Leap of Faith
Chapter 4 - Clues
Sounds woke her. Someone moving about. Dishes clinked. What was that smell? Tea?
Daelynn struggled to wakefulness. Throwing off the blanket, she shivered in the cool, damp air. Poke's rooms above the canal seemed to trap the moisture rising from the flowing water. Her clothes were on the floor by the bed where she had left them. She dressed quickly – they felt a little damp - and grasping her walking stick made her way to the bedroom doorway. Before exiting, she drew out a comb from her sash, ran it through her hair, wiped sleep from her eyes and adjusted her clothing. Stepping into the apartment's main room, she offered a cheery "Good Morning"!
To her right she heard a chair grate against the wooden floor. She turned sightless eyes that way,
"You had a restless night, Kestrel", said Sard, in his tenor voice. "Bad dreams?"
The elf made her way over to the table.
"Aye. I have always been sighted in my dreams. Last night I was blind. Ever dream you were blind? There are only feelings and sound. Very unsettling. And your night?"
"An excellent sleep, I am pleased to say. I think that having your guard dog watching over us allowed me to sleep better than I have in some time. So, thank you, Big-Boy."
There was a friendly 'woof' from next to the man.
"Hope you don't mind, I gave him some of the remains of last night's rabbit stew", said the thief, as he rose for the table and walked over to the small stove.
"Tea?"
"Yes, thank you", answered Daelynn, as she seated herself.
"Traitor", she whispered to her dog.
"We missed out on something last night", said Sard as he poured tea into a chipped mug.
"Well, you certainly did", muttered the elf maid under her breath.
Sard retuned to the small table, placing the mug of steaming, scented tea in front of Daelynn with a firm 'clunk', then took his seat.
"Last evening, I described the recently deceased Poke as a 'nefarious' sort… perhaps I should have elaborated –."
"I know what 'nefarious' means", glowered Daelynn.
"I assumed you did", responded Sard with an edge to his voice. "What I am saying is that Poke is a 'sapper', not a 'lifter'. And disguises? Not his thing."
"I know what a 'lifter' is - a thief who shoplifts, picks pockets, or steals things quietly, on the sly. But what is a 'sapper'", she asked?
"Specifically, it refers to someone who uses a sap or cosh… a bludgeon, to knock out their victims and rob them", replied Sard. "But in general Guild usage, it refers to a thief who uses direct, violent, action to gain coin. Things like mugging, robbery, kidnapping, even killing."
"Not the sort of man to mount a daring daytime heist of sacred items from beneath the noses of Temple guards?"
"Uh, no", stated Sard, flatly.
"If he is not the man for that job, then that is not the job", concluded Daelynn.
"Agreed", said Sard. "I don't know why we didn't think along these lines last night! Two of Sir Roland's ex-students should be a formidable team. Too much wine, perhaps?"
"Yes. And we may have been... distracted", offered Daelynn. "You know, Poke dead, our suddenly meeting each other again, and of course the wine."
"That must be it", stated Sard, confidently. Gazing at his tablemate, the thief wondered if all elves looks so fetching in the morning straight out of bed.
"Nothing on those parchments", queried the elf?
"Right here." Sard rustled some papers. "The parchment and scrolls on his table were blank except for one. It has columns of numbers and small diagrams. Mostly circles and triangles with odd notations. I can make no sense of it. Except, in one corner there is number. 'One-thousand gp'. If that is payment, or Poke's cut, then the job is big. Very big."
"One-thousand gold pieces?" Daelynn said in amazement. "That is a small fortune!"
"Also, someone spilled green ink on a corner", observed Sard. "Odd. The figures and numbers were written using drawing sticks."
She heard a scraping sound from across the table. A knife on something.
"Nothing under the ink stain", stated the thief. "I didn't find any inks or quills here. Wouldn't expect Poke to have any. Not a literate man. This must be his partner's work."
A faint odour tickled Daelynn's nose. Honey? No, sweeter.
"Do you smell that", she asked?
"Mint tea."
'No. Not the tea. The sweet smell. Honey-like."
