," Elanee said in a low voice. She dropped her hand to stroke Naloch's back. The badger, often surprisingly vocal, made a weird purring noise.

"No, really, Elanee, what is it?"

The druid sighed. "I'm sorry, Carona. It is just so difficult for me to be in this place, where the wood and the stone have been silenced. It is hard to call upon nature's aid here and I—I am weary." And she excused herself and went upstairs to her room, leaving her wine untouched on the table.

Carona stared after her, wondering what she should do. Before she could make up her mind, one of the local urchins came in the front door, and ignoring Sal's scowl, whispered a message in her ear. She was to go to Moire's guild house. Now.

Sighing, she levered herself to her feet, and over Khelgar and Duncan's protests, headed out into the night.

One of the thieves manning the door led her to a back room where she found Moire barefoot in leggings and a light linen shirt, sparring against two men in chain shirts. Moire fought with a rapier and wore a thick leather glove on her off hand, which she used to slap away their weapons. Her sparring partners had rapiers and parrying daggers. She had heard of the district master's prowess with a blade but this was the first time she had seen her in action. Despite herself, she was impressed. Carona had always considered the rapier a weapon preferred by duelists and those scions of the nobility who preferred their combat clean and relatively bloodless. Now she saw just how swift and deadly it could be in the hands of a skilled and agile fighter. The rapier was no toy; it was the perfect weapon for a street fighter such as herself.

"Enough," Moire said at last. Breathing heavily, her two opponents stacked their weapons and their chain shirts in the racks along the wall. Carona was left alone with Moire and Caleb. Stretching, Moire also set aside her weapon. "So," she said. "Tell me of these creatures that attacked you." She strode closer to Carona, who looked at her with surprise. There was a faint sheen of sweat on Moire's face but otherwise she seemed unaffected by her exercise.

"They are called bladelings," Carona said slowly. She hadn't expected this open confirmation that Moire was watching her.

"Bladelings. So it's true. And why are you being stalked by creatures from the outer planes? Or is it one of your traveling companions that they seek?" Carona found this alarming, and as little as she wished to speak to Moire of the shard, she had even less desire to bring any of her friends to her attention.

"They attacked West Harbor while I was there on Janit's task," she said. "They also attacked an inn in the Mere where I stayed. My father believes this has something to do with the demon attack on West Harbor that happened some twenty years ago. He sent me to consult a sage in Neverwinter to try to learn more. That is why I wish to enter the Blacklake district, by the way."

"I see. I thought perhaps the bladelings were interested in the tiefling you travel with."

"No. I didn't meet her until after the first two attacks."

"Indeed. And are they attacking all Harbormen or have they singled you out for some reason?"

"I—am not certain."

"If you insist upon lying to me, I may find myself forced to ask my questions in a more compelling manner."

She had heard too many stories about the district master to dismiss her veiled threat. It was whispered that she was a follower of the Maiden of Pain, Loviatar. Reluctantly, Carona opened her tunic and brought out the shard from the Illefarn ruins. "They may be looking for this," she said. Moire took the shard and examined it, with no apparent reaction.

"What is it?"

"I don't know," Carona said. "I hope the sage in Blacklake can tell me more."

"It looks worthless," Moire said. "You may as well hold on to it." With relief she hoped didn't show too plainly, Carona put the shard back in her pocket. "Well," Moire said, "It is interesting that bladelings have entered the city so soon after reports of demon attacks in the Blacklake district. You are aware of Lord Dalren's murder?"

"I heard some talk."

"Talk. Yes, there is talk," Moire said. She began to slowly work the glove off her right hand. Like Carona, the district master was left-handed. "But few facts are known. And I find that rather mysterious." She looked up from her glove straight into Carona's eyes. "Don't you?"

"It's nothing to do with me," Carona said uneasily. Moire said nothing. She stroked the glove in her hand for a moment and then she gave Carona a thin smile.

"So tell me, how does your work here suit you?" Carona started to drop some empty words but she had asked, after all, and Moire's steady gaze implied that she expected more than polite nothings.

"I am capable of more complex tasks."

"Indeed? More risk and more pay, is that right?"

"Of course."

"The word on the street is you are quite—flexible."

Carona ignored the innuendo and the look that passed between Moire and Caleb. "I can do more than run errands."

"Ah. Well, tell me, Carona, do you find Caleb a fair task-master?" Caleb gave a smirk but she couldn't tell if it was directed towards Moire or herself. Carona hesitated. Was this the moment to voice her complaint? Perhaps it was not, but something about this conversation was making her extremely uneasy. Perhaps a diversion was in order.

"I do have a question," she said. "Is it the custom in this district that one must endure the advances of one's fellows? For I tell you, Moire, that if Caleb continues to lay his hands upon me any time I am distracted, one of these days he will lose the use of them."

Moire laughed. "Why Caleb, my pet, have you been a naughty boy?"

He snickered. "Am I supposed to take her threat, seriously?" he asked. "Do you think I fear a skinny little bit of fluff like her?"

Carona turned to Moire—who was almost exactly her size—and raised an eloquent eyebrow. Caleb didn't seem to notice Moire's sudden sour look.

"He'll be no use to me without his hands," Moire said. "Take his gonads instead, if he continues to annoy you." Carona didn't crack a smile. Neither did the suddenly sober Caleb. "Perhaps," she continued slowly, "It will be best if you report directly to me from now on."

Damn me for opening my mouth.