Q'arlynd made his way to the market: a bustling hubbub of stalls, braying caravan beasts, and food vendors. Smells assaulted his nostrils: cooking meat, ground spice, ripe fruit, wafting incense, tanned leather, and cloth dye. Oddly, the smell of dung was missing and the cobblestones were clean. Though several shabbily dressed people of various races scurried here and there, it was hard to tell whom they belonged to; no one seemed to be directing them with lashes or clubs. Nor were there any obvious cripples, or shackled slaves-a stark contrast from the city where Q'arlynd had been raised.
His enquiries had confirmed that Flinderspeld was indeed working as a gem merchant, here in Silverymoon. Officially, Q'arlynd was in Silverymoon to purchase chardalyn, a rare black gemstone capable of absorbing spells. Silverymoon's wizards had perfected the use of it, casting a spell into a gem, and releasing the latent magic later by the simple expedient of shattering the stone. Flinderspeld was certain to stock it.
Q'arlynd hadn't told the svirfneblin he was coming. He wanted to see the expression on Flinderspeld's face when he first set eyes upon his former master. It would be an important clue to how Q'arlynd should word his request.
A hoodlike arch of brick marked the spot he was looking for: the stairs leading down to the cave where the svirfneblin trading caravans encamped. Q'arlynd hadn't seen any deep gnomes on his walk through the city. They kept below, it seemed.
He strode down the staircase into cool, damp darkness. By the time he reached the bottom of the stairs, his darkvision had reasserted itself.
The startled silence that fell upon the main cavern as he entered proved even more profound than the reaction his appearance had prompted in the streets above. The svirfneblin caravanners who'd been unpacking their lizards' saddlebags glared at Q'arlynd with open hostility. Many, Q'arlynd knew, were deep gnomes from Blingdenstone, the city Menzoberranzan had conquered and plundered. Q'arlynd trod warily, alert for the twang of a wristbow or the whispered hiss of a spell.
A gray-skinned svirfneblin, his bald scalp hidden by a leather cap, stepped in front of Q'arlynd, blocking his way. Bracers on his arms held a pair of matched daggers with pale yellow gems set in their pommels. "You're not welcome here, drow," he growled.
Q'arlynd observed the faint shimmer clinging to the deep gnome's body: an illusion. The real deep gnome would be standing nearby, probably blurred, with daggers in hand. Several other svirfneblin had blurred themselves. Those still visible drew swords or daggers and moved to encircle Q'arlynd. One or two thrust their hands into their pockets, and he hoped they weren't reaching for death-magic gems. He heard angry whispers. "Spider-kisser," they called him, and worse.
"I'm looking for someone," Q'arlynd told the illusionary svirfneblin in front of him-speaking in a loud, steady voice so the others could hear. "A friend of mine. His name's Flinderspeld. He's a gem merchant, originally from Blingdenstone."
The svirfneblin's eyes narrowed. "The drow are no friends of ours. Especially after Blingdenstone."
"This drow is," Q'arlynd said firmly. "After Blingdenstone fell, Flinderspeld became a slave. I purchased him-and set him free."
A female svirfneblin set down the pack she'd been unloading and moved closer. "What's your name?"
Q'arlynd bowed-just enough to acknowledge the waist-high female. "Q'arlynd Melarn, formerly of Ched Nasad."
"I thought I recognized you! You're the one who teleported Flinderspeld here, four years ago. Flinderspeld often speaks of you."
Whispers spread like ripples on a pond. Q'arlynd waited until they ebbed, then looked at the niches that honeycombed the cavern-each of them, a merchant's stall. "Does Flinderspeld have a stall here? I'd like to speak to him."
The female chuckled and jerked her head at the ceiling. "He's upside."
Q'arlynd lifted an eyebrow.
"Upside," she repeated. "In the main marketplace. His customers are surface folk, mostly. They're less at ease down here."
"I see," Q'arlynd said. "Will you show me the way?"
The female nodded. "Follow me."
She led him back up the stairs, shielding her eyes from the sun with a hand as they wound through the maze of stalls. Flinderspeld's place of business turned out to be one of the shops that fringed the marketplace. Its elaborately carved door held a massive quartz-crystal knocker. A smaller door was set into the wall next to it: a gnome-sized entrance, fitted with its own handle and knocker. Next to that was a large clearstone window, scribed with a glyph of warding. Just inside the window stood a display counter. Precious stones of various colors glittered against black velvet cushions.
"Flinderspeld's done well for himself," Q'arlynd commented.
The svirfneblin nodded. She seemed to be waiting for something. Q'arlynd began to dismiss her before realizing what it was she wanted. He pulled a slim gold coin out of his pouch and handed it to her. She lifted it to her mouth as if to bite it, then stopped, as if thinking better of it.
Q'arlynd hid his smile. Poisoning a gold coin was such a time-worn trick that few drow bothered with it anymore.
She tucked the coin in her belt pouch and hurried away. Or rather, she pretended to. Out of the corner of his eye, Q'arlynd saw her blur, then duck behind a nearby stall.
He lifted the knocker on the larger door and let it fall. A moment later, he sensed he was being watched. Not by the people who thronged the marketplace; theirs was a steady stare of wary curiosity and harsh judgment. This scrutiny felt closer, more intense. Was it Seldszar, checking in on Q'arlynd's progress? The Master of Divination had given Q'arlynd a brooch to block scryings, but Q'arlynd suspected it contained a "window" that allowed Seldszar to scry Q'arlynd, in much the same fashion that Q'arlynd's master ring allowed him to peek in on his apprentices, and vice versa. Or perhaps the explanation was simpler. Perhaps the sensation of being watched was just Flinderspeld, peeking through some magical device to see who knocked on his door.
Q'arlynd ran a hand through his hair, smoothing it. He flicked dust from the hem of his silk piwafwi. He waited.
The door opened. A male svirfneblin wearing a leather apron smudged with polishing rouge stepped out into the sunlight and stared up at Q'arlynd. A gemcutter's loupe hung from a leather band around his forehead, the lens grossly magnifying his right eye. Gem dust glittered on his hands. He held a wooden stick with a half-polished gemstone affixed to its cup-shaped end by a blob of red wax.
A moonstone, Q'arlynd saw. Sacred to Eilistraee. He took it as a good omen. "Is your master in the shop?"
The svirfneblin had trouble speaking. "Q'arlynd?" he said at last.
Q'arlynd's eyebrows rose, despite himself. "Flinderspeld? You look… different."
That he did. Flinderspeld had gained weight since Q'arlynd had seen him last. The tight little lines at the corners of his eyes and mouth had smoothed out. He looked relaxed and solid, a far cry from the slave who had always been tensely poised to duck a swat or a kick.
Not that Q'arlynd had been that kind of master-and not that he'd let anyone else meddle with his property. Yet in Ched Nasad, a slave had never known when the lash would fall.
In days gone by, Q'arlynd would have crossed his arms and stared imperiously down his nose at the svirfneblin. But that had been another place, another time. Furthermore, it was important that things get off to a good start. He dropped down into a squat that brought his eyes level with Flinderspeld's, and smiled. He started to extend his hands in the arm-clasping gesture the surface elves so loved, but couldn't quite bring himself to complete it. He was of a noble House, after all. He rested his hands on his knees instead. "Good to see you again, Flinderspeld."