Sard examined the scrapings of the green ink. He lifted the small blade he had used to scratch at the ink, up to his nose. It smelled sweet. Sickly sweet.
"Death Rose", asked the elf?
"Yup. I am collecting all the scrapings. Don't move until I can be certain none fell to the floor. A few flakes of this could sicken or kill your dog."
Daelynn sat very still until Sard had cleaned up the green residue. Outside of an apothecary or a magic shop, there were few uses for Death Rose. Unless you wanted to poison someone.
"Looks like the 'job' is an assassination", stated Sard.
"How did we miss this?" Asked Daelynn, in exasperation.
"Distractions aside, we are thieves, not killers, so we thought of a theft, not a murder. And I know your next question, Kestrel", said Sard. "Would a hit be Guild sanctioned? Not officially. We're no longer an Assassination League - that ended two generations ago. But unofficially, yes, such work is still done."
"But who is the target", asked the elf? "It could be anyone! Rich, poor, man, woman, farmer, merchant, sickly peasant, or titled landowner. All sorts of people follow Tymora and attend Her services, especially on a High Holy Day!"
"Your last point narrows it down", said Sard. "Follow. Tymora's temple holds services every ten-day. So, why act today? Because a High Holy Day draws parishioners or even casual followers who would not typically attend a regular service. A special Temple service will draw out persons of station who might live behind stout walls and strong doors. People who have body guards or retainers. Now, imagine this: a powerful, wealthy patron of the Temple struck down on a Tymoran Holy Day, in front of the altar and the Matriarch herself. Would that be a goal befitting this cleric Braxes?"
"You have a wicked, devious mind, Sard."
"It's kept me alive, so far."
"If the target is a person of power or influence, then they would be seated close to the altar, either in the front pews or in one of two quires, just above and to the side of the chancel", said Daelynn. "A special guest may even be seated next to the Preceptress herself, up on the chancel itself, in front of the altar. Access to those areas is limited, even for priests. Our disguised killers would be questioned, or directed away from the chancel and altar."
"The poison – extract of Death Rose - is very sweet. It's often hidden in food or wine", remarked Sard.
"No", said Daelynn. "The food and wine distributed to the congregation at the end of service are created through elder priest's prayers. Food created by clerical spells cannot be poisoned. The Death Rose has to be delivered another way."
"With the press of congregants, priests, and servants, it could be difficult for the killer to get close enough to his victim to use a poisoned blade. And working deep in a crowd is not a good exit strategy", stated Sard. "Be right back."
Sard left the table, hurried to the bedroom, and returned mere breaths later.
He placed something in Daelynn's hands.
"Last night, I made a joke about this being a knitting needle. Obviously, it's too short and thin, I think. I thought it might be a writing instrument, maybe a stylus for a wax tablet? Again, quite thin. But perhaps I guessed closer to the truth. There is a very tiny hole in the point."
Daelynn once again ran her fingers over the thin, wooden object she had inspected last night. It could indeed be a needle. The tiny hollow in the tip that Sard asserted was there could hold a poison. Get beside one's prey, then a quick jab into the hand or neck.
"Where is the fur ball? It was on the table next to this 'needle'".
"Here", said Sard, handing the elf the fuzzy object, which in his mind looked most like a powder puff.
The elf stroked the fur ball, teasing out a thread that had been tied to it. Holding the fluff ball in one hand, Daelynn ran her fingers over the blunt end of the needle. She detected a faint ribbing in the wood. She placed the fur at the dull end of the needle and wound the thread tightly along the shallow grooves between the ribbing, affixing it to the wooden shaft. Finishing, she held her creation for Sard's inspection.
With a flick of her wrist, she threw the dart across the room. It sailed several yards, straight and true, before embedding itself in the apartment's wooden door.
"Nice", Sard responded in an approving tone. "But, the maximum effective range for a hand thrown dart that size would be about ten yards. You'd need to hit skin – neck or a hand. And you'd be seen throwing it. Hard to hide that type of motion. And for greater distance and accuracy you'd need fletching for better control."
