The Alabaster Staff Page 8

  These were all very interesting things, for it knew the smell of food, knew the glitter of precious metals, and knew that its mistress would want to know that someone was lairing under her stoop.

  Spreading its fragile wings, the wyrmling took off with a faint flutter. It circled up, then landed on the windowsill of its mistress. It tapped the window with its beaklike muzzle.

  Tiglath opened the window, picked up the wyrmling, and set it on her shoulders.

  The wyrmling placed its muzzle next to her ear and began to speak.

  Kehrsyn rose with the sun, though not enthusiastically.

  Her teeth chattered with the cold until she found somewhere to spend her sole copper for a bowl of weak but warm broth for breakfast. She also managed to scrounge a new leather lacing for her boot in payment for using minor feats of legerdemain to distract the tanner’s young children from their fight.

  At some point during the night, the misty rain had turned to snow, and it continued to fall in occasional dustings throughout the morning. The heavy pedestrian traffic ground the snow down, transforming the pristine white glaze into mushy gray-brown clumps of slush that clung to boots and leached their icy water through the seams into people’s stockings.

  Kehrsyn considered what to do about her arm. Should I sell my rapier for a spell of healing? she wondered. If I did, I would be healed but almost defenseless … and I’ve endured—in fact, I am enduring—worse than a bad burn.

  Speaking of which, she thought, maybe I’d best get this over with.

  The guild thief, who never had mentioned her own name, had told her to give the wand to a Red Wizard named Eileph. Kehrsyn decided to go meet him.

  She sought out the Mage Bazaar, a large, open square filled with towering tents in rich and gaudy colors and inundated with strange odors that at once tantalized and repelled. Kehrsyn walked past small booths selling powdered jade, past wagons with assorted alchemical glassware, and past a tent filled with “sacrificial and companionable animals of the finest qualities, carefully bred in every size and color, guaranteed docile, healthy, and free of infestations.”

  The Red Wizards’ pavilion was not hard to find. It was a cluster of tents encircled by a high curtain of velvet, all centered around a soaring flagpole topped by a vivid red banner that hung beneath its dusting of white. At the entrance stood a huge warrior. Kehrsyn looked him over. He had heavy black armor, a shaved head covered with tattoos, and a greatsword as tall as she was. The unsheathed sword rested on its tip (carefully placed on a tiny wooden stand to preserve its point), and the warrior rested both of his hands on its pommel.

  She walked over with an air of confidence that smothered her nervousness and asked the guard where she might find the Red Wizard named Eileph.

  “You’ll find him right over there, young lady,” the warrior answered with a respectful tone. He gestured to one of the tents and added, “Have a nice day.”

  Kehrsyn stepped over, tentatively pulled back the heavy tent flap, and said, “Hello?”

  “Come in, come in, what can I do for you?” said a grating, gravelly voice.

  Kehrsyn stepped in and stopped in her tracks, stifling a gasp. A misshapen lump of a wizard lurched toward her on uneven legs. At first she thought him to be a dwarf, but he was too thin, too frail … and, in spite of his bungled heritage, too human. While not a hunchback per se, he had a definite hunched posture, most likely due to a life spent studying musty tomes in dim light. By the numerous candles in the tent, Kehrsyn could see that one of his eyes was missing, the lids sewn together over the empty gap. His uneven nose had a septum that deviated to the side, missing alignment with the center of his mouth by a wide margin. Perhaps some of the distortion was due to a rippled burn scar that covered one cheek. He had bushy eyebrows with long, scraggly hairs, juxtaposed against a thin smattering of long, limp hair on his bulging, liver-spotted pate.

  All that Kehrsyn apprehended in the passing of a single heartbeat. She saw as well a change in the wizard’s expression from one of cheerful if avaricious hospitality to a glowering and weary disgust.

  “I—I’m sorry,” stammered Kehrsyn, recovering her composure.

  She was impressed with the amount of bilious contempt Eileph was able to channel through his single eye.

  “Don’t even bother trying to be sorry for me,” he said.

