Part 6
I woke up in a cold dungeon
cell. New experiences every cycle…it
took a moment for the reality of the situation to hit me.
Sat up too quickly, such that I had
to close my eyes and wait for the black dizziness to wear off. Whose
dungeon cell? Just better not be in a rival House's, if Ilith'vir even had one
anymore. How had I gotten here? Where
was that snake?
For a brief, panic-filled moment I
imagined I had been swallowed, until the rational bit of my mind pointed out
that the insides of a snake would hardly be steel and stone, and could hardly
be cool and smell of still air.
Carefully I looked around, afraid of
what I'd find. Could smell the commode
from here, but it wasn't unbearable. Table with pieces of paper and some books – through the light I could
read their titles. Breeding habits of rothe? I frowned. Why books? Entertainment? But the whole point about dungeons was
discomfort…yet another of the illogical things about this cell then, with the
other one being that light. It should be
uncomfortable to my eyes, but it wasn't, as if I was…used to it. There was some sort of irregular, carved
wooden box on four legs against the wall, next to the table. Then a short half body-length to the
depressingly solid steel bars that gleamed smugly in the mage-light.
I got up; wincing slightly as my
bare feet touched the cold stone. There
were some boots popularly known as 'commoner' boots – no dagger sheathes, no
hidden knives, cardboard soles. Nothing
in the room that could be used as a weapon. The bed was bolted down, as was the rest of the furniture except the
strange wooden box.
Hopefully I sidled over to it after
putting on the boots. Opening it as
noiselessly as I could – murmurs of voices somewhere down the corridor outside
the cell suggested guards – I felt disappointed. Rectangular squares were fixed in a row, smooth and bone white –
probably ivory. The cover of the box
had been traced with lines of ivory – a conventional design that looked like
some surface bird amongst lots of leaves.
It looked like a musical
instrument. Tentatively I touched one
of the keys, and a note sang out. Interesting, but the voices stopped, and then started again, this time
with undercurrents of purpose. Whoops.
I sat down in front of the
instrument, stared hard at the keys, and put all my concentration toward
listening. No footsteps heading this
way – one set was receding. Going to
fetch someone, or something? Where was I anyway?
Outside the cell was a blank
wall. That didn't help. I considered pressing my face against the
bars and trying to look around as much as I could, but I remembered that some
dungeons had warded bars, to make it interesting for any prisoner attempting to
escape that way. Fireworks, burned
flesh, silence, just add pain.
There didn't seem to be much else I
could do. After some restless pacing
and disinterested flipping through the books, I sat on the bed. Maybe I should fall asleep again – better
than tiring myself out by panicking. I
stared at the boots. Maybe I could get
into the sleep-trance in this position.
While I was weighing the benefits of
trying to find an escape route, waiting quietly, or falling asleep and getting
surprised if someone decided to visit, I fell asleep.
A faint tapping, like hard ceramic on steel, stole away the presence of sleep faster than a good thief would rob a drunk merchant. Plink, plink-plink. Plink, plink-plink. I looked up through the white veil of fringe, and saw Jarlaxle slouched on a chair on the opposite side of the steel bars, elbow casually sitting on the armrest, cheek against one fine-boned hand. One of the famous diatryma feathers coyly brushed against a mithril band high on his arm, inscribed with what looked like dwarven runes.
The other hand, resting on his lap, held a glass sphere the size of a baby svirfneblin's head. Suspended in the exact centre, like some deformed heart, was a very familiar figurine. I deliberately gave it only a cursory, disinterested glance, unwilling to give the rogue any satisfaction.
"Vendui, Jarlaxle." I felt mildly relieved. This probably meant I was in the dungeons of Bregan D'aerthe, and not that of a rival House. Hopefully.
"Vendui, Ti'erlfein," he replied familiarly, as if he'd known me for years instead of a few short meetings spread over a few decades. "Are you feeling better?"
"I might be," I pushed my fringe away, keeping the gesture fluid, not jerky with the irritation at the apprehension I felt, shading my eyes for that required instant I needed to study his features closely. Unworried, neutral, dispassionate. That could have both positive and negative inflections...
