Part 7

I threw up my hands into what would be an ineffective shield against the flame, but no searing heat came to melt the flesh off my bones. Cautiously I looked up – the flames were sleeting off above me, like water flowing over an upturned metal bowl.

I glanced once at Nalfein, to thank him, but he was still calmly looking through the peep-hole. Guiltily I did the same – muttering in my mind about mages and their confidence – but the crate had already appeared. Cursing quietly, I made as if to stand up, since the flames seemed to have receded, but the large globe at the tip of Nalfein's staff suddenly rested firmly against my stomach. I looked down.

The flame is only the beginning, Nalfein commented, fingers graceful now, with relief, glancing up. The teleport spell seems conventional. Great, why do I always get stuck with people who are so full of their dramatic worth?

Is that good or bad? I looked around warily, sitting down. The globe retreated. The fire hadn't even charred surrounding crates or the ground, and for a ludicrous moment I thought I had imagined it.

Bad – it means that the mage could be of any species. Nalfein rubbed the globe with what could actually be affection. Blue-white fire twisted inside like a mortally wounded snake. It appeared extremely familiar.

Thank you for extending my number of suspects to infinity. The fire… I gestured at it.

This staff can suck in magical energy. Nalfein stroked the globe. Fire swirled into a vortex that seemed to be pulled down into the staff itself, and one of the polished gems embedded into it glowed brightly for a moment, like a vestigial fireball. The globe now looked like any other crystal sphere. Nalfein looked around, then created a dim mage-light.

Must be useful. I cringed as tendrils of transparent gray appeared, which had been invisible in infravision. Languid and thick as they pawed and slithered over our shields, like the tips of playful dragons' tails.

Nalfein studied one with interest. I have not seen these before.

Good for you! Hurry up and get rid…

He pushed the globe of his staff out of the apparent shield radius, and immediately the tendrils flowed over and writhed over it. Nalfein attempted to prod one of the tentacles, but the globe passed through it. He sighed. Insubstantial.

That makes it worse… I looked down at the floor nervously. They might be able to go under and up…

The shield applies downward under us as well, Nalfein's fingers twitched in sharp reproof. Without warning, the tendrils were pulled into the globe, the panicked clawing on the wood as they were drawn in leaving little patterns of furrows, and now tiny, seemed to push frantically against the walls, before being sucked into the staff. Another gem glowed brightly for an instant.

Any more wards? I looked around nervously.

I can feel none.

I nodded and we stood up, breaking the shield. I crept cautiously over to the crate, on the lookout for traps, and finding none, tentatively took out the indicator paper and waved it over the crate. The normal Underdark background magic was nearly taken over by a flood of dark yellow-purple in varying hues. I recognized the shade with a sinking heart, but to make sure, I took out another strip of paper and touched it to the crate. More yellow-purple, more intense. Vith.

Nalfein tugged at my sleeve, still using the hand code. Well?

Illithids. At least four.

Nalfein ground the end of his staff on the ground in disgust. Mind magic.

Wonder why they haven't tried to blast us.

Nalfein rolled his eyes. They did.

Oh? I did not know a non-psychic could defend against mind magic…

And you are correct.

What? I stared at Nalfein with new respect.

He smiled. My Matron does not wish to make that well known. My father is…was of House Oblodra. Matron Malice's promiscuity does have strange results, yes?

Very frank. I replied, making a note to mention this to Matron Ilith'vir. Now, a teleport back to House Ilith'vir would be appreciated.

The courtyard?

We have no official courtyard. Outside the gates to the House proper.

I pictured the gates, and Nalfein muttered something. The landscape changed dizzily, as if I'd entered some whirlwind that cleared to deposit me in front of my House. The guards looked warily at Nalfein, but opened the gates. We were probably expected. They were nice about our appearance though – they even pretended not to notice while I staggered around dizzily waiting for my digestive system to catch up.

When the gates closed behind us I was prepared to levitate upward onto the high interior balcony that led to the Office, but to my surprise the Matron Ilith'vir was standing in front of us, arms crossed. "Report," she told me, ignoring Nalfein. Probably putting him in his place – Nalfein certainly took it quietly.

