This time, Jaheira's contact was in the Wave District, that part of Athkatla which looked out upon the harbor.
This place was kept in decent condition, as most of the city was, but here the upkeep was minimal at best. The cobblestones were loose, no lights lined the streets unless someone nearby had the money for it, and more often than not the streets were covered with fog drifting in from the harbor. The Wave District also endured the worst of the storms in the summer, and in more than one way: a seven-ton brass bell, nicknamed the Great Griffin, tolled a warning from a stout stone tower to any ships trying to brave foul weather, taxing the sleep of its neighbors.
In stark contrast to its surroundings, however, stood the chief temple to Selûne, a soft white, seven-sided conical building called the Moonhall. It stretched above its surroundings like a white monolith, dwarfed only by the walls between the districts. Among those who sailed to Athkatla often, it was said that the Moonmaiden's temple, like the goddess herself, was as much a guide to sailors as the lighthouses and the Great Griffon was.
Most of the sea's associated trades also lived here — the shipwrights, the rope-twisters, the mapmakers, the sailors, the captains, the harbormasters. Oghma's temple, a modest building near the Seas' Bounty Tavern, was a reliable source of cartographers, sea charts, and information on far-flung destinations. And on most evenings, garishly dressed women and no small number of men leaned against the entryways to several festhalls, hoping to catch the eye of sailors on shore leave and ply the oldest trade of all.
Tonight was a fine, clear evening, and the western wind had brought the spring's new warmth, but no one was out on the streets tonight.
With the warning in her heart, Jaheira couldn't blame them for staying indoors. No matter how much she tried to tell herself that they were only nursing the bottle flu from the Greengrass festivities, she felt the need to step lightly here, occasionally looking over her shoulder. An unnatural presence seemed to be hounding her steps, whether it intended to or not; Jaheira had felt something similar over a tenday ago as she'd left Athkatla.
She walked down the main road called the Shardway, avoiding the uneven ground where the cobblestones were loose, glancing behind her every few steps. She had gone about a quarter mile when she felt a sudden need to fade from sight, to hide. But she was in the middle of the street, open to attack on any side.
Her first thought was to change shape, and the form that sprang to mind was not for her a well-trained one, much less one she ought to use in a moment of panic. But she recognized her instincts at once, and trusted them. She centered her mind, letting the power flow, recognizing and welcoming the familiar feeling of her limbs shifting and shrinking —
In a moment, the world became larger and brighter, painted in a whole spectrum of colors that were normally invisible to her, and the cobbles on the street were close to her, thrown into sharp focus.
She turned her head and spread a pair of tiny wings, but she didn't take flight, instead hopping along the side of the street with a light click or two and, with a leap, alighting upon the rotting post of nearby wooden fence.
She'd shifted into the form of a small wren, and not a moment too soon.
A woman with short, dark hair carried a man's body through the street, handling it as lightly and carelessly as one might a rag doll. Little else about her was visible, as she was swathed in a brown cloak.
Keeping to the sides of the buildings and the shadows, Jaheira hopped down lightly onto the chipped cobblestones, her tiny talons brushing the street with a gentle click. Keeping some distance away from this woman, she hopped along after, until the woman stopped further down the Shardway, dropping off the body in front of an unassuming door. The woman turned a corner and disappeared.
Jaheira waited a few minutes. With a thought and a moment of intense focus, she resumed her own form, and found herself standing over the man's body.
She closely examined the corpse. To judge by the armor, this man was a Shadow Thief, but she could see little else — the night was deepening, and the only substantial light came from inside the run-down homes and the lighthouses upon the shores.
But she could see enough to tell that he'd been dropped off at the meeting place Renal had named to her. The man was left here to send a silent message to his master.
If Jaheira had more time, she would have committed this body to the earth with the proper rites. As it was, she'd have to take a shortcut somewhere.
She picked up the man by his dirtied shirt-collar, dragged the body to the door, and rapped the knocker five times, as Dermin had instructed her.
A peephole opened above the keyhole, and a small dark eye appeared. A young boy's voice issued forth. "Password?"
"'Rinconete,'" Jaheira replied.
No sooner had she said the word than the door opened.
They must be supremely confident, she thought, to entrust this task to a boy of only seven. Or perhaps foolish.
But after the door opened, the boy stood in her way, atop a stairway to the basement. His mass of black, curly hair only went up to her waist, but he stood his ground like a guard. He held out his small, dirty hand.
"Two red inks, ma'am," he said.
Jaheira counted the small copper coins from her pocket and handed them to the boy. "Off with you then, child," she said.
The boy obeyed, scampering down the steps, disappearing into the blackness at the foot of the stairway, and muttering something to someone on the other side of some door at the basement.
Another head, this one crowned with a shock of white hair atop it, appeared in the doorway and glanced at her. The door at the foot of the stairway opened, and a voice issued forth: "You ought to come down quick as ye blink. There's naught that's friendly on these streets tonight."