"Oh?" Jarlaxle raised the glass ball to eye-level and pretended to study the figurine.
"Dungeon air doesn't suit my constitution." I returned his amused glance evenly. I didn't glance at the figurine. It wasn't difficult – without the name, Jarlaxle wouldn't be able to summon it – and knowing the mercenary, he probably would not do anything that was remotely risky. Thus the glass ball, I would think.
"Easily remedied. You may go." He snapped the fingers on his free hand, a little theatrically. Two guards appeared at his shoulder, and made a show of unlocking the door and swinging it noiselessly open.
Immediately I felt wary. Images of myself getting stabbed in the back kept intruding into my mind, and I considered whether staying in the cell, which was defensive, but risking Jarlaxle's ire, was better than doing the predictable thing and exiting confinement. So I hesitated, and the rogue, damn him, noticed my uncertainty. Not that he showed any outward indication that he had – but you can always tell.
"I came to an arrangement with your Matron," Jarlaxle began to toss the ball, dextrously catching it each time it plummeted to the ground. "So I repeat: you may go. Would you like me to add...threats, manipulation, or acts of coercion so you would better understand my invitation?"
I sighed, but stood up stiffly, averting eyes from the quick smirk that sprawled over his lean features. Once I walked past the guards, they flinched back slightly, as if afraid, or maybe just because I was invading their personal space. You'd never know with drow. "Aluve, Jarlaxle," I bowed mockingly. I'd rather find out by myself how I'd ended up in Bregan D'aerthe, so I didn't bother trying to ask him questions. He didn't seem to expect any.
Thin lips spread into a sphinx-like smile. "Don't forget this," he tossed the ball at me, and I managed to catch it without attempting to duck. "M'terl here," he gestured to one of the guards, "Will show you out and return your equipment."
I realised I had one question, and the words crawled past my lips before I could clamp them coldly shut. "How is Caomh?"
Jarlaxle didn't even blink, and to my surprise relinquished the information without complaint or comment. "Recently recovered from...the after-effects of your little jaunt to the Braeryn, and when I last saw him, he was demanding to know why he had to stay in bed and was harassing the healers."
I nodded in obligatory thanks, and turned to go. The last I ever saw of him, he was seated in that chair before the cell, playing with what looked like a paper jarlaxle – from then on he seemed to make a point of avoiding me. I didn't really wonder why, but felt thankful for it – Jarlaxle occasionally unnerved me.
**
True to his word, I got back my equipment, or if they'd removed any, I didn't notice. Made a pest of myself by slowly and pointedly putting everything back on except the concealed knives, then was courteously but firmly escorted out of the Clawrift headquarters, and when finally left alone (read: watched by concealed sentries) I put down the bag of knives, carefully, then stretched out my hand and dropped the glass globe.
It smashed satisfactorily into a hundred fragments, and I picked up the figurine and put it in a pocket, managing to cut my thumb in the process. I called Halsshar between muttered curses and sucking the injury. Frankly I had no idea why I did so – possibly because the part of me addicted to life noticed that if I staggered back like this I would probably get mugged on the way, and dazed as I was, I wouldn't be able to defend myself.
The hell hound appeared behind me, as was customary - I only noticed his presence when he commented, "Do try to be more careful. Having the likes of you as a partner is profoundly embarrassing."
I decided not to frame a rebuttal, and tried to keep myself from flinching in surprise. "What date is it?"
He told me. I rubbed the hollow between my right eye and my nose. "Lloth. I'd spent that much time unconscious? Then why do I not feel hungry, or thirsty..."
Halsshar managed to shrug. "Azrael knows. You Ilythiiri are strange. What would surprise me is if you were to suddenly gain intelligence, but one cannot have everything." Glowing red eyes could not betray any emotion, but I felt that the look he was giving me was fully of wary curiosity, for a reason I could not fathom. It sort of reminded me of the look on Jarlaxle's face when I'd first woken up.
We made our way back to my office in silence. Once we reached the door he snorted and vanished.
Suddenly too tired to wonder why, I stumbled in, ready to fall asleep in my chair if need be, and to my annoyance found the Matron ensconced in it. Wearily I leaned against the door, letting it shut with a disapproving thud.
