Seen in Black Glass
SSt. 857 , Athk. Fae. Contents: Blank. Status: Sold Buyer: Sand of Neverwinter
"Drink to me only with thine eyes
And I will pledge with mine..."
A party has been going on too long when one of the guests begins reciting poetry. I was still on my first beaker of wine, but by the look of Veedle our master builder, he was on his second barrel already. He was on his feet and swaying gently like a poplar with its roots in sandy soil, clutching the back of his chair as he recited sentimental verse after sentimental verse to no one in particular. I hoped that it was not his customary state; if it was, the walls of the keep would collapse should a shadow priest happen to sneeze on them.
I did not feel at all festive. I looked at the green boughs decorating the courtyard and the braziers between each table with as much concentrated malice as I could summon, and willed them to burst into fire. Nothing happened, of course. I'm not the type of person to go about causing spontaneous combustions.
Not for the first time, I wondered at the care that had been taken in the seating arrangements. Kana had excelled herself. Neeshka and Khelgar placed next to each other, close to the nearest bench of soldiers, so that their good spirits would be clearly visible and audible to the troops, but not so close to the Captain that they could encourage her into uncaptainly behaviour. Not that she had ever needed much encouragement. Casavir as far away from Bishop as was possible, of course and Qara far away from me, squeezed between the twin pillars of calm – of slumber, even – Elanee and Zhjaeve.
Jerro's chair was still empty. Kana had taken a risk by setting his place near the head of the table, opposite the gith. Perhaps she had been gambling on a sense of public decorum prevailing between our self-appointed strategists-in-chief. Given that the entire show had been put on to help soften the effect of certain rumours concerning him she would be disappointed. Her competence in her role, coolly dealing with all manner of problems, even including the Gnome Question – it being that there was one and why wouldn't he go away? – assured me that she'd find the means to revenge herself on the warlock.
I took a larger swig of the wine, and sat back in my chair, feeling suddenly much better. I had a chair here, which I felt to be a positive development. At the Host Tower and in Neverwinter, I had always been a bench dweller. They even gave me a bench in the court case, and in that instance the reputation of a whole city, not to mention a life, hung upon the outcome. And now here I was with my own chair. I was needed. I was appreciated, and by people who didn't make a living by selling smoked rat on a stick to superannuated sailors and good time girls . For sure, I was disposable. The years of my Luskan sojourn had taught me that everyone was, when the last reckoning came in, however gifted and special they believed themselves to be. So I drank my wine, and listening to the conversations bubbling around me.
Listening is an underrated skill.
"...ten or twelve at a time without needing to rest; you just need to find the right alchemist..."
"...and what will that mean for my land?..."
"...he may still be sulking because I threw a vase at his head..."
"...mind your own damn business..."
"...I'm not listening to you any more, I'm going to need a sleeping draught as it is..."
"...the world is but a thoroughfare of woe..."
"...I would like to see it one day – with you, if I may say that..."
"...we are pilgrims passing to and fro..."
"...if he doesn't show up soon, I will go and find him..."
"...and he had the most tremendous – well – you know..."
"...this entertainment is pleasant, but I fear such things are not a wise use of our time..."
Amongst the throng of voices, it was one absence that stood out to me. I peered down the table, and located Qara, slumped and prodding at her food. She stopped long enough to shoot a dour look at Khelgar, who was starting on one of his yarns of indefinite length.
"Then these three came up to me by the wharves near the Flagon. 'We've heard you're working with the Watch now' they said. 'You heard wrong' I said, 'Me and my friends, we're doing the job of the Watch for them' and they said 'Well, we were going to take down some Watch hounds, but since you're doing their job, do you mind if we kill you instead?' 'My pleasure, lads,' I said, 'Let's just see you try' and they ran at me – all three of them, they just ran straight at me – but they were too slow, so I ducked under the spear of the first one and picked him up by the ankles and swung him round – and he hit both the others, knocked one clean over, the other realised he wasn't up to it, and when he saw me raise the gauntlets of Ironfist at him he shrieked like a young lass and jumped right off the nearest pier. Saw him swimming in the direction of the Moonshae Isles. Then one of them I threw in the drink myself, and as for the last one, I told him, 'Go and tell that she-wolf Moire to put on her best gown for swimming in, because she's next' and I tied his legs together and let him go hopping away..."
The dwarf sighed in satisfaction, and, three feet further along, Qara began to tug at her hair, and stab her roasted quail with a toasting fork. On her other side, Zhjaeve ate and drank nothing, and had not even removed her veil. I made a mental note to research githzerai culture when I was next in the Keep's library. Were her peculiarities not peculiar at all on the astral plane, or had her people decided to get rid of their version of Grobnar?
"Mask! but you talk rubbish," Neeshka was objecting. "It wasn't like that at all, and I was there so I know. What happened was – eh – look who's arrived! Did he get lost in the basement or what?"
"I was hoping the spider had eaten him," Khelgar grunted.
