Lost in Realm
8
Nhilva could not read minds. That ability was for the select few. She did, however, frown at Jhalnin's comments. He was supposed to be missing. If he was on the surface, how did he know what was going on in her family's home? It wasn't as though her house was among the top ranked in Menzoberranzan. What was the point of knowing current affairs in that household? And yet, it wasn't exactly her concern. Her ties with the Underdark were gone after they exiled her because she fell in love with someone. What was more important at this point and time was to find out more about the mission dwarf boy, and get paid.
She needed the coins.
Such was the cruelty of life.
Resuming her nonchalant expression, she arrived at the Cutlass with Jhalnin a few steps behind her. The tavern was located on Half Moon Street, the last street before the piers. It was relatively quiet this time of the day, with only a few workers and sailors walking past at a brisk speed. She spotted a few shady individuals around, but they were of no concern; she knew what kind of area it was. Standing at the front step, she studied the large sign hanging over the door.
"You are going in?" asked Jhalnin. He went quiet after no response from her.
"We need more clues," Nhilva said. This was the closest gathering place where the young dwarf was last seen. The city watch might have been here already, asking questions. But they were the local authority, and no one in Luskan liked authority. She was confident she might find out something they did not. Jhalnin might agree on that, too. She went up the steps and pushed the heavy door open.
The place was not crowded; a few patrons sat here and there. Almost all of them preferred staring into their tankards than looking up, as though there was some phenomenal beverage in them. At the sound of Nhilva and Jhalnin's entry, all of them jerked their heads up in unison, and then averted their gazes the next instant; a typical reaction at a shady tavern.
Compare to One-Eyed Jax, of course it was bloody shady.
The decor was a lot different, too. Nhilva liked the Drow-owned inn a lot more than this pit. Moving across the floor, covered with threadbare and stained rugs, she approached the counter and found an empty stool before sitting down. Jhalnin did the same.
"One Schnappsie," she murmured from under her hood.
Clearly used to clientele who whispered under their breath, the barman took the order and delivered the drink. Discretely looking about her, she stretched out her ears to search for clues.
Drow had a sharp sense of hearing. It was the by-product of living in a large cavern underground for such a long time. She was able to tell an individual's size and if they were hostile by the sound of their steps alone. One cannot hide secrets from a Drow in the dark. It was almost public knowledge that a skilled Drow priestess could even read your deepest desires. Any race that practiced magic might be able to do that. But each people took pride in their own kind, and her kind surpassed all others.
In her bag, Bishop moved and stuck his furry head out.
From the hushed whispers around her, she picked up on two separate abduction plots. She noted to filed that information for later, her attention focusing on a third conversation she detected upstairs.
"Thievs' Cant." Jhalnin chuckled in amusement. It was a unique code of mixed with languages spoken among rogues. Each guild and gang had their own version of it.
Unfortunately, Nhilva did not know any guild or gang members, and couldn't decipher it.
It appeared that Jhalnin did, and could.
She shouldn't be surprised. There was a reason he managed to climb all the way to his position and stayed there as long as he had, aside from seducing the Matron Mother and her foremost priestesses. Not to mention he had been on the surface for some time. She had to give him some credit. As much as she disliked him, she must admit his survival skills were astonishing.
Or he had very good luck with dice.
That was her modern-day soul talking.
Nhilva did not say anything, knowing it was his purpose to quell her curiosity. Her body and her original host soul still had the memories of him. Her skin prickled at them. Therefore, there was no way she would ask. Besides, walls had ears. There were other Drow in the tavern. Whatever they said could be overheard by others.
So she waited, confident he would eventually tell her.
They had a job to do, after all.