Janik smiled warmly at her enthusiasm. “So, how are our preparations coming? Do we have a letter of marque?”
“We do,” Dania said with a smile, “and you were absolutely right about the nice gentlemen at the Antiquities Bureau.”
“I hope they didn’t give you too much of a hard time.”
“Oh, no. They were patronizing as anything,” she rolled her eyes, “giving me a load of, ‘Xen’drik is a dangerous place, are you sure you’re up to it?’ But your name and my dress”—she indicated the moderately low neckline of the midnight blue dress she was wearing—“got the documents approved in no time.”
“I’m glad it wasn’t too arduous,” Janik said, trying hard not to look at Dania’s collarbone, suddenly overwhelmed by a memory of the feel of her skin. Mathas was half-covering a grin with one hand. “And the Wayfinders?”
“Ah.” Dania’s smile faded. “Unfortunate news from the Wayfinder Foundation. They did, in fact, send an expedition to Mel-Aqat, hoping to supplement the flow of information that, they felt, was not coming fast enough out of Morgrave University.”
“In other words, I’m not publishing fast enough to please them.”
“No one could publish fast enough to please them,” Dania said. “I must say, I was a little surprised to learn how popular Mel-Aqat still is.”
“It was a very major find—a large explosion in my little world of scholarship,” Janik said.
“Anyway,” Dania said, “the expedition left Stormreach nine months ago. No word has come back. The team is feared lost.”
“Sovereigns,” Mathas swore under his breath.
“Well,” Janik said after a moment, “perhaps we’ll find them.” His voice was flat, holding little trace of optimism. “Or at least learn of their fate.”
It was never pleasant to be reminded of the risks they faced every time they ventured into the wilds of Xen’drik. Janik and his friends had cheated death more times than they could count, always escaping the Keeper’s fangs through wits, skill, or sheer blind luck. Apparently the Wayfinders had not shared their luck. Looking at Mathas and Dania, Janik could tell they were both thinking similar thoughts.
He lifted his wine glass and forced a grim smile onto his face. “Here’s to dodging the fangs of the Keeper one more time.”
Mathas and Dania touched their glasses to his. “To survival,” Mathas said. Dania briefly closed her eyes but said nothing.
“Speaking of survival, Mathas,” Janik said, “did you get a good start on our food stores for the trip?”
“I got more than a good start,” the elf replied. “I think I’m done. And I found an artificer I want you to meet.”
“Did you?” Janik was surprised.
“Someone we can trust?” Dania asked, looking skeptical. “I believe so,” Mathas replied. “His name is Auftane Khunnam.”
“A dwarf?” Janik asked.
“Yes, though he was born and raised in Stormreach,” Mathas said. “He has traveled extensively—he impressed me with the breadth of his knowledge.”
Janik marveled at the elf’s report. Anyone who could impress Mathas with his knowledge must be impressive, indeed.
“How did you find him?” Dania asked.
“I was talking to Pradam, that outfitter in Cliffside, as I bought some of our supplies. I told him we were heading to Xen’drik, and he told me that he’d heard of a dwarf who was looking to earn passage to Stormreach, and might be available for work there as well.”
“I wouldn’t think an artificer would have any trouble making money in Sharn,” Janik said, his suspicions aroused.
“When I talked to Auftane, it turned out that Pradam hadn’t gotten it quite right,” Mathas said. “Money isn’t the issue for him. He was just planning to return to Stormreach and wanted some company on the trip, and perhaps some work once he got to Xen’drik.”
“You say he’s well traveled,” Dania said. “Who has he been adventuring with?”
“Various people, and that’s perhaps the one thing that makes me a little uncertain about him. I don’t know if he just hasn’t found companions who share the extent of his wanderlust, or if there’s some reason he doesn’t journey with one group consistently.” Mathas stroked his chin for a moment. “My sense is that he enjoys the experience of traveling with different people as much as he enjoys visiting different places.”
“So he might not stay with us long,” Janik said.
“Is that bad?” Dania asked. “As long as he finishes the trip to Mel-Aqat, does it matter if we never see him again?”
“I suppose not,” Mathas replied. “It’s just …”
“A change from how we’ve always done things,” Janik finished for him. “And again, maybe that’s not such a bad thing. Well, I’m willing to meet him, Mathas. Did you arrange a time?”
“Luncheon tomorrow.”
“All right. At luncheon tomorrow, we’ll meet this Auftane Khunnam. And we’ll see if he can be ready to leave the next morning.”
Janik had one more task in mind before going to bed that night—a task best left until darkness. He and Dania walked Mathas to the Seventh Wind, a simple but elegant inn at the southern edge of Skyway, then rode in a skycoach together back to the city below. Dania got off the skycoach at a small shrine of the Silver Flame in the Hope’s Peak district on the city’s upper west side. Janik wished her a good night, then continued to the waterfront.
Making his way to the southern end of the waterfront, Janik stepped into a floating boat town—hundreds of rafts, keelboats, and other vessels lashed together and moored to the shore to form one of Sharn’s seediest districts. He followed the sounds of raucous laughter and drunken singing across the decks of a half-dozen boats. Moments later, a tavern came into view, the faded painting of a dagger on a black background the only indication of the establishment’s name—Knife in the Dark. Nobody called it that—people in the Ship’s Towers district just called it “the tavern,” and few people outside of Ship’s Towers had any reason to call it anything. Janik pushed the door open and the noise inside suddenly roared in his ears.
He squeezed through the press of boisterous patrons to get to the bar, if only because Thurva, the owner, was prone to get angry at people who came to her tavern to do business and didn’t buy drinks to keep her in business. He bought a tankard of ale, tasted it on the off chance the fare had improved in the last three years, and spat it out on the wooden floor.
He leaned his back against the bar and looked around the crowded room. For a moment he was afraid the trip had been wasted, but then a big orc stood up from a table in the corner and stormed toward the door. Janik spotted Shubdoolkra at the orc’s table. Finding a sahuagin in a room full of humans was rarely difficult, but the orc had blocked Janik’s view. Relieved, Janik ducked and squeezed across the room and sat down across from Shubdoolkra.
“Ah, Janjan,” the sahuagin croaked, mangling Janik’s name as he always did. “Good to see you once.” His accent was thick and his Common terrible. His eyes bulged as he spoke.
Janik answered in fluent Sahuagin, though he had trouble with some of the clicks and pops of the language. “Seeing you again is like returning to the dark water,” he said formally. He found himself thinking idly that it was almost true, in exactly the opposite way that the sahuagin meant it—talking to Shubdoolkra was a bit like drowning.
“With meat on one shoulder and gold on the other,” Shubdoolkra responded in kind, and Janik couldn’t help thinking that he was meat in the sahuagin’s eyes. “Are you sailing through Shargon’s Teeth?”
“I am, and once more I offer tribute to Baron Kushe—” Shubdoolkra’s eyes bulged wider and he spat, cutting Janik off.
“Do not speak that name!” the sahuagin yelled, causing many nearby patrons to wheel around and stare, expecting a fight. Janik doubted any of them could understand their conversation, but Shubdoolkra’s angry voice sounded horrific. If that weren’t bad enough, the sahuagin’s ear fins stuck out in anger, and the spines on his back pulsed up and down. “The one of whom you speak is dying the thousand deaths in the jaws of the Devourer! Curse his name and curse any who speak it!”