  “No, I mean I’m sorry for my reaction,” interrupted Kehrsyn, meeting his gaze. “It was rude of me.”

  Eileph raised one eyebrow—the one over the empty socket, a rather disconcerting gesture in itself—and considered Kehrsyn’s words.

  “Yes, it was,” he said. “But in all my years in Messemprar, you’re the first to accept your failure, instead of hiding it behind insolence or superciliousness. Therefore, you’re forgiven.”

  “Did it hurt?” asked Kehrsyn, peering more closely at Eileph’s face.

  “Did what hurt?” he countered.

  “That … burn on your face.”

  Eileph raised one hand to his cheek and said, “That was a wee mishap I had while trying to distill a potent acid. Yes, it hurt. There’s nothing quite like feeling acid eat away your eye.”

  “How did you deal with the pain?” Kehrsyn asked.

  Eileph looked at her with affronted dignity and replied, “I am Thayan.”

  Kehrsyn smiled. “Right,” she said, finding in that simple truth the key to her own pride. She was an Untheri, and she could deal with a burned arm, even rejoice in her endurance.

  “Enough of my face, young lady,” said he with a wave of his tattooed hand. “Maker knows I’ve seen enough of it myself. You came here for business. Your name is …?”

  “Kehrsyn.”

  “Yes, of course. I was told to expect you, but I did not expect you so soon. Do you have it?”

  “No … no, not yet,” she said.

  “I see,” said Eileph. “Are you seeking some additional … supplies? I have quite a range of items both alchemical and—”

  “No, I don’t have any … I don’t have a need for any, uh, new items. I was more just dropping by to, you know, see who I was dealing with.” Kehrsyn hesitated. “Um … can you, you know, cast a healing spell or something?”

  “Hmph,” grunted the wizard. “I would think that someone going after a high-stakes target like yours would have healing enough of her own.”

  Kehrsyn shrugged.

  Eileph shook his head and said, “Healing is not my specialty, young lady. Besides, pursuant to the war, Thay has made an agreement with Unther that we shall sell healing potions only to the military.”

  Kehrsyn sagged onto a stool and stared at the ground.

  “I couldn’t afford a potion, anyway,” she said. “I just wanted a little spell.”

  Eileph studied her for just a moment, then said, “I have a proposition for you.”

  Kehrsyn looked up, bleak hope in her eyes.

  “You’re going into a very interesting place,” the Red Wizard continued. “You may find some other magical trinkets around. I will purchase the right of first refusal on them. I will give you ten silvers now, as a deposit. If you find anything interesting, you sell it to me at full market price. Deal?”

  Eileph spat on his hand and held it out.

  “Deal,” said Kehrsyn, spitting on her palm and shaking his hand.

  Eileph’s grip was weak, which, considering how weak her own grip was, Kehrsyn found discomforting.

  “Done and done,” said Eileph, counting out the coins and pressing them warmly into Kehrsyn’s hands. “Was there anything else you needed, young lady?”

  Kehrsyn clutched the coins tightly, counted them again, then slid them into a pouch inside her sash.

  “Well, no,” she said, “not yet, but there’s …”

  “Yes, of course, there’s that other business,” said Eileph. “Come take a look.”

  He kneeled down and picked up a large, leather portfolio. He placed it on a side table and opened it up, pulling out a few sheets of fine paper
.

  “I’ve been doing a little divination,” the wizard cackled, “to help me with my part of the work. Strictly subtle spells, I assure you, nothing that would raise an eyebrow. I must say, I’m looking forward to seeing this beauty in real life.”

  He laid the pages on the low table in the center of the tent. Exquisite graphite drawings covered the sheets, meticulous studies that showed the details of the carvings in the wand, which lay in a lined box. Kehrsyn studied the drawings carefully. The sorceress’s description had left her with a far different impression of the item. She’d expected a sturdy, weatherworn item, but if these diagrams were a good depiction—and, based on the skill with which they were drawn, Kehrsyn felt certain they were—the wand was in excellent shape.

  “Judging by its aura,” Eileph said, “it might be a necromancer’s staff, but it has a unique style I’ve not seen before.”