There was a perceptible drop in the volume, as the latest and last to join our merry band walked down the path to the high table. And the Knight Captain, carrying a tray on which one full wine goblet remained, approached him from amongst the benches full of her cheerfully drunk soldiers. Some watched her pass curiously.
She seemed to be contemplating throwing the contents in his face. From the intakes of breath around me, I guessed that the others had hold of the same notion.
The two met at the head of the table.
Farlong clasped the goblet by its fluted stem, and raised it, very slightly, in a phantom toast, then tilted back the rim, and took a rather miserly sip.
Jerro's expression changed, though I could not recognise what the change signified. But he played along. Impatiently, he took up the goblet himself, said, "Your health, Captain," in a voice that must have carried to the furthest reaches of the bailey, and drank a less parsimonious measure than his new best friend for the night.
She smiled wryly, and put a hand on his arm to show him to his place.
The tension broke. The rank-and-file returned to their food and drinking contests, while we returned to our gossip, and to the solitary drinking contest that Bishop was set on conducting with himself.
Well, that had ticked Kana's boxes. Harmony. Check. Trust. Check. Empty symbolism. Check. And possibly started another entirely different rumour into the bargain. But the high table had set an inspiring example to the low, and our happy company was finally complete.
Or not quite complete. I spotted Qara as she moved off towards the Builders' Plaza. She was striding along with her head held high. No one tried to call her back. I looked up and down the table at the talking, chatting, arguing, laughing faces. Apart from me, no one had noticed her untimely departure. Not even Bishop, who noticed everything.
What was the mad girl up to? Abruptly, I made my decision.
"Leaving already, Sand?" Catriona, another of our glum souvenirs from Old Owl Well, had torn her eyes away from Casavir for a whole five heartbeats.
"Fresh air, sergeant, fresh air."
"But we're outsi-"
As I hurried after Qara, I considered some still more fabulous excuses. 'I've just realised that my cactus needs watering as a matter of some urgency' – 'I thought I heard the King of Shadows knocking at the postern gate' – or best off all: 'I saw an attractive teenager heading towards an isolated spot out of sight of her companions, and instantly resolved to sneak off after her.'
I stopped at the mouth of the ally into which Qara had disappeared. It lay squeezed between the back wall of the architect's cottage and the southern curtain wall. At the far end was the so-called plaza; in reality an enclosed space that had been accidentally created as a result of the absent planning regulation in the early days of the Keep. These days it served as a storage yard, full of hoists, pulleys, shovels, and ropes.
A marauding tribe of pigeons had discovered the alley and recognized in it the perfect latrine. For the sake of my best shoes, I was obliged to hop on tip toe to arrive safely on the little patches of unguano'd ground. Mystra, it stank. Ahead of me, I could hear heavy human foot-steps. A few more careful hops, and I could see her.
She was in the plaza, pacing furiously up and down the trapezium of pressed black earth. I watched her from the gloom of the stinking alley. Coming upon a barrel, she aimed a kick at it. Not being the most well-coordinated of young humans, she missed.
I thought about retreating.
After several more laps of the square, she checked herself. Her breath was coming in rapid, shallow gasps, asthmatically. She put an arm again the curtain wall, and head down, let her hair fall forwards over her face. She took a large, slow breath.
I thought again about retreating. But here was a chance not to be wasted. She seemed more vulnerable than I'd ever seen her. It was an opening.
"They'll be missing you at the feast," I said.
Her head snapped up. Between the locks of red hair, I could see her eyes gleaming like black glass.
"Their favourite pyromaniac not there. The roast goose just won't be the same without that taste of pulverised charcoal..." I continued.
She drew herself up. "Like they're missing you and your stupid bitter comments. They don't like you, Sand. They just use you to hunt through dusty old books that they're too busy to bother with themselves."
"And it's better to be used as the resident fire-lighter? Come now."
"Perhaps the resident fire-lighter could torch those precious parchments of yours then...or your spell-book." She took a step towards me. I willed myself not to move, not to twitch a muscle.
"Is that how you display your distaste for learning? By destroying it?"
"I don't need to destroy it. Why would I? I understand more about power than you ever will, sad little elf. I live it. I breathe it. It's in me. And one day, you'll admit that to me. I'll force you to admit it. You all will."
A crackling light was dancing on the bare skin of her face, running along her pudgy little hands, hissing on her lips. It jumped from her skin to the ropes on the earthen floor, and raced along them like maritime fire. Soon every pail, barrel and and basket in the plaza was glowing with energy. Opposite me, the giant windlass began to turn in an invisible wind, black flames lighting its spokes.
"Your power is limited by your ignorance. By your total ignorance."
"I have no limits." She was shaking with anger. Throughout the plaza, the air thickened, transforming itself into an orange haze lit with black sparks. Soon I could only see her silhouette. Heat pricked my face. All I could smell was the astringent odour of struck flint. "I'll prove it. Now."
The barrel next to me burst into flames. Within three heartbeats, nothing remained. Not even ashes.
I turned and fled.
"Go on, Sand. Run! Get back to your hole, viper!"
Her laughter followed me down the alley.