"Vendui, Qu'el'velguk," she peered over the sheaf of papers she was going through. Oh, vith…had I left anything that could be incriminating? I definitely did not feel up to a lecture.
"Vendui, elamshinus uss," I replied with as much formality as I could muster. "I…"
"I know exactly what you have been up to," she replied flatly. "I seem to remember forbidding you to go out of the House until you had healed completely…"
Actually, she hadn't, but I didn't want to quibble – she might just launch into one of her tirades. So I kept meekly quiet until she ran out of metaphorical steam and contented herself with glaring at me.
The silence got as acutely and as uncomfortably sharp as a scythe swung at oneself. Finally she relented, and got up from my chair. "You are granted rest for a period of time – two cycles…make use of it, or I'd send soldiers to drag you to the House and…"
She spent the next few minutes detailing what she would do, and needless to say I wasn't listening. Matron Ilith'vir had an imagination both perverse and wild. Made little obsequious noises until she ran out of images and stood up to leave. She was letting me off for two cycles? Oh, heaven…sometimes, just sometimes, Matron Ilith'vir's non-psychotic personality peered out from those pretty eyes, and made being the Ilith'vir Qu'el'velguk and general sniffing hound seem a better option than turning rogue.
"May…may I ask a question?" I cursed my mouth and my curiosity, but the words slipped out.
"You may."
"What happened to the snake?"
I'd assumed she knew – and she did. She pursed full lips painted a deep red. "The Academy sent representatives to take a look. Those that went in were thrown out in several pieces. Then suddenly everything was back to normal, so they left after wandering around the now-empty Braeryn for a time. Assuming that they had chased it away, the idiots."
"Then…then where did it go?"
"Stop stammering," she said automatically, "Or I'd tear out your tongue with my whip. I have no idea where it has been, and reputedly, neither does Dyrr, who is pretending very hard that nothing happened. It is unclear what happened to him. Now rest. You may use that purse on the table if you would prefer one of the rooming houses to this kobold-hole of yours." And with that parting shot she flounced – there's no other word for it – out of the office.
I closed my eyes for a brief moment, enjoying, as I always did after she'd left the immediate surroundings, the delicious, intoxicating silence.
Then methodically, I locked the door and fell asleep in the chair.
**
I spent the next two cycles recovering at Symeera's, a good rooming house that permitted humans. Why pick this sort of rooming house over Ilitree's, the exclusively drow, luxurious one? Well…I don't mind the ugly creatures…and in Symeera's there's always chance for one of those human-invented card games which is one of my few vices (I hold that my vices are few, no matter what the Matron might believe). Most humans can be genuinely affable if you're amiable to them – compared to my kin.
I still seemed to be drifting off at times, but thankfully my mind only wandered off when I was alone in my suite. I didn't know why – perhaps Bregan D'aerthe had forced something into me, or perhaps it was some post-traumatic after-effect. But by the second cycle I was better, rested, and feeling more alive than I had been for a long, long time.
One more thing I liked about places like Symeera's is that no self-respecting drow female priestess would come into them and none of the haughty, unbearable males either. I spent those two cycles in a mood as close to happiness as I've ever been.
Only one curious incident – that of the Do'Urden weapon master near the middle of the cycle, sans little Vierna. Laughing with some humans that looked as though, from their weapons, they had come from far-off Skullport, genuine laughter, and not the sneezing cough that precludes some deception of a sort. And they were speaking the human's tongue – one that I understood and spoke, of course, but didn't expect him to. Not another surprise – my life seemed full of them lately.
I approached the table curiously, and about a few arms' length away, the conversation stopped and all of them turned around to stare. I bowed from the neck. "Vendui Zaknafein Do'Urden."
He nodded curtly at me. "Velguk, what are you doing here?"
"Recovering," I folded my arms in the universal gesture. "I had some trouble in the Braeryn."
Zaknafein narrowed his eyes. "Ah yes, Jarlaxle told me about that…problem…that also involved Caomh, yes?"
"He chose to come," My voice did not sound defensive at all. "What are you doing here?"