I told her what had transpired. She pursed her lips. "Illithids. This may be easier. Fewer of them."

"There may be groups we do not know of," I reminded her, thinking of the alhoon group I had been unlucky to encounter those years ago.

"True, but there is a high chance they are in Manyfolk."

"Well yes, that just gives us a few hundred square…"

"No need for that tone," the Matron said sharply. The snakes at her waist hissed. "Well. There may be difficulty tailing illithids, since they sense minds. I see that House Oblodra may have to cooperate further…"

"The alhoons may keep track of illithid groups in the city that have this amount of magic at their disposal. I can try asking them," I grimaced. I hated alhoons. "If they would help." If I didn't get my brain eaten, get turned into a mindless living zombie, or just generally insulted. The last one was certain.

"Threaten them if they do not," the Matron folded her arms.

"Yes, very friendly," I muttered. "I just can't wait for my brain to be sucked out by undead tentacles."

She didn't comment, if she'd heard it. "Lloth, perhaps if you speak with them they would run away to help the illithids. I believe I will speak with them myself. You will have the privilege of looking through our files."

"Can I look in the luxury shops first?" All that work with paper…

"No. Start. And no 'delegation of work' to the commoners – the fewer know intimately about this situation, the better," The Matron pretended to notice Nalfein for the first time. "Ah, Nalfein Do'Urden?"

Nalfein bowed deeply, gracefully. A snide voice in me quipped that mages probably had to get a degree in 'Bowing Mysteriously and Not Tripping over Robes'. His rich robes pooled on the ground, rippling fabric like miniature waves frozen in an instant. Matron Ilith'vir allowed herself an appreciative smile at the gesture.

"Your task is complete, and well, if Ti'erlfein is to be believed…" I grinned at that. The Matron ignored me.

"If I am allowed to speak my mind…?" Nalfein asked respectfully.

"You may." Oh no, the Matron was giving Nalfein a Look. And me one as well, though the one I received was subtly different, hinting at later sessions along the lines of my current state of manners as compared to certain males.

"If the…culprits are illithids, I may still be of use if we encounter one by accident," Nalfein didn't hide his distaste at being distracted further from - whatever mages did in their spare time - very well. Obviously unwilling, but since Matron Malice had commanded him…Matron Ilith'vir shot me a glance as if to say 'I told you so'.

Still. "He has some psychic ability," I decided this was the best time to tell Matron Ilith'vir about Nalfein's 'newly discovered' ability. And I definitely preferred a dark elf to an alhoon, and so far, I would prefer him to any of Oblodra's psionics, especially if they were female. Oblodra had a reputation, none of which was very good. "However, we could ask the alhoons…"

Matron Ilith'vir snorted. "The leader liked you, at least. For some reason which I still have to discern."

"Ah, something that appreciates me at last."

"The fact that he, or it, is undead may explain why, of course. Dying probably rots out most of one's brains. Still, they may have information we do not have."

"And they would have a motive to bring down any illithid group, at least." The Matron and I were playing mind games again…this time together against Nalfein, who was beginning to look dismayed.

"Since you are here now, you might as well help Ti'erlfein with the files. Two pairs of eyes." Matron Ilith'vir appeared to arrive at this thought suddenly – her eyes had widened, her full lips had stretched into a smile of apparent self-congratulation. I silently applauded her acting skills.

Nalfein, to my surprise, spoke up without 'permission'. "If you are to ask the… alhoons already, then why check the files?"

"They might have missed something," Ilith'vir chose not to get theatrically angry. "And we are privy to information that they would not possess."

Nalfein was wise enough not to ask 'How?' which would have resulted in his painful death there and then. Ilith'vir didn't really look as dangerous as Uthegentel, but neither did a sleeping rock-snake look any more than a ridge of stone, and it was well known that she did not like questions about how Investigations operated.

"Now, go away." Ilith'vir turned her back to us and levitated upwards.

