Sorry for the VERY LENGTHY delay since this last updated (Eeep! Six months!). I'd put it on hold for what I thought would be a brief time while I filled kink meme prompts to get more comfortable with writing smut, and I kind of had my attention kidnapped by first Arren & Co. fills and then Eye of the Storm. But work is now resuming on this and I hope to wrap it up over the next couple of weeks.
Taliesen felt unusually elated as he looked around the room from his chair. Zevran was sprawled out on the chaise he preferred, toying with a pair of daggers, palming them and then making them reappear in different holds. Their two apprentices – two of them, not just one! – were sitting at almost rigid attention in two mismatched straight-backed chairs, watching him attentively, awaiting their orders.
He allowed himself a slow, pleased smile. "We've got a good first job as a learning experience for you two," he said quietly, allowing his pleasure to be reflected in his voice. "Just a simple little job. A foreign merchant who has stepped on a few toes, ignored one warn-off too many. And, perhaps more importantly, insulted his hostess. She is rather irked with him, and wishes her displeasure to be made clear to him."
"To the extent of having him dealt with in her own home?" Zevran asked curiously, raising one eyebrow.
"No," Taliesin said shortly. "He is still officially her guest, and therefore still sacrosanct when at her mansion or any of her places of business. He is, however, fair game when out in public, or when visiting his ship in harbour. Where he is in the habit of remaining overnight every three or four days."
"Ah," Zevran said, and smiled widely.
Taliesin looked at their apprentices. "We will divide up in pairs, one of you with Zevran, one with myself. We will need to try and learn what we can of the man's movements, the layout of his ship, what cabin he sleeps in, and so on. A little tricky, as we must do it without making our interest obvious."
One of the assistants looked puzzled. "Why not just kill him in the street?" he asked.
Zevran snorted. "Fool! Taliesin said our patron wishes her displeasure made clear – she wants him to know, before he dies, why he is dying. That means it must be done somewhere with enough privacy for things to be explained clearly to him before he is killed. If she wished him merely dead in the street she would not have hired such as us to accomplish it. Any lesser Crow would have done for such a crude job as that," he said, making a dismissive motion with his hand.
"As Zevran says," Taliesin agreed, nodding to the elf, hiding his displeasure. That was twice that Zevran had interupted so far. He was letting their acquisition of apprentices go to his head, perhaps, forgetting his place – that Taliesin was the senior partner, the one in charge, the one to do any explaining necessary, make any decisions. His left hand tightened just slightly on the arm of his chair, his right dropping to caress the hilt of his favourite dagger.
Zevran seemed to pick up on his mood; at least he stilled, and was silent for the remainder of the meeting. Taliesin assigned the more intelligent one of the apprentices to him; the foolish one he took himself, judging that he would need firmer supervision.
Gaining access to the ship proved almost stupidly easy. These foreigners had little wit when it came to guarding themselves from the machinations of the Crows. Some especially flashy clothing, a staged argument on the dock near the ship on a night the Merchant-Captain was not there; a bored crew member was happy to call over the pretty elven whore and hire his services for the evening.
Zevran doubted Taliesin would approve of his methods, but then Taliesin had become increasingly annoying of late, since they'd acquired apprentices. It seemed to have gone to the man's head. He needed to be reminded that Zevran was his partner, his equal, not a lesser Crow or apprentice to be ordered around.
He had one moment of worry with the sailor, when the man proved to be both rather more grabby and rather stronger than the assassin had planned for, but thankfully the man was distracted enough by trying to strip Zevran out of his clothes that the elf found it no great difficulty to slip a prepared dart out of where it was hidden in the cuff of his shirt. A scratch with that during a passionate moment, and a short time later the sailor was no longer a problem, his snores filling the small room.
Zevran slipped out of the narrow bed, neatened his hair and straightened his clothing, then slipped out into the hallway. He quickly worked his way towards the rear of the ship – the aft, he remembered it was called, for reasons he had never cared to learn – where the captain's quarters were. Some quick work with a picklock – well, as quick as he could manage, it was not his best skill – and he slipped into a surprisingly spacious room.
That was when things started to go wrong. The Rivaini merchant was not expected to visit his ship until later this evening, if at all, as he was attending a party at his hostesses' mansion tonight. Unfortunately all their observation of the man had failed to turn up one tiny but important little bit of information, Zevran discovered rather quickly, as a dagger spun out of the shadows by the bed inset in one wall, and narrowly missed skewering him – the man apparently did not occupy the cabin alone. He bit back a curse even as he dove for cover behind a large desk nearby. Damnation; the plan had been for him to hide out in the man's quarters until such time as the man returned, either tonight or tomorrow night if he kept to his usual schedule, and kill him then. There being someone else here put rather a crimp in that plan. Not to mention that it looked likely to cause him considerable personal danger as well.