Zaknafein glanced around the table, and the side of his mouth flicked upwards for a moment. "Hard as this may be for you to believe, velguk, I do happen to have friends." The humans around the table murmured with good-humour. I considered asking more questions and decided not to waste my time here – bowing, I wandered back to cards. My attention stayed with them, though.
The large, taller-than-Uthegentel human spoke first. "Sure you don't want to come?"
A chuckle, Zaknafein's. "I can't leave the city."
"Sure you can. They'd never be able to find you – and you're male, common-born. There won't be much of a pursuit." The rat-faced one, now. "The Underdark will swallow you whole."
"Perhaps that is what I am afraid of." Zaknafein said dryly. By the Spider Queen, he'd just made a jest… "I can't leave my daughter." My daughter? Lloth, some drow…Zaknafein was older than I was, and in some matters he was still so stubborn.
"Take her, then." I couldn't identify the owner of this voice without turning to look, which would be too obvious.
"Zedraki, did you imbibe too much mushroom wine? If I were to escape, myself, there would be pursuit. If I were to leave with Vierna – noble born, female, given to Lloth, there would be worse than pursuit. A hunt – and us Ilythiiri never give up when we put our minds to something."
The tone of his voice seemed to invite no further discussion, and the topic switched to weaponry.
Very interesting, but at this time I was trying not to be ragar noamuth, so I didn't let my mind dwell on it. It explained, in part, several incidents that happened many centuries after this. (Yes, I am aware that this constant reference to the future is annoying. Humour an old drow. It's not like I'm deeply obliged to write these vithin journals anyway.)
**
I spent the next few years doing small cases – locating missing persons, checking up on possible fraud, cons, and scandals – things that made an RN's life so much more exciting. I could use some safe excitement after the fracas with that snake. Tylinyl made the occasional reappearance in my private life, and though Matron Ilith'vir never seemed to approve, she didn't show any disapproval either. It would never be serious, and both of the females knew it.
Halsshar and I settled on a relationship – I shared with him, he threatened me, and slowly, painfully, we got used to each other's sense of humour. Llyrx never really got used to Halsshar – the Dreix imp was always convinced that the hell hound wanted to eat him, even if Halsshar had repeatedly said that Dreix imp tasted like bloat-toe, a particularly disgusting and smelly type of mushroom.
Perhaps he shouldn't have mentioned that. Llyrx was sure to wonder how Halsshar knew imps tasted that way…in any case, I'd managed to argue that I didn't need Dreix imps any longer, since Halsshar had some picture-memory-hologram spell. Matron Ilith'vir had reluctantly agreed, to Llyrx's relief.
A few years of successfully staying out of Matron Ilith'vir's personal space – about a hundred paces – then one day I received a communication disc from her. Go to the Office. Now. And stop drinking.
I wasn't drinking…but now I felt like it. Muttering, I put the figurine in my pocket and sidled away from my office after I sent the obligatory Yes Matron, At once Matron reply. Skulking off to the House.
I didn't dare to take my time, so I jogged. Running was noticeable and undignified – besides, if I presented myself panting and out of breath in the Office, the Matron might just decide that I needed more fitness training. This way, if I took too long, I might just be able to get a riding lizard out of her…
The landscape passed like a numb blur. What did she want me there for? Either a major lecture, or a major case – small ones would be given to me via comm disc. Major lecture…I tried to remember if I had did something insalubrious in the past few cycles. The worst offence I could remember was snooping around the gambling dens to find someone for a case, but the Matron could never be bothered to lecture me for that sort of thing.
Major case…but I had not heard of any monumental events in Menzoberranzan lately. Still, if it were truly serious it would probably be secret.
No theorising without data, ragar noamuth.
I reached the main gates, smiling and nodding to the guards, accepted the restrained fawning and the Your Matron is Waiting reminders, then sauntered off towards the Office, levitating upwards to a certain balcony that had sculptures traced in veins of adamantite. This section of the House was always relatively quiet, with the occasional scurrying member rushing on some errand. The busier bit was the reception area and the consultation area. I went up to the higher floors, where the floor was cold marble.