There was a pause while Nalfein looked around the Inner Square, where we were standing. Totally empty place – the business side was at the other end of the House. Reflectively, he murmured, "Your sister or your mother?"

"Sister. Unfortunately."

Nalfein actually smiled. There was definitely something wrong with the Do'Urden bloodline. They were all nearly bearable…except possibly Matron Malice. But she was female, so that probably explained it. Vierna was a child and didn't count – yet.

"I can see that. Was she…around when you were page prince?"

"Unfortunately. And she could talk by then. Something which she pushed in my face every single opportunity she got for all the years that I was free labor."

"I heard that, Qu'el'velguk." Matron Ilith'vir's voice drifted down, making Nalfein start involuntarily. I wasn't surprised, actually – she always manages to eavesdrop on conversations that involve herself.

**

Nalfein wasn't allowed into the actual room where all the files were kept, so he got to sit in one of the semi-private meeting rooms under the House, where the traditional dungeons were supposed to be. We did have dungeons, of course – but they were usually just used as extra storerooms. On the other hand, I had the 'privilege' to look for the file on illithids in the big chamber and try to sort it out.

Finally I just gave up and ordered some of the agents to help carry the entire section on illithid organizations/groups out to the room.

It filled a substantial corner, and proceeded to lurk. Nalfein sighed deeply. His profoundly injured "Menial work" incited a snicker from Yours Truly that turned into a breaking wave of laughter. After several tries of concentrating on the shine of my boot I managed to calm down, but the expression on his face set me off again…

"So what are we looking for?"

"All those with the red markings on the top right corner of their file. That's for the relatively high-power groups. We may have to look at the yellow marked as well, that's…" I sat down before the tiny mountain.

"There are this many illithid groups?" His habit of interrupting sentences was getting mildly annoying.

"At present, no. These are all the groups that have ever existed in Menzoberranzan. It's not exactly very updated. We're more interested in keeping track of the higher-profile things that are more likely to cause trouble worth investigating. Illithids usually try not to cause noticeable trouble in drow cities, because we don't like them. Any excuse to go exterminate the lot of them would have been highly appreciated by any Ruling Council – though it'd take work, and there'd be casualties. Probably why our Council hasn't tried anything yet."

Nalfein came over and took the first file off the heap and flipped through the fragile parchment. At least the parchments in a file were arranged in order of date. He looked at the date. "This group was last active…five centuries ago. 'Not exactly very updated' indeed."

"They could have been lying dormant, some groups…" I felt this inexplicable urge to defend the erratic filing system.

Nalfein made a show of glancing through the parchment on top, even going so far as to spin a globe of soft mage light above it. "The last activity of this one – eviscerated by a rival group and draped aesthetically near Donigarten. There's even a drawing. Very dormant." The mage light turned an accusing shade of red.

I sighed. The next few hours that stretched in front of me seemed positively filled with pro-active fun. "You volunteered for this if I... "

Nalfein put the file aside and selected another one. "Right now I'm trying to see if the consequences of defying Matron Malice's orders or dying slowly from boredom is the lesser of two evils."

"You'd die either way," I looked through another file, then put it with the rejects. "This way you'd get to do it and drink at the same time." Clapping hands brought one of Investigation's minions, who scuttled out to find some mushroom wine after directions.

**

To my surprise, Nalfein did manage to help with slightly more than half of the designated parts of the pile before finally falling asleep on his side of the table. I didn't really blame him – it'd been a few Narbondel shades, the wine wasn't exactly mild, even if it wasn't strong, and the work was boring. He'd been nodding off for the past shade, but I was gratified that someone was helping me, so I kept my mouth shut.

For a brief moment I debated shaking him awake, but it would be extremely mortifying, especially for mages – I think the words 'magic' and 'ego' are synonymous with each other, not to mention that if he was anything like his House's Weapon Master, he might just react violently. And since he was tired, he wouldn't be of any use in further perusal of the work. If I made him go back to Do'Urden, he'd be pestered by Malice…

Ah, hell. He wasn't much of a disturbance, but he might as well be of some help… conscientiously I used his left hand as a paperweight, then lighted some candles as his mage-light flickered off.