At least whomever it was had made no outcry; one minor blessing. With luck he might be able to kill whomever it was, hope they would not be missed between now and the captain's return, and continue on with the original plan. Failing that, he'd like to at least escape from this cabin with his life. Sadly even if he managed to accomplish that, the merchant would undoubtedly be forewarned that someone was after him, and their chances of killing him cleanly would therefore be that much less. Taliesin was not going to be pleased. Still, he felt it was far better for him to be alive and Taliesin to be annoyed than the alternative.
Whomever had thrown the dagger was either accomplished at moving silently, or had made no move away from where they lurked in the shadowed alcove. He wondered what chance he might have of making it to the door and back out into the hallway. Or even across the room and out the largish windows and into the harbour – not an enjoyable prospect, given the filth usual in the harbour, but again, better than the alternative. The room was poorly enough illuminated – lit only by moonlight coming in those self-same windows – that if he was careful he might be able to able to ease out of cover and to one or the other exit without drawing attention.
Moving as slowly and soundlessly as he could he started to ease across the deck in the direction of the door. He wished he dared look towards the bed, but was well aware of just how startling visible eyes could prove to be in even dim light, and therefore kept he face and eyes carefully averted as he inched slowly toward the door.
Only the faintest whisper of sound warned him of a second attack. "Brasca!" he yelped as he dove back towards cover, feeling a sharp tug on his sleeve as he did. He glanced toward his arm and hissed; the fabric was slashed open, and a hair-fine scratch marred his skin, droplets of blood oozing out along it. His unseen opponent's daggers must be razor-sharp. He just hoped that they weren't coated with anything, as a Crow's were likely to be. Or that, if they were, it would take a much larger exposure than that represented by the shallow scrape on his arm to endanger him.
"You are not one of the crew," a voice spoke out of the darkness by the bed. Low, female, and sultry enough to send a shiver down his spine.
"No, in fact, I am not," he said agreeably, trying to figure out from the direction of her voice just where she must be, over there in the darkness. He risked glancing around the edge of the desk he was hidden behind, trying to spot her.
"A sneak thief, perhaps?" the voice asked, curiously. He heard a faint tinkling sound, of metal against metal.
"Sometimes," he said evasively. Not exactly a lie; he was not above pilfering little easily saleable items, as long as they weren't too identifiable. Just to keep his hand in, of course.
A soft snort from the direction of the bed. "Well. If your goal here is pilferage, I would suggest you start with the bottom left drawer of that desk. That's where the petty cash is kept."
"Ah. Really?" Zevran said, mildly surprised at her words. He checked the drawer for traps, then carefully levered it open – using a knife, not bare fingers – and look inside, and found a small cloth sack that, on careful inspection, proved to contain a small quantity of coin – mostly silvers and coppers, with a few gold coins as well. "So it is. Very nice," he said. "I take it you bear a grudge against your... captain? Employer?"
"Husband," the voice responded sharply. "And yes, I bear the fat greasy bastard a grudge. If all you're here for is to rob from him, I believe we may have grounds for a truce. You keep your distance, I'll tell you where the best valuables in this room may be found, and then you leave."
Well, it would at least give him some chance of escaping from this room alive, if she was not lying. "I believe I am willing to agree to such an arrangement," he offered, cautiously.
"I thought you might find it tempting," she said. "Well. Stand up – slowly – and I will tell you where to look next."
He bit his lip. Having him stand up would be a perfect way to draw him out for a clean shot...
"I promise not to kill you. At least as long as you make no sudden moves in my direction," she said, voice warmly amused. "Or I could scream, loudly, and you can see how well you fare against my husband's men."
He snorted, then slowly rose to his feet, keeping his hands well out from his own body, hands turned towards her and fingers spread to show he was unarmed. Or at least had no weapon currently in hand, he mentally amended.
"Well... an elf. And a very pretty one. Nice outfit."
He grinned in the direction of the voice, and gave a very slight bow. "I required a stratagem to get safely on board ship and below-decks. Playing the whore seemed an obvious choice."
"Better than being forced to act the part," she said, voice dark and bitter. "I assume that means there is the body of a crew member stuffed away somewhere?"