She went down the stairs and stepped through the open door, and found herself in what could be charitably called a cellar. By the light of a couple torches, there were about a dozen men and women milling about, all wearing the Shadow Thieves' uniform, and the room had only two adornments: an oversized black mask draped upon several nails in the stone-lined wall, and a single plain chair in the middle of the room where a man sat among the crowd. He seemed to be the center, the focus of most of the people there, almost as though he were holding court.
This man, known as Renal Bloodscalp, had a lean, hungry look to him, but his dark eyes were intent and focused, as though he had a clear idea of what he wanted and was willing to take it, if he had to. He wore the same jacks of plate that the others did, with one exception: over the gridlike pattern of stitches on his canvas armor, he wore a deep red sash.
Jaheira laid the corpse onto the floor in front of Renal. The dead man's face was now clearly visible, frozen in some horror that the man had witnessed in his last moments.
The nature of this horror was easy to guess. Even in the torchlight in this room, two puncture marks, weeping blood and water, were clearly visible on the corpse's neck.
"I believe this is yours," she said, stepping back.
Renal's eyes flicked to and from her and the corpse. He turned to the others in the room, who had grown silent at the sight of the dead man.
"Leave us," he said quietly, but the command in his tone was obvious. This room was full of people used to flouting the law and those who enforced it, from the Council of Six on down. In a few minutes, that same room was emptied without question. Two black-swathed members of the Thieves came forward and wordlessly carried the body from the room.
When everyone else had gone, Renal stood up from his chair. "You are Dermin's agent, yes?"
"I am. You spoke to me through a Sending, and I have come for further instructions."
He gave a slight smile, but on him it seemed more calculating than warm. "Right to the point, eh? Refreshing. I am sick of underlings who shift from foot to foot. I find a bit of directness to be a nice change."
"You are mistaken if you consider me one of your 'underlings.'" Jaheira said. "I take my orders from Dermin. If that is not to your taste, you ought to have your own people lift your own burdens."
Renal leaned forward, clasping his hands. "Understand, any of my available assassins or thieves are quite capable, and on a normal day I would not consider it necessary to look beyond my guild. For this job, though, I need someone of skill who is not one of the Shadow Thieves. Someone more or less unknown to us."
She folded her arms. "Do not make me laugh, thief master. I have heard of your guild war. You would not consider approaching an outsider if your own house was strong and solid, hm?"
She had to give him some credit — if he was insulted, he betrayed no hint. He continued, "Well, how shall I put this? One of my guildhouses to the south is run by a rather ambitious fellow named Mae'Var. Good thief, but I never liked him. Now I know why. I've had some hints that he is getting too big for himself. Thinking of taking my place, I suspect, but I've had no real evidence to say that this is so.
"Now, you're likely thinking: why not just eliminate him? Yes, yes, I suppose I could. But without proof of betrayal, this would anger the other guildmasters and then I'd have a war on my hands. I don't want that.
"So here's your part in this: I would like you to go to Mae'Var and join his guild. I will give you papers saying you were being transferred by the Shadow Master. You will spy on Mae'Var from the inside and find me the evidence that I need. Once he is damned with proof, you can take care of this nuisance and eliminate Mae'Var. One less headache for a busy man such as myself to be concerned with."
He gave her a meaningful pause, which she refused to fill.
"Off you go, then," he said with a shrug of his shoulders and a wave of his hand. "I'd hoped for a whole band of mercenaries, as this business may get a bit messy. But I've heard that you are nothing if not resourceful."
After a terse leave-taking from Renal and the Thieves' Guild, Jaheira returned to the Seas' Bounty Tavern, which was just across the street from the guildhall. Whenever she met with someone important, especially the kind of people who picked up nicknames like "Bloodscalp," she preferred to change her normal routes and routines afterwards, just in case. And after dragging that corpse off the streets, she reasoned, the less time she spent on there, the better.
She had told no one that she would be here. So when a man tapped her on the shoulder and softly called her name, she nearly decked him with the blunt end of her staff.
But in the next instant, she recognized Dermin and stayed her hand. After some mildly embarrassed apologies, she invited him to talk up in the room she'd rented.
The place was wider and emptier than the Coronets' lodgings — oftentimes, the Seas' Bounty was frequented by rich youths slumming it, so the proprietor, a hook-handed man with the name of Thumb, went to a little extra effort to provide them semi-clean rooms and a hot stew of supposedly freshly-caught fish.
After exchanging a few pleasantries, the two Harpers went straight to business. "I am far from where I ought to be, so I hope you consider this assignment worthwhile," Jaheira said.
"Have I ever sent you on a mission not worth your while?" Dermin said.
She could think of none — at least, not in that moment. Nearly every time she'd gone forth for him on behalf of the Harpers, he'd had some subtle plan or end in mind.
"How did it fare with the Bloodscalp?" he asked, changing the subject.
Jaheira summed up their meeting, then added, "Forgive me if I have reservations. How does working with the Thieves advance the balance?"
He smiled. "You assume that we are working with them. You are exactly the wrong person for their purposes — but the right one for ours."