**

I woke up with a bad crick in the neck, the sort one gets when one falls asleep at a cold stone table after a little too much wine, and a little too much reading of little words and in some cases, bad writing, by dim light. Actually, 'crick' was too insignificant a description. What about 'feeling as though something had twisted my spine several times, then tied a painful knot at the neck'? Yeah.

Grumbling to myself I stood up and massaged the complaining area, and realized that quite a few other spots began clamoring for attention. My eyes managed to focus into infrared in the darkness, and I finally noticed that Nalfein was gone. Further inspection of his seat showed that he'd been gone for a few shades – even the residual trace of infrared had disappeared.

Shrugging philosophically, I relighted the candles and continued, after ordering some minions to get food and some hot and sweet drink.

"Did you see where Nalfein Do'Urden disappeared to?" I asked, as an afterthought. I hoped that he hadn't taken it into his head to go wandering around Investigations. Nalfein may be annoying, but I wouldn't like to see the Matron kill him – he was useful, and marginally bearable.

The minion, whatever his name was, nodded. Sharp little eyes, like most other drow, and as with most of Investigations, filled with curiosity about me…and some disappointment. I don't cut a very impressive figure, especially with rumpled hair, bleary eyes and half-stifled yawns. "The Matron came in and woke him up, and they portalled somewhere." He winked. Ilith'vir's character was quite well known. I snickered, waving him off to get my food and drink.

**

Ilith'vir let Nalfein come back when I was on the home stretch of the workload. About a hundred more files to go through. Wordlessly I pushed him some, and he sat down to it. I figured he wasn't the sharing sort, and he would have been embarrassed if I asked about what had happened. Not that I was curious. Ilith'vir wasn't particularly discerning about her playmates – they just needed to interest her.

Now, why was I on that train of speculation?

Heh, I know what you'd be thinking. No, I'm not interested in Ilith'vir. I think there's some sort of residual thing in my brain that makes me just this side of proper by drow standards, but I find that sort of thing disgusting. Not that it doesn't happen – this is a Lloth-ruled city, and the overwhelming majority of its inhabitants do happen to be Ilythiiri.

As I ate the unidentified mushroom stew, I pondered on how a lack of sleep and food and too much drink led to strange tangents of thought.

**

"Do you have any idea how long this would take?" We were now dividing the less-intimidating pile into 'Likely', 'Less-Likely' and 'Check when one has time'.

I rubbed my eyes, then looked up at him. "No. Yes. Bored already?"

Nalfein massaged the base of his neck, long fingers flicking away errant strands of white hair that tumbled over his ears. "Obviously. I was bored before we even started."

I sighed. "Maybe we could look in on another… dealer. 'Tis nearly time again, in any case, to… "

"Whatever for?" Nalfein stretched luxuriously, then looked through the 'Likely' pile again, for the fifth time, though now he was surreptitiously paying attention to what I was saying.

"Because they might have changed their MO, or they may not be all illithid. Perhaps that night just had…"

"MO?" Nalfein continued to paw through the stack, ostensibly oblivious.

"Modus Operandi. It means 'Method of Operation'." I said, without looking up from the file I had been checking. "Or, we could continue to stay here and stare through all these papers… "

"Let's go," Nalfein said hastily, rising to his feet.

"I knew you'd see it my way," I smirked. "Right. We might as well go to a non-drow dealer in a different place. There might be differences."

Nalfein sighed. "I hope it's still illithid, or we'd have just wasted all our time sifting through those files."

"You need to be optimistic in this line of work."

**

This particular dealer was in Manyfolk, and wasn't drow. A fawning duergar, actually, who was all too happy to help. At one point I was wondering if we had to kill him to get him off our backs, but he eventually got the message and left us alone in his warehouse, where we decided that since hiding didn't seem to work the last time, we might as well sit in the open where we'd have a clearer view.

No bugs, I signaled to Nalfein.