Daelynn was silent. The thief was right. And yet…
"Sard. Those columns of numbers on the parchment. What are they?"
The thief grabbed the sheet, his eyes rapidly scanning it.
"Here. The first column starts at zero, increasing by ten's up to one-hundred. Second column… all zeroes. Third column has check marks and crosses. Check marks for all entries up to fifty, then crosses for all entries greater than fifty… Solonor's Eyes! I missed it, and I'm a trained bowman."
"Yardage indicators?" Asked the elf, in annoyance.
"Seems so." Said an exasperated Sard. "First column is yardage, second is windage. Those are all zero because we're inside a building. Third column is simple "yes/no". Looks like whomever is throwing these things is good up to fifty yards. I don't believe that! No way a person can throw one of these that far. Not accurately."
"Believe it or not, my thief friend, but we must warn the Temple! Stealing relics is one thing, murder is quite another!"
"Agreed', said the Master Thief. "Just think of the reward we'll get for saving some rich muckety-muck!"
"Incorrigible", taunted Daelynn.
"Practical", laughed Sard.
Followed by the large mastiff, the burned master thief and the blind elf strode through the streets of Capitol, heading towards the Temple Quarter.
Holding Sard's right arm, Daelynn urged the thief to a faster gait.
"I am blind, not lame. Me must move more quickly", stated the elf.
"You're worried?"
"Yes", said Daelynn. "My hope is that when the assassin does not see Poke anywhere, he, or she, will call off the job. But with so much money being offered, I fear that they will try to complete it on their own."
"The lure of collecting two shares for the job, a double payment, might be irresistible to some", agreed Sard. "But a professional should not succumb to that sort of greed. Professional thieves and killers don't like to leave so much to chance. One man does not take on a two-man job. Too dangerous. Too easy to screw up."
"They might if they were a follower of Beshaba. Or, if they feared Braxes", stated the elf. "From what I know of him, Braxes does not tolerate failure or excuses."
Sard made no response but quickened his step.
"Did I have to wear these ridiculous robes", he asked of the elf?
"I am sure you look fine", said Daelynn, smiling. "If the assassin needs priest robes, then so do we. You will do well. Just remember the blessing and greeting I taught you."
"I can do that", replied the thief.
"Oh, and do not swear."
"Got it."
"And try for an air of piety, or humility. At least try not to swagger."
"I don't swagger!"
"Yes, you do. And no flirting! Not with parishioners or priestesses!"
"I am on a job, not out looking for... companionship! And, the burns scare most women away."
"Most? Hmm."
The pair left the Washer's Quarter, crossed the Lesser Market, and had just entered the Temple Quarter, when Daelynn stopped.
Turning to the faithful mastiff, the elf spoke quietly in her elvish tongue.
"Go home, Big-Boy. No dogs allowed in the Temple. Good dog!"
With a soft 'wuff' the large dog turned and trotted off to the northeast. He was soon lost to view, hidden by the morning crowds.
"Why do you dismiss your protector", queried the thief?
"Yesterday, Poke recognized me from the kava house", said Daelynn. "If Braxes is nearby, he might see me and could recall that I was sitting behind him - Big-Boy is very memorable. I would prefer not to draw his attention to me. Not when blind."
Sard nodded. "A wise precaution."
They hurried across the Temple Plaza and approached the steep, grey stone steps that led up to Tymora's Temple. The plaza was teaming with people, horses, carriages, petitioners, hawkers, clerics, and the occasional bored City Guardsmen.
The pair were half-way across the plaza when the elf asked, "Still no idea of who 'Cain' is?"
"Nope", answered the thief. "Poke's last words are of little help. I know of no one associated with the Guild called Cain, nor am I familiar with any citizen of note so named. And it does us little good knowing that someone named 'Cain' is not… what? Not the killer, or not the prey? Useless!"
"You are clear on the plan", asked Daelynn?
"Yup. Once inside, I'll find this Brother Quintin you mentioned, then make a circuit of the inside of the church. See if I can spot a Guild member posing as a priest", said Sard.
