7.
(an Inn on the road to Neverwinter, stairwell)
Una, better cough up that King's Tear, because this is going to be good.
The innkeeper wasn't hard to convince. He hates them. Both of them. He doesn't mind their good gold, but he gets awfully tired of the racket. And who wouldn't? I've heard him at it with some not-so-very-bright human girl before while he was staying at the Flagon. Don't get me wrong, I think there's nothing bad about getting your cookies off. But, does the rest of the world have to know about it? We've just been lucky as heck while we were out on the road not to have anyone with us that'd be willing to give him the time of day. Not that he wouldn't jump at the chance if Una offered. Ha! A good cleric and a nice gal like that isn't as cheap as a tavern wench. And nowhere near as eager. More fool her, taking so long to wise up that the paladin's in love with her. Even I could see that. And the way she stands back and stares at him sometimes when we're in battle would tip off even the most dense pile of plate mail. How could those two be so blind?
I'd have helped them out, of course, if they didn't figure it out for themselves. But now this hidden away tart of Bishop's made a play for the paladin's life, and at last somebody wised up. I thought I was going to have to club her over the head with her own mace, but this waste of space Bishop's giving a closer view of the floorboards took care of all of that for me.
Eavesdropping always gives me a fit of the giggles. It's hard not to laugh seeing people act like these two. I'm not sure which he's doing- giving her a good time or letting an arrow loose the way he's growling and grunting at her. Good backside on him, though. Too bad about the attitude. Silly little girl is lucky he hasn't robbed her and beat her senseless.
The keyhole, unused and unlockable, is all the view I need. And right now those two wouldn't hear me if I started up a one-woman band.
Now we're getting to the good part. Yeah, yeah, that wasn't the good part. The angle wasn't right. Not a bad bod. He goes to the washbasin and pours some water into it and makes himself what he thinks is all sweet-smelling again. Vanity. I've got his number. The woman he's with gives herself a once-over at the mirror and a half-hearted wash. I grudgingly give Bishop a good look over when his best attributes are in view. Nature's been kind, but not so kind that he'd be worth half the trouble of a tumble. Makes no difference to me either way. But you didn't really think I wasn't going to look? When am I going to get a chance like this again? Such a shame, though, that he's a tad above average. It would have made for pretty decent blackmail material. You think I'm kidding? Some guys, every shred of pride they've got is all wrapped up in that one space.
Bishop puts his pants back on, crosses his arms, leans back against the window. He looks like something sour has gotten ahold of his mouth and he can't stop chewing on it. That scowl. I've seen it a hundred times.
"I want you to take it off. Take off the contract."
The woman with the black hair stops pulling on her boots and looks up at him. "Too late. We've already made the deal."
He narrows his eyes with a dark look. "I don't care if it inconveniences you. You'll take it off. Got it?" He's pretty bossy about it, but maybe he's misjudged her, because she's got her hand on her hip already waiting for him to pounce. They're playing chicken. She spreads her feet to get more of a strong center of balance, and he's starting to walk toward her.
"I don't think we understand each other," she snips at him. "I'm not telling you that my blades are itchy, you stupid mongrel. I'm telling you that it's too late. He's probably already dead."
His voice grows dangerous. "What.. do.. you .. mean?"
"Another step, and I'll take your throat. Or at least an ear."
He composes himself as best he can, which isn't much. I can tell from the way the tic at the corner of his eye twitches that he's pretty riled up.
"Tell me exactly what you did."
She's got to be bluffing. I just left Neverwinter earlier tonight, and Casavir was still safe and sound with Una having a last meal before gathering up the crew to start the journey back to the Keep. With that many people around him, I can't see how anybody would be stupid enough to make a play for him.
"All I did was a little research. I found out what wine he favors."
Poison? Casavir? Is that even possible? I can't remember if he's immune to such things or not. I haven't even started to wonder why Bishop would take the contract off in the first place, and now I've got to figure out a way to keep the paladin from drinking a bottle of wine when he's miles away. I've already started crouching so that I can redistribute my weight on the toes of one foot and begin to move silently away. But there's more that I have to hear, and, honestly, if she's poisoned the wine it's probably already too late.
Bishop starts walking toward the door. I press myself into the wall outside as flat as I can make myself.
"You disappoint me, Triana. You haven't learned how to properly follow directions. Poison," he spits out, "poison would point back to me. A proper Thieves' Guild wench would cut him and make it clean. I don't know why I wasted my time dealing with an amateur like you."
"Bishop. Wait." She goes after him with a hand on his shoulder.
He turns to her, slowly shaking his head and licking at his lower lip. "Love, Triana? If you think your little pout is going to keep me around, you haven't learned much at all."
But the woman laughs, and something about the sound of it is as thick and choking as oil smoke.
"Love? Love you? I don't love you, Bishop. You're nothing more than a disgusting, mangy animal that brings me meat once in a while. I want the rest of my money. I suggest you pay."
"Not even the lay was worth that much."
But he tosses her a small pouch, and it tumbles all about her feet with its dull silver.