  Kehrsyn pulled back. Eileph’s breath was offensive with the smell of untended hygiene.

  “Necromancer’s staff?” she asked. “You mean, like death magic?”

  “Yep. But it’s so small, I just have to wonder.…

  “By the way,” he added, “the information you people had was perfectly accurate. Good thing, otherwise I have no idea how long it would have taken me to find it. Look for a badly weathered wooden case.”

  “Hey, thanks. That’ll help. More than you know.”

  “When do you think you might be pursuing this activity?”

  “Probably tonight,” Kehrsyn said. “Get it over with.”

  “It seems you folks are a bit disorganized. Be careful … I’d hate to see anything happen to you, young lady. It’s a rare day that someone surprises me.”

  “Thanks,” said Kehrsyn, dropping her eyes.

  “Hmph,” said Eileph. He drummed his fingers. “I won’t be here after dark. It gets too cold. No one comes, anyway. So ask for me at the Thayan enclave. You know where that is, right?”

  Kehrsyn nodded.

  “Right. I’ll ensure the guards know to expect you, young lady.”

  “Great.” Kehrsyn took a deep breath, then let it back out. “See you tonight,” she said.

  “Eh? Oh, right. Be careful.”

  “It’s too late for that,” she said with a wan smile.

  She rose and exited the tent, leaving the heavy velvet flap swinging in her wake.

  At noon, Kehrsyn tried to perform in the Jackal’s Courtyard, but her mind was distracted, her heart burdened, and her left arm stiff and painful. She gave up early, packed up her stuff, and left.

  As she exited, she happened upon the sorceress passing in the other direction. The callous woman gave Kehrsyn a meaningful look, never breaking stride.

  Kehrsyn scooped up a particularly dirty pile of slush and prepared to hurl it at the insolent woman, but paused.

  Nah, she thought, best to wait until after I’ve done their dirty work.

  She let the slushy mess drop back to the cobbles, and moved through town toward the Imperial Quarter. There the original inhabitants of Messemprar had built the government center and the massive temple of Gilgeam. The government center was still in use, and the temple had been converted to a barracks for foreign mercenaries. She entered Gilgeam’s Altar, renamed the Plaza of the Northern Wizards, and poked around for Port Street.

  Moving slowly down Port, she studied the various signs and sigils on the buildings. Some hung from poles, while others were rendered in peeling paint directly onto the stone or wood of the walls. Up ahead, she saw a well-crafted sign of carved wood, suspended from an arm of green brass. It had a large, well-rendered wing on it, spread wide as if flying, painted in blacks and blues. She drew closer and saw two glyphs, one painted on each side of the door, ancient pictograms representing an abbreviation for Wing’s Reach. A sign on the door read, “Purveyors of fine goods, antiques, exotics, and curios.”

  She casually circled the building. It was an older edifice, solidly built and impeccably maintained. Ornamental carvings of gods, animals, and other more abstract items encrusted the building’s circumference, delineating the separation between its three floors. No hint of moss or accumulated dirt could be found in the seams of the smooth stonework. Heavy shutters covered the various windows, and looked like they would do well at keeping the chill at bay. When left open on a summer’s day they’d surely admit a nice, cool ocean breeze through the place.

  Smoke issued from at least one chimney. According to Kehrsyn’s map, there were two main fire pits, one in the kitchen and one in the main hall. Other fireplaces could be found in the best living quarters on the third floor. There were four staircases, situated more or less in the corners of the building. Doors opened onto Port Street, Angle Street, and an alley behind the building, and a generous supply of wide windows adorned the upper floors.

  With the weather, the only portals to the building likely to be open were the front door and the chimneys. Just to see, though, Kehrsyn tried the rear door, which she assumed was the servants’ entry. The bolt had been thrown, and it was secured with a dwarven bronze lock, which was an obstacle Kehrsyn was not certain she could overcome.

  That left the front door and the chimney.

  Either way, she thought with concern, I’ll be dropping right into the fire.

