“I did so too!” Mari cried indignantly.
Raistlin shrugged. “I can always magic you back over the wall.” They could both hear the guards swarming into the alley. Mari pouted and stubbornly said nothing. “I can help,” said Raistlin. “As you’ve seen just now.” “You’re wearing the Black Robes,” she said. “And you’re a merry-hearted kender,” said Raistlin, “with blood on your face.”
“Do I?” Mari lifted a handkerchief and scrubbed her cheeks.
“I believe that is mine,” said Raistlin, eyeing the handkerchief, which he recognized.
“I guess you must have dropped it.” Mari looked at him with wide eyes. “Do you want it back?”
Raistlin smiled. At least some things in the world never changed. He felt strangely comforted. “Tell me how to contact Hidden Light, Mari, and I will let you go.”
Mari studied him, seemed to be trying to make up her mind about him. On the other side of the wall, the guards could be heard poking around in trash heaps and knocking on back doors.
“We don’t have much time,” Raistlin said. “Someone will eventually think to search this street. And I’m not going to let go until you tell me what I want to know.”
“All right, I may have heard of this Hidden Light bunch,” said Mari grudgingly. “From what I recollect, you should go to a tavern called Hair of the Troll and order a drink and say, ‘I escaped the Maelstrom,’ and then wait.”
“Escaped the Maelstrom!” Raistlin repeated, shocked and alarmed. He gripped her more tightly. “How did you know about that?”
“About what? Stop that! You’re hurting me,” said Mari.
Raistlin relaxed his grip. He was being foolish. There was no way she could have known about the Maelstrom, the ship sinking, the Blood Sea. Maelstrom was a code word, nothing more. He released his hold on the kender and was about to add his thanks, but Mari was already running down the street. She vanished into the darkness.
Raistlin sagged back against the wall. Once the excitement and danger were over, he felt drained, exhausted. And he had a long walk back to the Broken Shield. In the buildings around him, lights were flaring as people heard the shouts of the guards and woke up and leaned out their windows, demanding to know what was going on. Adding to the confusion, the guards were issuing orders that the city gates should be closed, no one allowed in or out.
Raistlin had strength enough for one last spell. He clasped his hand over the dragon orb, spoke the words, and entered the corridors of magic. He stepped out into his room in the Broken Shield. He removed his pouches and placed them under his pillow, then stripped off his robes and collapsed upon the bed and was soon asleep.
He dreamed, as usual, about Caramon. Only Caramon was in company with a kender who kept poking Raistlin in the ribs with a butcher knife.
8
The Morning After. The Alibi.
Raistlin was awakened by knocking on his door. Jolted out of a deep sleep, he sat bolt upright in bed, his heart pounding. He glanced out the window. Night still shrouded the city. He had been asleep only a short time.
“Open the damn door!” Iolanthe hissed through the keyhole.
One of his neighbors yelled for quiet. Raistlin took one more moment to consider his situation; then, grasping the Staff of Magius, he spoke the word, “Shirak,” and the crystal on top of the staff began to glow with a soft light.
“Let me get dressed,” he called out.
“I’m sure you don’t have anything I haven’t seen on a man before,” Iolanthe said impatiently. “Except maybe it’s gold.”
Raistlin was not amused. He dressed himself hurriedly, then opened the door.
Iolanthe, enveloped in a voluminous, night-blue cloak, hurried past him into his room.
“Shut the door,” she said, “and lock it.”
Raistlin did so and stood blinking at her sleepily.
“I brought you a cup of tarbean tea.” She handed him a steaming mug. “I need you to be alert.”
“What time is it?” he asked.
“Near morning.”
He took hold of the mug without thinking and burned his hand. He set the mug down on the floor. Iolanthe took the room’s only chair, forcing Raistlin to sit on the edge of his bed. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes.
Iolanthe clasped her hands on her lap and leaned forward. “Have they been here yet?” she asked tensely. “Has who been here?”
“The temple guards. So they haven’t. They don’t know where you live. That’s good. That gives us time.” She eyed him. “Where have you been tonight?”
Raistlin blinked at her groggily. “In bed? Why?”
“You weren’t in bed all night. Just answer my question,” she said, her tone sharp.
Raistlin ran his hand through his hair. “I was kept late at the Tower cleaning up after the draconians, who came to search for some artifact—”
“I know all about that,” Iolanthe snapped. “Where did you go after you left the Tower?”
Raistlin stood up. “I’m tired. I think you should leave.”
“And I think you should answer me!” said Iolanthe, her violet eyes flaring. “Unless you want the Black Ghost after you.”
Raistlin regarded her intently, then sat back down.
“I paid a visit to your friend, Snaggle. One of the lizardmen had confiscated my dagger—”
“Commander Slith. I know about that too. Did you see Snaggle?”
“Yes, we made a deal. I’m going to trade him potions—”
“To the Abyss with your potions! What happened then?”
“I was tired. I came home and went to bed,” said Raistlin.
“You didn’t hear the uproar, see the commotion in the streets?”
“I wasn’t on the streets,” said Raistlin. “When I left the mageware shop, I was so exhausted, I did not feel up to walking. I traveled the corridors of magic.”
Iolanthe stared at him. He met her eyes and held them.
“Well, well,” she said, relaxing, giving him a slight smile. “That is good to hear. I was afraid you might have been involved.”
“Involved in what?” Raistlin asked impatiently. “Why all the mystery? “
Iolanthe left the chair and came to sit beside him on the bed. She lowered her voice, speaking barely above a whisper. “The Adjudicator was assassinated during the night. He was walking down the sidewalk near the temple, not far from Wizard’s Row, when he was accosted by a wizard wearing black robes. As this Black Robe held the Adjudicator in conversation, the assassin sneaked up behind him and stabbed him in the back. Both the assassin and the wizard fled.”
“The Adjudicator …” said Raistlin, frowning as if trying to remember.
“That lump of muscle who does the Nightlord’s dirty work,” said Iolanthe. “The Nightlord was furious. He is turning the city upside down looking for black-robed wizards.”
Iolanthe stood up and began to pace the room, restlessly beating a clenched hand into an open palm.
“This could not have happened at a worse time! Wizards were already suspect and now this! The guards came seeking me first. Fortunately I had an alibi. I was in Ariakas’s bed.”
“So you believe they will come after me,” said Raistlin, trying to sound nonchalant and all the while thinking that he was in serious trouble. He had forgotten how few Black Robes there were in the city.
Iolanthe halted in her pacing and turned to face him. “I told them who they sought.”
“You did?” Raistlin asked, rising in alarm.
“Yes. The guilty are now all dead,” said Iolanthe with equanimity. “I’ve just returned from the Tower. I saw the bodies.”
“Dead?” Raistlin repeated, bewildered. “Bodies? Who—”
“The Black Robes in the Tower,” said Iolanthe. She sighed and added, “Who knew those old men could be so dangerous? Here they were, working for Hidden Light, right under my nose. I must have been blind not to see it.”