Chapter 4 – The Black Bazaar
Daelynn and Roland were among the last to enter the warehouse. A large man clad in black and smelling of the sea gave their pass only a cursory glance. He remained by the door as the invited guests moved forward to the large open space at the center of the warehouse. Several dozen people were present. Many wore cloaks or robes and about a third were hooded or masked. From the way they moved, dressed or spoke Daelynn surmised that the crowd consisted mostly of men with a handful of women. Besides two dwarves and a handful of Hin, there were a half-dozen elves that she could make out. The majority were human. People collected in small groups and conversation flowed freely. Many of the guests seemed to know at least one other person in the crowd, disguised or not. Old friends and competitors greeted each other.
At least two dozen of the assembled were the men in black from the ship. They conversed only with their shipmates and in murmurs. Even with her sharp elven hearing it was difficult to make out what they said. While they spoke the Common tongue, their accent was strong and unlike any Daelynn had heard.
Tables had been laid out forming a half circle in the middle of the warehouse floor. Some held wine and ale, others an assortment of goods that had fallen into the Thieves Guild hands and for a variety of reasons could not be fenced. Jewelry, arms, decorations, plate ware, even clothing were offered for sale. She noticed a set of silver candlesticks with the baronial crest of a well-known Southern family on one table.
"Ah. Now I recognize them."
Daelynn turned to Sir Roland.
"The men in black?" she asked.
"Aye. They're 'Zentahri'."
"And what are Zentahri?" she asked, unfamiliar with the term.
"The Zhentarim are slavers, my little dove," replied a voice behind them.
Daelynn started and spun around. Sir Roland uttered a sigh and slowly turned to greet the man who had intruded on their conversation. "Good evenin', Sard."
The man addressed as 'Sard' bowed slightly to the elder thief. He was dressed in a similar manner to Roland and Daelynn but the cut of his clothes and the material of which they were made was much finer. Instead of cloak or mantle to hide his features Sard sported a mask that covered the upper half of his face. Dark eyes offered a steady and frank gaze that Daelynn found oddly unsettling. The man had a long jaw and a strong mouth, now creased in a self-assured smile.
"Roland. You old fox! It has been some time. And who is this little dove?" Sard asked, indicating Daelynn, again using the euphemism popular in Capitol for a catamite.
Daelynn put a hand on the hilt of her knife and leaned forward. Her eyes, almost level with Sard's, altered from lavender to purple.
"Call me that again," she hissed, "and I will…" her threat remained unfinished as Roland laid a hand gently on her shoulder and interrupted.
"This is 'Kestrel', my apprentice."
"Ah? Apprentice? Well good Kestrel, do you know that Roland has had only three apprentices before you? Failures and disappointments, all."
Roland offered a rueful smile. "One had some promise, but his talents are squandered."
"Yes, indeed. Today he is a Thieves Guild lackey. The first was too cocky and got himself killed soon after leaving Roland's side. The third was lured away by a deceitful witch and his soul now lies in darkness. Or so I have heard. Careful Kestrel. You too may come to a bad end following this sly one."
Roland ignored Sard's jibes and returned the conversation to his comment regarding the Zentahri or Zhentari. "Slavery is forbidd'n in the Kingdom. Why are they here?"
"Oh, slavery is but one of their past-times. They also offer their services as mercenaries to whomever can afford them. And they are great traders! Their caravans and ships can be found throughout and around all of Faerun. This lot is a long way from home – they live far to the southwest. They travel here perhaps once every few decades? They deal with the Guild and some of the dodgier merchant houses. Whatever they bring will be exotic, and expensive."
Roland nodded his head as Sard recounted what he knew of the black-clad men. He had heard some of this before, but it had been decades ago.
"Looks like things are goin' to get start'd," Roland said, indicating movement near the warehouse doors that opened onto the dock.
Two groups of Zhentarim crossed the warehouse floor. The first consisted of three men walking abreast. The first and third man walked with bared swords, using them to guide the crowd out of their path. The man in the middle carried a small white chest about six hands wide and three hands high. They moved to one of the tables. The second group was made up of six men. The first and last in this group also brandished swords. The remaining four men pulled and pushed a cart across the wooden floor. A tall, narrow structure, taller than a tall man and not quite two yards wide, rested on the cart. The object was draped in black cloth.
With nods to his former master and the young apprentice with the amazing eyes, Sard turned and made his way through the crowd. Daelynn and Roland watched discreetly. Sard moved gracefully, slipping between people, never letting himself come in to contact with anyone. As he approached a small knot of Zhentarim, a large, bald, bearded fellow, also clad in black like his confreres, greeted him with a nod. A hurried conversation followed. It was obvious even at a distance that Sard did not like what he heard. Pointing to the tall, draped object, he adamantly shook his head, and made a curt gesture with his left hand. From out of the crowd, several non-descript men and two women rapidly but quietly moved to encircle the group of black-clad men. The Zhentari leader sneered at the newcomers. He said something that made his men laugh and Sard's followers grimace. Turning back to Sard, the man pulled out what appeared to be a thick scroll from beneath his cloak and handed it to him.