  She was confident in her ability to move quietly and to use the natural camouflage of light and shadow. Those were tricks that had kept her alive since childhood. She trusted in her natural dexterity, her lightness of touch, and her ability to prevent collateral noises when pilfering. She was concerned, however, with her ability to get doors opened, especially if they were locked or ensorcelled.

  The fear of becoming enchanted, blasted, or turned to stone gave Kehrsyn pause. Magic that might disfigure or cripple her made the score not worth the risk … until she reminded herself that the alternative was to be turned in for the murder of a Zhent guard. She drew in a deep breath between her teeth, tried to evict such thoughts from her mind, and steeled herself for the task at hand.

  She studied the building from a safe vantage point down the street. She pulled out the map and pored over it, correlating the exterior features with the interior layout. She marked the streets and nearby doors and side streets, as well as the various items in the alley—items that might be obstacles or cover.

  Then she ran through a variety of potential scenarios for breaking in and navigating the building. Many did not seem feasible, and the rest required moving through areas that were, in all probability, occupied by the inhabitants. She tapped her teeth with her fingernail as she thought through the possibilities and outcomes, then tried to divine ways to defeat the various weak points of her plans. For once, she was happy for the nightly dragnets that sought to evict her from the city. They had given her much practice in developing strategies, foreseeing complications, and preparing fallback plans.

  The cold slowly crept through her cloak and clothing as she sat inactive, but she didn’t notice until the map started trembling with her shivers. She got up, put away her map, picked up her bag, and began walking briskly away, looking to warm herself with exertion.

  As she walked past the corner of Wing’s Reach, she failed to notice the sorceress watching her from a nearby rooftop.

  Kehrsyn purchased a light dinner, but the butterflies in her stomach kept her from eating it all. The night weighed on her mind with everything that could go wrong, and the worry seemed to make her burned left arm throb all the more.

  Dusk was beginning to fall, so Kehrsyn pushed her plate away and left the small, crowded dining room of the resting house. As she stepped into the street, she saw that the snow had grown from occasional flurries to a continuous, if light, fall.

  That was the first thing that could go wrong. The more snow that fell by the time she made her getaway, the easier it would be to track her. Kehrsyn would have to strike earlier than she wanted to.

  She maneuvered to a wide thoroughfare and looked for the cordon of soldiers. Seeing them approaching, herding
a variety of vagrants before them, she took her pouch of coins into her hand, loosened the drawstring, and waited until she saw a sizeable cluster of people moving up the street. A pair of families and assorted pairs and trios, all moved in a dispersed group for their respective homes. Kehrsyn strode out into the street, pacing her step so that she would be at their head.

  As she approached the soldiers, she nodded in greeting and began to stride past as if it were the most natural thing in the world. As she tried to slide through their ranks, one soldier reached out and grabbed her right arm, just below the elbow. As he did that, she jerked her hand against his grip and spilled her purse of coins. The silvers and coppers scattered across the cobbles.

  As expected, some of the other people—all the refugees and even a few of those with homes—made a quick move to try to retrieve some of the coins, causing the soldiers to turn their attention to them. Kehrsyn berated the soldier who’d “made” her spill her valuables, then quickly recovered as many of her coins as possible, pointing to various stray coins for other soldiers to recover.

  Naturally, those who were about to be evicted from the city tried to use the confusion to work their way back through the cordon and hide away. Though the soldiers were too alert to let that happen, the activity kept them distracted. In the general chaos that followed her accident, Kehrsyn concealed herself behind a loud tirade against “careless city constables,” an accusation the volume, content, and speaker of which the soldiers were only too happy to ignore.

  Seeing that her words fell on deaf ears, she turned on her heel and stomped away. Thus she made her way deeper into the city, unchallenged by those assigned to turn her out.

  Once safely out of sight, she counted her coins. She’d lost a silver and three coppers. It would have been more, but her swift and delicate fingers had snitched several pieces back from the open purse of a wealthy resident who’d been helping himself to her spilled coins. As punishment, she’d also slipped one of his gold coins to a particularly needy-looking refugee.