The starkness of the supposed 'elite' floors always struck me as unusual. A lack of the decorations I'd seen in all other Houses. Only the carved doors and the marble floor – no small tables, no amusing exhibits, no tapestries. And that smell of healer-rooms – sterilised, hot water, soap.
Predictably the Office double doors were at the very end of this corridor, from the staircase. Long walk, unwanted page prince memories surfacing like blood welling from a cut. The nauseatingly smug sister that smirked and pointed while I scrubbed the floor, the constant You missed a spot comments, the other females laughing and praising her.
Old times.
**
Matron Ilith'vir didn't bother with pleasantries. "A new case, and one I do not want to see you vith up. You are aware of the drug problem in Menzoberranzan."
I held back cocky answers along the lines of 'when have you ever seen me vith up a case?' and simply nodded. Advanced a tentative opinion: "There has been a drug problem for many years."
"It's worse. Once it was just the iblith of the street that took devil dust, Vhaerun nail, d'harya, whatever they could buy with money they stole. There seems to be a new supplier – the drugs are easier to acquire – many street corners, many little places, and curiosity has claimed a few. Some ranked males, students, priestesses."
Aha. The disgust was palpable in her sharp, businesslike voice. She didn't even bother to use the normal female-to-male attitude.
"You want me to find the supplier?" That seemed easy enough – trace the transactions, burn down the place, kill him, whatever. Hardly worth a trip to the Office. I risked a sidelong glance at the furniture – rich, luxurious, unlike the emptiness outside. Furs, carpet, carved furniture, even imports from the Surface and Skullport – wooden chairs, paintings and such, all displayed under the dim light. Her inner sanctum. I felt distinctly out of place, like a drow in an all-dwarf city, as I always did when I had to come here, and was nearly consumed by an urge to run away back to my nice, messy office.
"Not as easy as you may think. He, or she, works carefully – dealers apparently just 'find' a new crate-load in their warehouses. Money to be put in the same spot."
"Get rid of the dealers?"
"Qu'el'velguk, have you any idea how much the drugs are worth? One standard-sized crate alone could be worth several hundreds of thousands of coin. Adamantite coin. There will always be dealers."
"Who's paying?" Religious as the Matron may be – she'd never take this sort of case out of righteous indignation.
"The Council. Not paying – an order." Ah, perhaps the reason for all that tight fury. Someone had leaked information about Ilith'vir Investigations to the Council of Eight. Very, very bad…not that they didn't know we existed, but the information wasn't official. Officially, Investigations didn't exist. Officially, House Ilith'vir was just a normal, non-noble House. Since quite a few ranking personages didn't like the idea that so much information was at the tip of a non-noble House.
How could this hurt us? Well, if they used us this way, without paying, we might well be forced to do more jobs for them, non-paying jobs, for the glory of Lloth. Sniffing hounds for any noble-House Matron with a grievance, sniffing away for free because if we turned into a tool of Lloth, then all of her Most Favoured would be free to use it. In a few centuries, House Ilith'vir would no longer even be seen as a House, but as a service. I could feel myself getting angry as well. Blood flushed into my cheeks, in hot and furious pricks.
"Then why put me on it, if the Council requested it?" Letting a male do the job might well be seen as an insult.
"I told them you were our best," the Matron glanced back down at her desk, and long fingers arranged papers. "Do not disappoint the House. The Council accepted it – they want this cleared up." Rather intelligently done – in blandly stating that a male was the best that Investigations had, and that a male would be the best that they would give, then she had established that Investigations would not enjoy being a dog for the Council. And some female priestesses might think that Investigations would not be worth the trouble to look up and ask for 'favours'.
Of course I wasn't the best. We both knew which of us was, when all was said and done, but the Matron obviously didn't want to take the trouble to actively head the investigation. That was fine by me.
Anger still burned in me, though. I hated this city at times.
I nodded. "Would you have…suggestions as to where to start?"
"Let's hear yours first."
"Visiting the warehouses," I said promptly, "Speaking to some of the dealers, to see if they had some contract or other on getting these sort of supplies, check the type of writing to try and see which race did it, then running over one of them with the magic-indicator. It may not be the…mastermind, or masterminds, but it may give some indication of what we may be dealing with. Next perhaps to see if a lot of money had been spent lately in some of the luxury shops by a single or small group of…beings." The last was sort of a guess. "Then some old-fashioned surveillance."