Thank Lloth, he replied, looking with some approval at the clean, spacious chamber. It's damned difficult to get them out of layered robes. He pointed at his clothes. Mage robes always looked so complicated to get on… and off, come to think of it. A nasty part of my mind wandered off on a speculation along the lines of how Matron Ilith'vir could have mustered the uncharacteristic patience needed to get Nalfein out of his clothes, but I quickly restrained myself.

Nalfein sat on the barrel next to mine, somehow managing to make his position look majestic and dignified, even in the current circumstances. Idly, his long fingers caressed his mage staff, and perhaps I was becoming delusional, but it seemed to be responding to him. Tiny pinpoints of bluish light seemed to gather wherever his fingers went, underneath the surface of the staff, like, to use a defective metaphor, flies to carrion. His expression was unperturbed, rather like the one he had been wearing when I'd seen him in Melee-Magthere so many years ago.

I was debating on whether or not I should pose questions to him on his relationship with Zaknafein, just out of curiosity, when Nalfein fastidiously pulled at my sleeve. Wordlessly, he pointed – several swirls of gray, like smoke in a breeze, had materialized where the duergar had said the crate would appear. They seemed to flicker uncertainly, then abruptly a crate appeared.

No wards? I asked Nalfein, my fingers betraying none of the surprise I felt after the last… heated… reception we had been subject to.

Nalfein shook his head, chewing on his lip. Slowly he looked around, and the grip he had on his staff tightened, then he shrugged. "No whips, and I can't sense any magical presence."

"Right," I said, fishing out a piece of indicator paper and walking towards the crate. Perhaps it was my heightened awareness of my surroundings, as I half-expected some intrusion, or perhaps just luck, but I realized there was something… wrong. Narrowing my eyes, I dropped to a crouch, and found after some scrutiny a hair-thin length of wire stretching in front of me, two paces away from the crate. A few steps more and I might have blundered into it.

Waving at Nalfein to stay put, I carefully followed one end of the wire slowly, observing for other traps, and found that the wire disappeared into a hollow in one wall. It took me a few heartbeats to find that one of the 'bricks' on the wall was actually a metal flap, and I gingerly used a knife to lift it up a little. There was a sudden, metallic sound, and a good-sized bump appeared in the metal. Using the knife to open it further, I sighed as a small crossbow-bolt dropped down harmlessly to clatter on the ground. It had been discharged into the metal flap with some force. I picked it up, thankful that I had remembered to wear gloves, and noted that the tip was discolored with some substance, probably poison.

Putting it in one of the padded evidence pouches in my carrying bag, I walked to the other end of the wire and found a curious symbol etched onto the wall, unnoticeable unless you were looking for something. To my annoyance I realized Nalfein was already studying it curiously.

"Mage trap," Nalfein explained. "Just defused it. Rather clever – it went off when you took out the…whatever on the other end, but I managed to catch the beam of energy that it shot off." He nodded at his staff. "Was headed for you."

"Thanks," I acknowledged. We stepped over the wire, making notes to find and question that stupid duergar later, and arrived at the crate.

This time, the indicator paper showed the red-purple of drow magic, a dark crimson compared to the scarlet of Nalfein's magic, which obviously also showed in lighter shades. "Drow magic," I told Nalfein.

He blinked. "Truly? How many?"

I grimaced. "One."

"What?" Nalfein seemed surprised. "But this one also broke through my teleport blocks - and I strengthened the block this time. He would have to be Master-level or better."

"That's what the paper says," I frowned. "Unless whatever is behind this somehow is able to influence the results."

"Can that be done?"

"To disguise a magic signature as another? It'd require a lot of magic." I paused for dramatic effect. "More than the mages in this city, I'd think." There was an inclement suggestion in my mind, which had to do with unpleasant events years past, and a large snake.

**

When we returned to the House, I suggested as much to the Matron. She pursed her lips, pretending to be surprised at this turn of events, but the lack of expression in her eyes told me that she had already considered this particular possibility. We were in her office, for lack of a better word, seated in front of her desk while she tapped her fingers on the table.

"The duergar?" she asked finally.