The Thieves Guild representative unrolled the scroll, his eyes skimming the document. The Zhentari pointed to something. Sard's face took on a sour look, as if he had just eaten something that disagreed with him. He gestured to a small man who stood several yards away. The little fellow scurried forward, slipping gingerly in-between larger men and women to arrive at Sard's side. Sard handed him the scroll. From his waist pouch the smaller man took out an object that appeared to be made from glass or crystal. He held it in front of the document and scanned it, taking his time, much to Sard's obvious impatience. When his examination was complete, he stretched up on tip toe and whispered into Sard's ear. It was again obvious that Sard was not pleased with what he heard.
Nodding curtly to the gathered Zhentarim, Sard stalked off to the far side of the gathering. His associates who had circled the men in black melted back into the crowd. The bald man in black shouted to attract the attention of the assembled.
"Thieves, cut-throats and scum of Capitol – welcome!" He shouted in passable Common. His rude greeting was received with laughter. "Two great prizes we offer to you tonight! One, an ancient treasure once held dear by Tyche, Goddess of Lucks, herself. The other, exotic creature sent from the heavens themselves!"
Daelynn smiled at the auctioneer's banter. Such hyperbole was to be expected.
There was movement in the crowd as a person, cloaked in dark red, strode from the middle of the assemblage up to the Zhentari leader. Whispered words were exchanged. The red-clad figure seemed to be urging some action that the black-clad man initially resisted. After another moment of entreaty the red-cloak made a curt gesture to two Black Scars who were standing near-by. They bent down, retrieved a small chest that lay between them, and carried it up to the auctioneer, who looked a little off put. Murmurs arose from the gathered at this unseemly breach of Black Bazaar etiquette. The black-clad men with the bared swords clanged them together until the crowd quieted.
The red-cloaked being, a man surmised Daelynn, opened the small chest and stepped back to allow the Zhentari an unobstructed view. Whatever he saw, pleased him. He nodded to his men who guarded the white chest; the red-cloak stepped over to them and one of the Zhentari opened it. Daelynn and Roland were close enough to catch a glimpse of the object inside.
"Tyr's left hand!" swore Roland softly. Daelynn was not certain but she thought she heard a voice behind her utter "Beshaba's breasts!" It took a moment for her to understand what she was looking at. The object was the size of a large dinner plate, or more correctly, half a plate. It was blue, and even at a distance she could see a gold filigree was worked in to the blue in an intricate and familiar fashion. It was the reverse image of the Trysech they had stolen from Lord Kessik's estate several months ago.
Roland was staring at the object, slowly shaking his head and muttering to himself. All she could make out was "it should not be here." At a command, the Black Scars and Zhentarim exchanged chests. The red-cloaked one and his followers stepped to one side. It appeared that there was still some business to be completed.
"So sorry my guests," exclaimed the bald Zhentari auctioneer. "Private deal has been made. Price, ten-thousand gold. Any complaints, speak to my client."
He finished by pointing to the man in red.
The crowd reacted as expected to so high a price being offered. Voices rose in a swell that consisted of surprise, astonishment and disbelief. A man and a woman, both masked and wearing brown robes, broke from the crowd and walked purposefully towards the red-garbed one. It was obvious from the look on the lower half of their faces and stances that they were not pleased. The man in red opened his cloak and drew back his hood. He glared at the approaching pair.
On seeing his face, the pair slowed. Then stopped. The man and woman looked at each other. The man shook his head. The woman shrugged, and the two turned away.
As they moved off, Roland and Daelynn had a clear view of the man in red.
"Braxes", they said at the same time. Daelynn looked at Sir Roland who was staring hard at the Beshaban cleric.
"You know him," she asked?
"Aye. Former Tymoran acolyte, now a follow'r of the Bad Sister. Mistress Alline tol' me about yer adventure. Rememb'r?"
"'Told you', yes. But you recognized him on sight. You know him!"
"Keep yer voice down," Roland whispered fiercely. "An' look away. We needn't attract attention, eh? He hasn't rec'nized me, so we have an advan'age."
The crowd's murmurs subsided as the auctioneer pointed to the tall, black, draped object with a flourish. "I promised you exotic creature? A rare beauty. A prize? A pet? A plaything? I present you, gift from heavens!"
"An advantage? For what?" the elf demanded.
At the auctioneer's signal the heavy black cover fell aside. In a tall, narrow, iron cage, stood a young women, hardly more than a girl. Weighed down by silver chains, she was near to naked. The ragged green shift she wore did more to accentuate her youthful curves then hide them. Rising from her shoulders were a magnificent pair of glowing, white, feathered wings.