The Matron smiled briefly. Approval, perhaps. "Keep the House updated. And try to cow one of the contracts into allowing you to watch one of the placement areas at the normal time of teleport – we have descriptions, but you may notice something else. Take a mage with you, a good one. Get him to try and put up some sort of teleport block on the place, a strong one, to see if the masterminds still attempt to break it. If they can, this may be some gauge of their ability. The mage might be able to identify the spell if he is learned enough. And if there is some magical backlash from your being there – those who tried to watch the teleport of crates have been found burned black and dry as husks – he should be able to shield you."
There was an obvious flaw in that suggestion. "We don't have such a mage."
The Matron chuckled at some private joke. "We do. Nalfein Do'Urden."
"Do'Urden?" Not again! I've had just enough of Zaknafein's House…they were turning up everywhere I went, like maggots to corpses!
"I told the Council we needed a mage. Since they want to keep this drug issue quiet – not good to let surrounding cities or habitations know of this…a perceived weakness in Menzoberranzan may invite disaster. Hence they had to get a good mage who did not have any sort of high rank. Fewer questions asked. No Masters, no Magelords. There were a few shortlisted, but the ambitious Matron of Do'Urden was the first to volunteer her precious Qu'el'faeruk. With a great show of expression on how willing she was to serve the Spider Queen." The last few sentences were mocking. I hid a smile successfully – actually Matron Ilith'vir and the Matron of Do'Urden shared several similarities.
"She knows?"
"No. No one knows of this…job except Investigations and the Council. Do'Urden only knows that the Council requires a good mage for some secret, honourable activity." More barbed amusement. "You may find the mage hanging on to you even after he has completed his activity. The Matron may wish one of her House scions to be involved in the solution of the case. Make him do his job first – after that, try to brush him off. Politely, mind. If that is within your capabilities."
I ignored the sarcasm. "And what is Do'Urden's Qu'el'faeruk's opinion of this?"
"If you wish to believe Matron Malice, he is simply overwhelmed with the honour." Matron Ilith'vir smiled a wicked smile. Of course. "But mages, good mages, resent being Council lackeys. You might have to…sweet-talk him somewhat. Oh, and try to swear him into secrecy. Knowing us drow, that may not be of much worth, but it is conventional."
I grimaced. I didn't want a cranky, powerful mage on my hands over everything else.
"At most, pull rank," the Matron dismissed my doubts. "Matron Malice may already have cowed her mage into submission. Though from what I know of Nalfein Do'Urden, that may be unlikely." Fellow was known to have an independent streak – which was normal, all mages had that to some degree. But Nalfein had made friends, or at worst allies, of certain drow seen as not-exactly-favoured – and all male. Foolhardy?
"What has the Council done?"
"Not much. They've only used tried, time-honoured procedures – tortured a few, executed a few. Nothing. The only useful information they have come up with is a list of the most important dealers, and the locations."
"My resources…"
"Take whatever you want. This has to be solved," the Matron reiterated, her eyes hard. "If we do not find the source of this…trouble, the Council has implied that House Ilith'vir will fall. Hard."
"But our information on Houses…"
"Will not help us if they are determined to destroy us, and you know it. It would be an empty revenge if the House and Investigations had already been eliminated. The Council has enough might to do it quickly enough, before we can gather the necessary…information we have to keep and scatter."
I sighed deeply, and rubbed my right eye. "Damn. Perhaps the source isn't even in Menzoberranzan. Some vith in some other city, maybe even in the Underdark, sending little caravans into the city."
"Another point, Qu'el'velguk – I will get some of our agents to watch the main entrances into the city. Perhaps check the caravans." I disregarded the urge to ask the Matron to get the Council, with all its resources, to get guards to check the caravans. Trade from the outside was an important part of Menzoberranzan's economy.
