Talent had just shut the door and was preparing to lower the bar when he heard a knock. Talent peered out. At first he didn’t see anything.
“Down here, doofus,” said Mari.
Talent lowered his gaze to the kender.
“The delivery’s been made,” she said.
“Well done, thanks,” said Talent.
Mari waved at him and ran off into the night. Talent shut the door and locked it.
“Was that the kender?” Lute said, scowling. “You didn’t let the little thief inside, did you?”
Talent smiled. “No, you’re safe. She came to report that the goods have been delivered.”
“Fine. You deal with it. I’m going to bed.”
Lute began the task of maneuvering his bulk off his high stool. Talent, accompanied by the two mastiffs, navigated the convoluted trails that led through the maze of junk and arrived at last at the counter.
“Any word on the Berem fellow?” he asked.
“Nothing so far,” said Lute. “Two men, both name of Berem, entered the city this week. Our boys were waiting at the gates and managed to get hold of them before the Nerakan guards did. Maelstrom took them to the Hairy Troll and questioned them.”
“Neither had a green gemstone embedded in his chest, I take it,” said Talent, “or ‘an old-looking face with young eyes.’ “
“One had an old face with a shifty eye, and the other a young face with a young eye. Though that wouldn’t have stopped the Nightlord from torturing them, just to make sure. Remember the Berem guy they caught last fall? The Nightlord sliced open his chest and cracked his breastbone just to make sure he wasn’t hiding an emerald in his craw.”
“What happened to the two latest Berems?”
“One was a pickpocket. Maelstrom warned him that if he was planning on staying in Neraka, he should stay out of the Hairy Troll and he might want to change his name. The other Berem was a fourteen-year-old kid—some farmer’s son who had run away from home and came here to make his fortune. No need to warn the kid. After what he’d seen of our fair city, the poor kid was half dead with fright. Maelstrom gave him a steel piece and sent him home to his mama.”
“I wonder what is so special about this Berem,” Talent mused, not for the first time.
Lute grunted. “Other than the fact that he sports a green gemstone among his chest hairs?”
“Only a goblin would be gullible enough to believe such a ridiculous tale. More likely he wears a green gemstone necklace or some such thing. A jewel embedded in his chest, my ass!”
“I dunno,” said Lute quietly. “You and I’ve seen stranger things, my friend. What are you going to do with the newly arrived goods?”
“Have a talk with him. Maybe give him a job if I like his looks.”
Lute frowned, causing what little could be seen of his face to vanish between his hair and his beard. “What the deuce do you want to give him a job for? To start with, he’s a wizard, and they’re all scum—”
“Except the lovely Iolanthe,” said Talent slyly.
Lute may have blushed. It was hard to tell underneath all the hair. At any rate, he pointedly ignored Talent’s insinuation. “Ten-to-one he’s an agent of the Nightlord.”
“Then why would he save Mari’s life?”
“What better way to be accepted into our ranks? Discover our secrets?”
Talent shook his head. “The Nightlord’s agents generally aren’t that smart. But if he is, I’ll soon find out. He’ll turn down the job I’m offering him because it will mean he will have to leave Neraka, and he won’t want to do that if he’s been sent to spy on us for the Nightlord. If he takes it, he may be the real deal.”
“What job is that?”
“You know, the one we were discussing the other night. He’s her brother.”
“And you trust him?” Lute glowered. “You’re cracked in the head, Orren. I’ve often said so.”
“I don’t trust him as far as I can see his black robes on a moonless night,” said Talent. “Mari likes him, though, and kender have good instincts about people. She likes you, after all.”
Lute gave an explosive snort that nearly toppled him. Recovering his balance, he leaned on his cane and, taking his tea and his crossbow with him, started off to bed. Halfway there, he turned around. “What happens if your wizard turns down the job?”
Talent ran a finger over his mustache. “Have you fed the mastiffs tonight?”
“No,” said Lute.
“Then don’t,” said Talent.
Lute nodded and went to his bedroom and shut the door.
Talent whistled to the two dogs, who came trotting obediently after him. He headed toward the back of the shop, dodging around and sometimes forced to climb over boxes and crates and barrels, piles of rags, bundles of clothes, tools of all sorts, a broken-down plow, and a large variety of wooden wagon wheels.
Lute had constructed a kennel of sorts for the dogs in the back corner. The dogs, thinking it was time for bed, went obediently into two large crates, where they curled up on blankets and began chewing on bones.
“Not so fast, friends,” said Talent. “We still have work to do tonight.”
He whistled and the dogs left their crates and their bones and came bounding to his side. Talent went over to Hiddukel’s crate. The dog trotted after him, keeping a jealous eye on his treat.
“Easy, friend. I’ve had my dinner,” said Talent, petting the dog’s head.
Hiddukel apparently didn’t believe him, for he ducked past Talent and snatched up the bone. Clamping his teeth over it, Hiddukel growled a warning at Shinare to keep her distance.
Talent shoved the crate to one side. Beneath the crate was a trapdoor. Talent pulled open the trapdoor, grinning to think what the mastiff would do to a stranger who dared encroach upon the dog’s “lair.” Crudely built stairs led down into semidarkness. Somewhere in the distance, a dim lamp burned, giving a faint yellow light.
Talent pulled the trapdoor shut and descended the stairs. The mastiffs came along behind him, sniffing the air, noses twitching and ears pricked. Hiddukel dropped his bone, and both dogs barked, their tails wagging. They had spotted a friend.
Maelstrom was standing guard over “the goods,” a man slumped in a chair. Talent could not get a look at him, for the man’s head was bowed. His arms were bound behind his back, his feet tied to the chair. He wore black robes and carried several pouches on his belt.
“Hello, Maelstrom,” said Talent, walking over to greet his friend.
The man’s large hand engulfed Talent’s, giving it an affectionate squeeze that caused Talent to wince.
“Ah, careful there. I might need my fingers some day,” said Talent. He looked down with frowning interest at the man in the chair. “So this is Mari’s wizard. He’s a tenant of mine, you know. I was surprised when she said it was him.”
“He’s a sickly lot,” Maelstrom sniffed. “Almost puked at the smell of good dwarf spirits. Still, he’s talented at what he does, seemingly. Old Snaggle says his potions are the best he’s ever used.”
“So where’s he been keeping himself? He hasn’t slept in his room for several nights.”
“He’s been at the Red Mansion,” said Maelstrom.
Talent frowned. “With Ariakas?”
“More likely with the witch. Iolanthe seems to have made this fellow her pet. She’s trying to get Ariakas to hire him. The Emperor has other things on his mind these days, however, and Raist here didn’t get the job. He left in a huff. Since then, he’s been working in the Tower, making up glop and bartering it to old Snaggle.”
“So he tried selling himself to Ariakas, and when that didn’t work, he thought he’d hire on with us.”