Intersection
"Finished?"
"Finished," S'kaerik confirmed, her voice awed, and then her brow creased into a delicate frown, as if something had just occurred to her. Jarlaxle carefully kept his expression mildly astonished, as if the piece of information she had just told him was new.
"Is something wrong, Lady Cat?" he inquired.
"No… yes, actually," she said dryly, "The Company would be very interested to know why the rail to Sshamath has been completed with such remarkable speed."
"I have no idea, Lady Cat," Jarlaxle said sincerely. That was technically true – Jarlaxle did not know exactly what had happened, but he did have a very accurate skeleton of the proceeds.
S'kaerik, however, had just had her afternoon nap, and was therefore somewhat sharper than normal, as like all her kindred after naps. "Forgive my ignorance, but I find it difficult to understand how you can have a branch of your band in Sshamath and yet have not even an inkling of what must have been a massive task."
Jarlaxle began to suspect that S'kaerik was seriously beginning to be affected by the Dark Elven way of speech, and wondered if this would prove somewhat more advantageous than her previous system of thought. Certainly it would be more entertaining, but he would have to watch himself more closely. S'kaerik was intelligent, very much so, though it was easy to look at the fur and the nearly-permanent expression of cheerful cordiality on her face and forget that fact.
Jarlaxle shrugged. "Ask the dwarves? Perhaps they would know. Their kin are helping with a fair part of the construction, from all accounts."
"Accounts?" Ah, she picked that up rather quickly.
"Dwarves are quite free with their tongues when in large groups, Lady Cat," Jarlaxle smiled, and nodded mentally with satisfaction when S'kaerik unhesitatingly accepted the reason. She still thought, for the most part, like a Weyr-Cat, as was her nature – somewhat too trusting and willing to accept logic on the surface.
"Oh, I can tell," S'kaerik grinned wickedly. "They talk far too much sometimes, especially about axes."
"I am impressed by your patience," Jarlaxle offered. The praise, as he knew, made S'kaerik blush a little in embarrassment.
"Cats are known to be patient," S'kaerik said modestly, "And besides, I like them more than the humans."
"May I ask why?" Now that was interesting.
"Don't get me wrong, I have lots of human friends… it's just that when a group of mostly male humans are working together – and that's what most of the groups here are comprised of – they tend to enjoy telling, indiscriminately, the most tasteless jokes and stories imaginable."
"Perhaps it is a source of entertainment to them?"
"It could be. And I don't even understand a lot of the jokes," S'kaerik admitted. "And I don't like how a lot of the male humans here look at us female Weyr-Cats. Our males certainly don't look at us that way all the time."
"Which brings me to another point. Why would you work with dwarves instead of your kind?" Jarlaxle paused, as if considering his next words. "None of you seem to work in groups."
"My kind has faults too," S'kaerik's voice unconsciously dropped a little, as if confiding a secret. "We're skittish when in too big a group. Cats like to walk alone – companions are fine in our free time. Though the mated pairs do work together."
There was the wistfulness again, the trailing-off tone that Jarlaxle noticed she used whenever speaking about mated pairs. He definitely had to get her to Sshamath to meet the mage, even though he knew he might have to devise a way to pry her out of Menzoberranzan. If nothing, at least it would be amusing.
**
Trains came more frequently as the restoration of Menzoberranzan began to slow down. Enough had been cleared and built, by now, such that the dead city was able to attract scholars and tourists of a more cautious approach to life. Enterprising shopkeepers arrived with each train, and soon there was a rudimentary market where the Bazaar once was held, and people who bought the rest-houses and such from the Company, to turn them into inns. Selling the restored property and land in Old Cities which was unclaimed by existing descendants was a considerable source of the Company's revenue.
S'kaerik had more and more free time – now that enough information had been gathered by the Company's employees in Menzoberranzan for a report of suitable depth, her presence was required less often at reclamation, which meant she could spend some more time working out the knots in grammar and abbreviation in the journal.
The sections the author had devoted to House politics were beginning to evade her. The sentences were so vague as to seem disjointed, and she was unable to construct them together from other sources, because there were no other sources. Jarlaxle had blinked owlishly at her when she'd finally asked him about it, and informed her dryly that he hadn't been born yet during that period of time.
She sighed and put the book down, deciding to go out and stretch her limbs for a while. Staring at all the stupid markings would not make them any clearer.
S'kaerik hesitated on the stairway when the smells of chainmail and sweat were apparent, and growing stronger. She glanced once at Hint'raek, who was at the door, and he smiled briefly at her, then lowered one hand, palm down, towards the ground, stopping at waist height. S'kaerik raised ten fingers in the air, thumbs together – how many?