"Gone," I shrugged. "And when we opened the crate, it was empty except for this." I reached into my pockets and took out my small notebook, where I had pressed the small filament that I had placed in it for safekeeping. It was a tan-brown in color, soft, flexible and not unlike hair, about the length of my middle finger, though seemingly of a different consistency. I handed it to the Matron, who took it graciously.

"And that is…?" she frowned. The mage lights in their carved lamps near her desk glowed more brightly, and she held the filament up to her eyes. "A bird's," she concluded flatly. "From a feather."

Nalfein leant forward a little, a noiseless version of clearing his throat. "If you would pardon my suggestion, Matron…?"

"Yes?" Ilith'vir continued to inspect the filament.

"If it were from a bird, then it should stem from the beginning of the quill – and such a bird would have to be quite large." Nalfein ran a thumb over the globe of his staff. "Perhaps around the size of a…"

"Diatryma." I let out a sharp exhalation of breath. "Would you suspect…?"

Ilith'vir's eyes were narrowed. "Him? I would not have thought so. Baenre is also using them actively in this investigation, hoping that they would beat us to the solution. I have been tempted to fix it such that even if we did find out what happened, we could slide them the credit and remain in obscurity. Just that the price for apparent failure in the eyes of the Council may be too high to pay."

"May I ask who you are referring to, Matron?" Nalfein asked, inserting the correct amount of timidity in his voice.

Ilith'vir glanced at him sharply, then back at the filament. "No." The less outsiders knew of our involvement in other… things, the better.

Nalfein subsided. If he felt any resentment at this, he did not betray it in his expression or tone of voice. "Asanque."

Ilith'vir glanced at him from under half-lidded eyes for a moment, then twirled the filament around her finger. "It is also possible that this does not belong to a diatryma, or even if it did, has nothing whatsoever to do with him. Or, it could be a false scent…" she let it trail off for a moment, then seemed to arrive at a decision. "Years ago when I associated with him – while you, Ti'erlfein, were in a certain dungeon – it came to my attention that he had a certain tattoo on the back of his thigh," she said dispassionately. "It was in dark ink, and I would not have seen it under normal, non-lighted circumstances."

My, the hints of what the Matron and Jarlaxle had done were quite fascinating. Nalfein looked even more mystified than ever.

"It seemed an odd place to put a tattoo, but what drew my attention to it was that it was a crude picture of a snake. It was thumbnail-sized and not as large or as complex as the predecessor I had seen. When I asked him about it, he professed an inability to see any tattoo, and seemed to be of the opinion that I was deluding myself." Ilith'vir smirked.

"Information from him isn't always reliable," I said, rather unnecessarily as it turned out.

Ilith'vir shot me an irritated glance. "I have every reason to believe he was speaking the truth. The tattoo was invisible – at least to him. I had suspicions that it had something to do with him summoning some soldiers to enter the Braeryn and meeting the soldiers afterward when they said they'd seen the snake for the space of a heartbeat before it disappeared. However, there has been no conclusive evidence and the snake has not reappeared even after so many years, so I refrained from making it public knowledge."

"Is the tattoo still there?" I asked mildly.

Ilith'vir snorted. "I intend to find out, though I doubt if he was truly involved, he would leave such painfully stupid – and obvious - clues. More likely that someone wished to implicate him clumsily, or that this has nothing to do with him at all. Now, the two of you can be more useful and go through the files – don't sigh, Qu'el'velguk – and see if any of the illithid groups had any correspondence with drow."

"What, all of them?" I was distinctly aware of a whining undertone in my voice.

"Yes." Ilith'vir said maliciously. "We don't want to leave out any possibilities, do we? You would also like to look through the files on mages who might have been capable of that magical feat. After it you can go entertain yourselves by visiting another warehouse."

When we left her office, Nalfein sighed. "Is your life always this way?" he asked, as we levitated down from the balcony.

"You have no idea."

**

The files proved somewhat of a waste of time. None of the illithid groups seemed to have associated with mages of the power that fit our description, and as correspondence from the alhoon group arrived, they confirmed that fact. They had also apparently planted spies in just about every illithid group large enough to be even a fraction of a threat to them, and according to their reports, none of the illithid groups had been involved in drug smuggling, nor were any, at the moment, involved with high-level drow mages. So if the alhoons were to be believed, then that trail had just fizzled to an end, and we were back to where we'd started.