"Good", replied the elf. "The rest of the Temple complex; kitchens, living quarters, offices, etcetera, are too numerous to cover for one person. It is most likely that the church proper, the nave and chancel, are where the killer's prey will be. I will send word to Mistress Alline through Quintin, then stay back near these doors and… wait and listen."
The last three words were spoken with resignation and anger.
"Wy not just speak with the first Tymoran priest we meet? Why this Quintin", asked the thief?
Only a few Tymoran's know what I am… was. Anyone other than Brother Quintin, Master Kelln, or the Preceptress herself, would think me a madwoman."
"One thing, Kestrel." Sard paused. "Why did you steal Poke's belt?"
"Steal? He is dead and hardly needs such a nice belt. It is a little big, but if worn loosely, it sits nicely on my hips. I think it would look good worn that way, no? It is quite wide with a large buckle, and if tightened up as I am wearing it now, it covers my midriff, offering some protection, as I have no armour. Also, it has these cute hidden pockets! So handy for holding little things."
The man looked at the elf, not sure if she was being serious. "Really?
Daelynn was silent for a moment, focusing on climbing up the steep stairway.
"Partly. You know that little voice in your head that suggests you do something, which at the time seems trivial, even inconsequential", she asked? "'Go left, not right', 'snatch an odd, useless item from a market shelf', 'wear a certain article of clothing'"?
"I killed off that annoying little voice years ago", was Sard's reply.
The elf chuckled. "Well, after being kissed by an angelic being about a year ago, that little voice speaks more strongly to me. It does not happen often, but when it does, I tend to listen."
Daelynn could feel the man looking intently at her. She was relieved when they reached the top of the stairs and entered the vestibule, where they were greeted by a young priestess.
Sard responded as he had been instructed, and the two of them passed through the great double doors into Tymora's temple.
Sard helped Daelynn get seated in a back pew, by the aisle and near a set of stairs that led up and through the wall that separated the nave proper from the vestibule.
Returning to the front doors, Sard asked the priestess stationed there where he could find Brother Quintin. Yes, he understood that novices had duties to attend. Yes, it was important, in fact urgent that he speak with him. Getting directions to where the novitiates were stationed, Sard pulled his hood even lower over his head and set off on his circumnavigation of Tymora's house of worship.
Daelynn listened to the hubbub of voices around her. Snippets of conversations stood out, but none were suspicious or dealt with things murderous. The heavy scent of incense hung in the air. Better that then the smell of many bodies pressed into the church.
The back several rows of the nave, where she sat, were reserved for the sick, the lame, and the blind. Contrary to what many thought, afflicted persons were not kept at the back so as to be out of sight. Rather, they were so seated so that they did have to walk any further than was comfortable for them. Asking a man on crutches, or a blind woman, to navigate the long aisleways, and wend their way through the church's many supporting pillars, just to get a seat closer to the front, made little sense.
Someone passed close by her, knocking her walking stick from her hands.
"Oh, let me get that fer ye, Lady", said a young voice at her shoulder. Someone brushed against her, retrieved her stick from the floor, and placed it in her hands.
"Thank you, girl. You are very kind", said the elf.
"Most welcum. Yer an elf?" Queried the young voice.
With her hair covering her ears and a shawl covering her head, Daelynn's most noticeable elven features were hidden.
"Yes, I am", answered the elf, smiling.
Yer blind?"
"Yes, I am", repeated Daelynn in a subdued tone, her smile fading.
"Wah happen'd?"
"An... accident", said the elf.
"Oh", exclaimed the girl. "Lucky ye weren't killed then?"
"Lucky?" Daelynn shook her head, being both angered and confused by the girl's words. "I… I never thought of it that way. Indeed, I suppose I should have been killed."
"We all ha' things ta thank The Smiling Lady fer, don't we?" Asked the child, brightly.
"I suppose we do", said the elf in an uncertain tone.
"Ha' to go! Me mum'll worry. Bye!"