Hint'raek glanced once out of the door, then moved his fingers together in quick, graceful knots – fifteen.
Fifteen dwarves headed towards the resting-house. S'kaerik's private musings on whether or not they were looking for her were dashed when Hint'raek raised his eyebrows at her, grinned in sympathy, and then left the area with as much dignity as a Cat could muster without seeming rude.
She tentatively came down the stairs and looked at the horde – it was definitely a horde – of dwarves.
One of them said, "Ah, Lady S'kaerik," with the invisible Sorry to bother you attached, and the even more concealed mild insincerity beneath that later.
"Yes?"
"Ye uh, know about the Donigarten area?"
"Um, yes?" Donigarten, now an unruly, large patch of ground choked with weeds, was where the Dark Elves used to plant their crops, and where they kept their rothe on the island on the lake. What would dwarves want in Donigarten?
"We were wond'ring about the lake…"
Aha. "Aren't there monsters in there?"
The dwarves collectively gave her a Look, which said that there weren't many monsters that a large enough dwarf party armed with axes and a cleric couldn't handle, even if the monsters were still alive.
"Sorry," she mumbled. "The lake. You're talking about the treasures rumoured to be inside the lake?"
"Yeah." The dwarves looked relieved, as if she'd just said something that they had been working up to say, and now didn't need to.
"Well, if you don't make too much of a disturbance to the natural formations I don't see why we can't retrieve some of the artefacts," S'kaerik said.
The dwarves gave her another Look, this one which said that yes, they knew that, because they did own quite a bit of the Company.
"Um… what would you like me to do?" she asked finally.
"Our cleric felt somethin' about the lake. We were wond'ring if ye could… ask yer Dark Elf friend 'bout whether or not there were traps down there or summat." That came out in a rush.
"Oh. Sure, of course." S'kaerik blinked, then smiled, then blinked again. "You'd uh, let the rest of us look at the artefacts, right?"
"Ye can watch us trawl 'em up, if ye like," the speaker said helpfully. The dwarves nodded their agreement. It was rather comical, watching the helmeted heads bob up and down, but S'kaerik wisely kept her sentiments to herself. The axes at their belts looked very sharp.
**
"The lake?" Jarlaxle repeated thoughtfully.
S'kaerik waited patiently, knowing that chasing him any further was quite rude. They were in his office now, where she had found Jarlaxle carefully wiping his glove-daggers. Exactly why he was doing this, she didn't really want to know.
"Yes, there are wards in the lake."
"The dwarves want to know what sort, and where, and if possible, how to counter them."
"That is quite a lot that you ask, Lady Cat."
S'kaerik grinned sheepishly. "That's what I told them, and they said they're willing to pay you. Within reason, of course."
Jarlaxle nodded slowly as he sheathed one of the daggers back into his gloves.
"So, do you know?" S'kaerik prodded a little, after the ensuing silence.
Jarlaxle clapped his hands sharply. There was a pause, and then one of the mercenaries appeared at the door. Jarlaxle said something quickly to him, and he bowed and exited. S'kaerik managed to catch the words 'scroll' and 'library' in Dark Elven, but it was enough.
"The dwarves say, they will discuss the price with you once they see if your information is correct," S'kaerik said apologetically. "Unfortunately, both types of dwarves still don't trust Dark Elves."
Jarlaxle grinned impishly. "There is nothing to worry about. Not even Dark Elves trust other Dark Elves. I am afraid, however, that your dwarves may have nothing that I presently require."
"Not even money?" S'kaerik asked archly.
"I was more in mind of requesting a favour out of you, Lady Cat," Jarlaxle said inscrutably.
"Eh?" S'kaerik blinked in surprise, and then closed her mouth quickly when she realized she was gaping at him. "What sort of favour?" she asked suspiciously.
"Merely that you accompany the Company's first representatives to Sshamath," Jarlaxle said, then held up a hand when S'kaerik began to protest. "I know you wanted to go there."
"That's because I thought it'd take years to negotiate a way to Sshamath. My work in Menzoberranzan is as yet incomplete…"
"But not urgent, yes?"
"Why do you want me to go so soon, anyway?"
"I would like you to meet someone," Jarlaxle smiled, "Of old acquaintance."
"And the Company may not even let me go," S'kaerik said, and then her curiosity caught up with her. "Meet who?"
"Nalfein Do'Urden. I believe you've read about him."
S'kaerik felt that this day was a little too full of surprises for her to cope, and she had to spend a short moment recovering from this one.