"Nothing so crude, I assure you," he said. "He is merely sleeping, in his own bed, and will awaken tomorrow morning with a slight headache and, with luck, little memory of me."
She snorted again, then he heard the slither of cloth against cloth, accompanied by a metallic tinkling sound, and she moved out of the deeper shadows to take a seat on the edge of the bed. In the dim light it was hard to make out much of her; it took a moment for him to even realize that she was dressed in nothing but a short sleeveless shift of some pale fabric, leaving a surprising amount of dusky skin bare. It was only when she crossed her shapely legs that he noticed the source of the tinkling sound; a chain, leading to a padded cuff fastened around her slender ankle.
"If you look to your left, there's a small locked chest in the bottom of that cabinet. He keeps more money and some valuables in there," she said, sounding perfectly calm and composed.
Zevran nodded, and went over to the indicated piece of furniture. He could feel her eyes watching him, as he checked the cabinet for traps before opening it. The chest was obvious, a small casket of dark burnished wood bound with brass. He lifted it out and set it on the desk, then set to work with his picklocks. He could feel himself flushing as several minutes passed before the lock finally snapped open; truly it was one of his worse skills.
"You're not very good at that," she said, suspiciously. "Are you certain you're a thief?"
He flashed a brief smile her way as he carefully opened the chest, still wary of traps. "It is not my primary occupation. More of a side line, you might say."
"Oh? Are you truly a whore then?"
"Born to one, but no, that is not my occupation either," he said distractedly, as he sorted through the contents of the chest. More coin, which he pocketed, some paper – mainly having to do with ownership of the ship, a house in Llomerryn, and several other properties, which were of no use or interest to the elf. In the bottom of the chest he found several velvet bags, of the sort typically used to protect gems or jewellery from damage, and carefully lifted them out, putting them one by one on the desk. The woman immediately sat up straighter, then rose to her feet and took a few steps in his direction, hands clenching into fists, stopping only when the chain went taunt and prevented her from moving any closer
"Open them," she all but hissed, dark eyes fixed on the pile of bags.
Zevran raised an eyebrow, then complied, starting with the largest. A heavy gold necklace slid out into his hand; a small fortune in gold, comprised of a thick tapered collar, set with an opaque pale blue gem – turquoise, he thought – with a series of linked gold rondels hanging down in a wedge from the front of it. A pair of them had come loose, he thought at first, before realizing they were earrings, patterned to match the rest.
"That's mine," the woman exclaimed angrily. "That bastard – he said he'd sold them! Give it to me," she demanded, peremptorily holding out one hand. Zevran silently did as told. The woman's fingers were shaking as she undid the clasp in the back of the collar, which allowed it to hinged open from the sides, before lifting it up to fasten it around her own neck. She took the earrings next, fastening them on, then sighed, pressing one hand to the roundels where they overlay her collarbones and a wedge of her upper chest, drawing further attention to the magnificent bosom straining the fabric of her shift.
"Open the rest," she said, sounding much calmer. Zevran opened each bag in turn as she watched closely, both silent. More jewellery, in both gold and silver, some unset gems. She claimed a few more pieces, all much smaller – a heavy cuff bracelet, a gold ring set with another turquoise, and a round gold stud that she fastened through a tiny hole under her lower lip.
"You may keep the rest," she told him, tossing back her dark hair and turning to walk away, back over to the bed. She had a very sensual strut, he couldn't help noticing.
"Won't your husband question your possession of those?" he asked curiously.
She shrugged. "Only if he sees me with them. And even if he does, he will find it considerably harder to take them away from me a second time," she added, frowning as she sat back down on the edge of the bed again. She produced a dagger from somewhere and spun it in her fingers, then made it vanish again, so skillfully that Zevran wasn't entirely sure where she'd produced it from, though he could only think of three places.
He frowned. "You know, the mix of lethally armed but chained seems... rather perplexing," he pointed out.
The woman laughed, mirthlessly. "There's a long story behind that," she said.
Zevran grinned at her. "I am all ears."
That earned him a laugh, and a slow smile. "I think I like you," she said, and sat back, crossing her legs again. "Why not. And while I'm at it, there should be some more valuable odds and ends in that cabinet over there," she said, nodding to a tall cabinet to one side of a map table near the windows at the back of the room. "Have fun with all the locks," she added, smirking slightly.
He understood what she meant once he opened the cabinet doors; it was an apothecary cabinet, filled with dozens of little drawers, and every single one of them had its own little. "You are an evil woman," he observed, and flashed her a brilliant smile. "My favourite kind."