Nalfein was sulking when we visited our next warehouse – close to Narbondellyn, luxurious, and half-used for the storage of fine wines. As the obsequious proprietor left us, I considered nicking some of the bottles from their resting-places, recognizing brands that I could never afford. Even Nalfein seemed more animated at the sight of that bottled heaven, and we spent the time conversing on different wines – using hand-signals, of course. I let Halsshar out to stretch – the Greater hellhound had professed boredom at being involved, but I knew better.

This time, the crate appeared without any prior warning, and there were no apparent threats.

The indicator showed the grungy yellow of shamanistic magic, and was apparently duergar. After I said as much to him, Nalfein rolled his eyes to the stone ceiling, muttering about how shamanistic magic would never be strong enough to break through his wards, while I tried to shut out the distinctly foul smell emitting from the crate.

"Another fake, I think," I told Nalfein as I checked the crate for traps. "I wonder if there's a pattern. The first crate we saw had the goods, the second one, a filament, and the third one…"

The third one had a corpse inside, several hues of Narbondel into decomposition. It was a drow warrior, curled up in a fetal position, arms wrapped tightly across his chest as if in fear or pain. The face was totally blank of any expression, such that the figure seemed to be some badly carved statue instead of something that had lived.

I muttered to myself as I checked the corpse, trying not to gag at the stench. "Average height, male dark elf, warrior – chain mail adamantite but no House colors. Armed with longsword belted to scabbard," I drew out some of the sword, checked the tiny markings at the corner of the hilt, and then sheathed it again. "Standard longsword for Bregan D'aerthe." I sighed. Yet another stupid clue. I looked at the rank-marks on his sleeve. "Bregan D'aerthe sergeant. Other weapons – hand crossbow with pouch of bolts, throwing daggers. Cause of death…" I looked over the body, frowning as I saw no marks until I pushed the hair away from the neck and saw two punctures in the skin. "A bite, possibly poisonous…"

"Poisonous," Halsshar interrupted. "From a snake, probably a cobra. It might not be too much to conjecture that said cobra is a blind spitting cobra." I glanced at it curiously, and he shrugged. "I can smell it, even through the rot. Some poison leaked onto the skin, so if you look a bit more closely you might find the skin is a bit inflamed. Though it's hard to tell with the black skin color of your kind."

"This is getting too obvious for my liking," I muttered. Nalfein was looking over my shoulder with interest, and he finally spoke up.

"Bregan D'aerthe is involved in this?" He pointed with his staff at the crate. "Curious. Then previously – you and your Matron must have been discussing Jarlaxle, no?"

Ah, Nalfein actually has a brain. "Could be," I replied, brushing off his question as I continued to inspect the corpse. "Valuables and purse still on the body. Apparently the killer was just interested in strewing another transparent clue our way."

"He's got something in his right hand," Halsshar spoke up again, "If you did not notice that it's tented out, not like the left hand."

Nodding my thanks to the hound, I prised his fingers open, and caught the object that tumbled out. It was a small, rectangular tile about two-thirds of a finger long and one third thick, in cloudy porcelain. In fact, it was a sol'verna tile, from the recently introduced gambling game which needs four to play, that had been gaining popularity in the gambling pits in Menzoberranzan. I'd never really understood it, but I knew that of the tiles, some had symbols, some letters, and some pictures. This one had a picture of a snake, twisted into a knot.

"The snake tile," Nalfein murmured. "I've played sol'verna before for the intellectual stimulation. If one gets that particular tile – it means that person is out of the game."

In the large, dry chamber, Nalfein's words seemed to reverberate off the walls with a hollow, ringing certainty.

--

Translations and References:

Sol'verna: As you probably noticed, I took the description of this game off the popular chinese gambling game known as mahjong. I don't really understand it myself, so I can't provide a detailed description of it. Actually, there is no such tile with such a capability in the game. I'm just making things up.