"How? We cannot possibly look in every single…"
The Matron rolled her eyes to the ceiling for patience, something that she probably did nearly every time she met me. "We have creatures that may be able to smell the drugs. I'd get someone to try the Dreix imps, if not, we may always get some other sort of help. Perhaps the air elementals – they are unnoticeable enough if they wish to be. At least they would be able to look inside containers."
The air elementals. That artifact in the storerooms, a trophy of an earlier case. Good idea…
"However, if they are in the city…"
"Drugs are not easily made or grown, and large patches of land in the city growing drug-crops would have been noticed a long time ago. It has to be imported."
"Qu'el'velguk, did you notice how many little, unguarded tunnels lead into the city?"
I lowered my head for a moment, annoyed at having forgotten this fact. "Then checking the entrances…"
"We have to try. As it is we will station creatures in some of the better-known non-guarded tunnels." Matron Ilith'vir looked stressed. Time to back off a little.
"What happens if…when we find them?" An operation big enough to trouble the Council had to be run by several beings.
"Inform me. I will inform the Council." Matron Ilith'vir leaned back in her chair. "Nothing else? Start work, Qu'el'velguk."
"One more thing…where do I pick up our new mage?"
"Look in your office."
"When do I get mage-locks?" I tried to look injured.
She smirked. "If Nalfein is as good as he is reputed to be, none we can buy would be worth the earth on your boots."
"Do I have a time limit?"
"Nothing was mentioned about a time limit, but if we make them wait too long…" She didn't finish the sentence. She didn't need to.
On cue, I felt the first twinges of a bad headache.
**
True enough, the quiet Do'Urden Qu'el'faeruk was standing inside the office. The door had been locked and undisturbed. I had Halsshar with me for intimidation purposes, but the mage looked unimpressed. He also looked bored, mildly annoyed, and weary. I'd expected this, but something got me to change the strategy I'd devised on my way here.
"Firstly, I do not wish to work on this case as much as you do," I spoke before he could start on the obligatory pleasantries. "Secondly, the Council wants it solved quickly, so I will try to solve it quickly. So if you have any intention of…"
"My intentions match yours," Nalfein interrupted, his voice habitually soft, but here, edged. He hesitated, then expelled the air from his lungs in a long breath. "What would you want me to do?" Reluctant – this mage was proud, but not unbearably so.
"This case is confidential…"
"I know. I have sworn oaths before the Council." Nalfein's mouth twitched. Contempt, perhaps? Anyway, this habit of his of interrupting my speech could get annoying. In any case, I told him what he had to do.
He grimaced. "Menial work. The teleport block is easy enough – any that would be able to break mine may already narrow down your field of search. I can do better – perhaps I can trace the teleport to the source. And as to shielding – from the description of the victims, it sounds like a simple type of backlash ward."
"I admire your confidence," I said dryly, patting Halsshar. "But this is my skin…"
"At the worst, you die. My Matron stated that if I failed in any of my duties to this 'case', she would resurrect me and subject me to the worst torments she can devise. The duties, apparently, include protecting you." Nalfein smiled without humour. With that expression, robes that were just ornate enough for a Qu'el'faeruk but not for a Master and above, and the typical mage staff, he seemed to be a quintessential House mage, neither student nor Master, rank uncertain, never truly content but having to appear so…
Now that this was established, I was uncertain of what sort of working relationship to have with the mage. Definitely not with him as the superior. As equals?
Halsshar decided for me. He padded forward, circling Nalfein, whose only sign of apprehension was gripping his staff more tightly. The hell hound sniffed loudly, then wandered back to me. "Not too bad, for a drow mage."
Nalfein stiffened.
I had to fight not to laugh out loud. As it was, a snicker slipped past my lips, but I covered with a cough and a snort. "When would you learn to set different standards for mortals and immortals, abbil?" I had no intention of revealing Halsshar's name to Nalfein. Certainly my reference to the hound as abbil made him blink.
Another sniff. "Probably when you learn to introduce me to your associates."
I winked at Nalfein. "Fine. This is a Greater hell hound. Don't get your robe into a twist because of something he says. He never says anything of actual value."
"I'd bite you later," Halsshar shook himself. Years ago, he would have.
"Tlu kyone, abbil, I may bite back," I bantered. Nalfein was beginning to look confused. I didn't blame him.