Daelynn heard the sounds of sandals skipping away along the stone aisleway.
'Lucky'? 'Thankful'? she mused. Perhaps she should have died the night she was blinded. Instead, she'd defeated huge spiders, a demon, and one of Braxes' other assassins. Oh, she had prayed to her deity for help - for wisdom, for strength. But everyone prayed during difficult times. It was not as if her Goddess had granted her super-elven strength or supplied her with a heaven-forged weapon! It was Daelynn's own skills - speed, talent and training - that had won the night. So, she should have 'thanked' Tymora, even after being blinded?
She felt a ripple of excitement run through the congregation. Something was happening up front. Senior priests and guests would be filing in to sit in the two quire lofts. The Preceptress and Brother Kelln, the Master of the Novices, would soon be seated on the dais in front of the altar. The crowd quieted. Several late-comers whispered behind her, looking out over the nave trying to see if there were any pews left open.
She heard a tap-tap-tap behind her. A walking stick striking the polished stone flooring.
"Brother", said a youthful voice near her. "May I help you in finding a seat?"
"Thank you, Brother, but that will not be necessary. I am to assist the Chanticleer. Is this the way to his loft", asked a second voice?
"Yes, it is. It must have been some time since you were last at Temple, Brother. I do not recognize you", said the first priest.
"Indeed, it is my first visit. I am a Priest-Peripatetic. It is rare that we come into larger cities", replied the second, older man's voice.
"Ah, a wandering cleric! Well met and blessings upon you. And yes, these stairs lead to the loft, but the Chanticleer is not needed until near the end of the service. I doubt she is at her post just yet."
"Better early than late!" Said the second priest in a jovial tone. "Tut-tut. I will do fine, young man. Just a bad limp. I can make way up alone. My cane is aid enough. Thank you!"
Daelynn could hear the young priest speaking in hushed tones to more late-comers, trying to get them seated. The tap-tap-tap, or rather the tink-tink-tink, of the older, second priest's walking stick, echoed down the stairwell as he slowly climbed up to the loft used by the Chanticleer – a priest who chanted responses back to the clergy performing rituals at the altar.
The elf knew that the loft was about thirty or forty feet above the floor of the nave and would have made an excellent vantage point for an assassin, except that it had a very limited field of view. If she remembered correctly, the front pews, as well as the seats in the quires and near the altar, were blocked by pillars and the many streamers and banners that hung from beams and wires stretched across, and high above, the seated congregation.
The only clear line of sight from the loft was to the lectern, situated front and center up on the chancel. It was from there that readings of holy texts, the Goddess' own words, were recited to the massed worshippers.
Only Preceptress Alline, the church's Matriarch, or Master Kelln, would conduct a reading during a High Holy Day service. All eyes would be upon them during the recitation.
The thought repeated itself in her mind, 'All eyes would be upon them during the recitation'. The two most senior and powerful clerics of the Tymoran Church in the East. Would Braxes dare such a thing?
She feared that answer.
Alline or Kelln standing at the lectern would be in plain view of the loft. But that was a distance of almost fifty yards. That was arrow or quarrel distance. Hard to smuggle in something as bulky as a bow or crossbow. Besides, everything pointed to a poison dart being thrown.
The eerie tap-tap-tap of the visiting priest's cane stopped. There had been a peculiar quality to the tapping. Wood on stone. But there had been an odd resonance, no, a rattle, as if the wood was splintered…? Hollow!
Poke's last words rushed back to her. 'Not Cain'.
'Cain' was not a name! It was 'cane'! A common walking stick, or crutch. A three to five foot long, piece of wood. Hollow it out and it becomes a tube. Not a cane. A blow-tube. A silent, inconspicuous weapon for firing darts!
Daelynn jumped up, scrambling for the aisleway. She pushed past a few congregants standing in her way, using her walking stick to find the stone staircase that ran through the rear wall.
As she started to climb the stairs, she heard a booming voice coming from the front of the church. It was Master Kelln's.
"This is our first reading. Listen all ye present to these words of The Smiling Lady!"
The service had started!