Finally she said, "Isn't he dead?"
"You'd be surprised at how that remark tends to annoy him."
"But he is dead."
"Did you think he would allow himself to be killed that easily, unless he wanted something out of it?"
"I think you've lost me there," S'kaerik said slowly. In her opinion, when you died, you died, unless you came back as undead… oh, there was a point there. "Is he undead then?"
Jarlaxle's expression twisted into a fleeting one of disdain. "An elf, willingly become undead? Very unusual, and definitely not in his case. No, Nalfein is very much alive, though living under another name and age."
"So what happened?"
"There was an elaborate arrangement involving theft, a complex version of the resurrection spell, and several expensive magical devices."
"And Bregan D'aerthe, I presume," S'kaerik smiled, though her mind was still whirling. Nalfein Do'Urden alive! Then he would take over Jarlaxle as being the oldest being she knew of…
"An essential catalyst," Jarlaxle inclined his head, "Though we had some help. Nalfein used to be a good… friend – as far as these things go, with Dark Elves, in any case – with Zaknafein. Someone had to let us into the House crypt."
Something struck her then. "Would he still remember about his time in the House before his mother became Matron? I'm having a bit of problems with a part of the book," she added, when Jarlaxle raised an eyebrow.
"I do not see why not. We have long memories."
"Ah." S'kaerik hesitated. "I think I'd like to state now that I still don't feel very good about this. And why do you want me to meet him?"
Jarlaxle grinned, and there was something about that grin that made S'kaerik feel a little nervous, as if she was an unwitting part of some elaborate prank that Jarlaxle was about to pull on something. "I believe he could do with some refreshing company in the form of yourself, Lady Cat," he said outrageously.
S'kaerik sighed. When he got into that mood, there wasn't much she could do about it.
Before she could come up with some suitably stinging retort, the mercenary returned with a scroll that was so yellowed with age S'kaerik was half-afraid it would fall apart at any moment. On it was an elaborate, beautiful drawing of the Lake, along with many symbols and thickly-packed annotations of which she estimated she could only decipher a fraction, and not be sure of the words.
"Your treasure map," Jarlaxle said, somewhat unnecessarily and dramatically. "Would you require help with the translations?"
"Well…"
"I could offer to help you, of course," Jarlaxle said pleasantly. The fact that, just as easily, he could not, was left unsaid.
"If I agree to go with you and meet Nalfein?" S'kaerik asked dryly.
"If you agree to go to Sshamath and meet him, then I will lend you the map. Translation will require payment from the dwarves, whom, of course, I will speak to later."
S'kaerik shook her head wryly. Money and favour, all in one move. Sometimes she wished she knew how Jarlaxle managed to pull every string into place and make the exact pattern he wanted out of it. "Oh all right."
**
She inspected the neat array of materials that the dwarves had brought out of the lake so far. Some bones, still encased in the shells of their armour, some weapons, some totally rotted tomes of what looked like ancient grimoires, pitiful remnants of clothes, even some goblets. Most of the bones, by their size looked Dark Elven, though there were one or two humans. The dwarves treated all of the remains with reverence and clinical efficiency – things that looked as though they 'belonged' to a certain corpse were stacked near it in neat piles.
The lake was being trawled carefully by some strange, complex-looking device that made occasionally alarming squealing noises. Dwarves swarmed over it, the controls, and in the shallows of the lake, shouting conflicting instructions at each other.
The artefacts were all quite interesting, even though they smelled of grime and decay. She wondered which ones Jarlaxle was going to pick – he had requested that the dwarves let him take something from the artefacts, as well as pay him, then, when they had protested loudly, suggested that they try and find someone else to do the translations accurately, then.
There was a yell from the lake, and more splashing. The many-fingered, surprisingly delicate arm of the huge device came out from the fetid water slowly, carefully bringing out a corpse and a mass of items encased in mud which it put down on the shore, swivelling around ponderously with the sound of metallic squeals.
This corpse was smaller than the usual…
S'kaerik realized with a certain bemusement that the corpse was that of a dwarf, and that from the general excitement level, they had expected this to happen. Somehow, she wasn't surprised at all…
**
In his office, Jarlaxle permitted himself a smile as a mercenary reported the events in Donigarten. It had only taken a few careful placements of an authentic old scroll written in dwarfish in a house the dwarves were restoring, as well as a few broken remnants of a dagger to nudge the dwarves in the correct direction, then a few more careful nudges to set S'kaerik in hers. Manipulation was easy when one knew all the buttons to push.