"May you catch the wasting disease and die painfully," Halsshar retorted. "Can we start on this investigation of yours? It'd be too much trouble for me to have to find and train a new partner if the Council gets impatient."
I looked at the list, then gave it to Nalfein, deciding that a relationship of equals would probably be the best in these circumstances. "What do you think?"
"One of those near the Braeryn may be better," Nalfein read carefully. "Perhaps poorer and easier to intimidate." Exactly what I'd been wanting to say, but perhaps the mage would feel better about having to work under a male of a lower House, and a fighter at that.
"I like him already," Halsshar offered. Nalfein raised an eyebrow. I decided to intervene.
"You're beginning to sound like Llyrx."
"Must be your influence."
**
The warehouse was crawling with bugs.
Shuddering, Nalfein seated himself next to me, behind a particularly tall stack of crates. Holes in one of them allowed us to look at the blank spot where the next 'delivery' was supposed to arrive. We'd got in with little resistance – intimations of possessing the favour of several High Priestesses had melted the owner of the warehouse as quickly as white flame would melt ice. The owner was drow, of course – one of the lesser races might squeal if the masterminds sought to probe, but drow, fearful of backlashes from the Spider Queen, might be harder to prise information out of.
I had my doubts that the masterminds were drow. If they were, Lloth would have already directed her priestesses to take action. Perhaps. Especially if they were worshippers of the Spider Queen. If they were worshippers of other Gods, the priestesses would be led to them all the quicker…but one never knew for certain. Lloth was Queen of Chaos, after all.
We waited quietly. Nalfein was restless, shifting every few minutes, but noiselessly enough. He had created a teleport block and a tracing spell that would activate if the block was touched. This would probably alert the masterminds – but Lloth knew that with all the extremely subtle blundering of the Council, they probably knew of their interests already.
Another implication that we weren't facing drow? Drow did not like to incur the wrath of priestesses, even if they happened to be mages from Mage-ruled Sshamath. Lloth occasionally took an interest in her people.
Time passed very slowly. Halsshar had disappeared into his figurine, and neither Nalfein nor myself felt like engaging the other in conversation, so we sat in silence that was hopefully companionable. I resigned myself to counting the number of bugs that walked across the teleport area. From the murmuring and gestures from Nalfein, he was amusing himself by building shields and his teleport block.
I'd reached several hundred, losing count several times, and was considering counting just the beetles, or maybe the dancing moths that fluttered uncertainly, mere dots of colour in the infrared.
Then Nalfein poked me tentatively in the shoulder. I turned, pushing the irrational annoyance at losing count again out of my mind.
He signalled in the hand code. The teleport blocks have been broken. Blocks, plural – more than one powerful block broke…oh, vith.
They seem to have been expecting the
blocks. The break-spell would have
taken time to perform…
I hate information leaks. Why can't we ever sneak up on someone? Why
do they always know…ah, vith. Anything else that…
Nalfein's impatient fingers betrayed his surprise. The tracers have been dispelled.
Dispelled?
It does not take much magic. But it does take a learned and experienced
mage…one must be very observant…
Speaking of observant, I hurriedly looked back through my spy-hole. Still nothing. From the sound of shifting fabric over fabric, Nalfein was looking through his too.
Then bright fire roared down at us. I felt the heat on my back and head, flinching upwards to look on instinct, in time to see the column of tight, blue-white flame swirling madly down…
**
Translations and References:
Abbil: friend.
Council/Council of Eight: These drow priestesses appear in the books with annoying regularity, so you should be familiar with them. Usually they don't sully their hands with 'material' incidents, but I supposed that a big drug problem should eventually come to their 'privileged' attention. They're the top eight Houses. Actually this non-noble/noble thing of Salvatore's doesn't seem particularly consistent to me – in the books it's implied (unless I've been asleep) that so long as you are a scion of a House, you're a noble. However, in the Menzoberranzan box set, only if you are a scion of a House whose Matron sits on the Council, then your House is considered a 'noble' one. I'm sort of taking the Menzoberranzan box set rules.
Tlu kyone: Be wary.
