Teldin found himself grinding his teeth in frustration. He was so close: too close to fail now. He turned to Estriss. "The Probe is your ship," he said, keeping his voice as unemotional as he could. "Would you allow this?"
It was the mind flayer's turn to pause uncomfortably. There may be no need, he said after a moment. As is typical with the arcane, T'k'Pek conducts most business through a representative-a factor, if you will-in Rauthaven. This mm is called Barrab. It should be possible to make contact with him… The mental voice trailed off uncertainly.
"Why didn't you tell me this earlier?" Teldin demanded.
It may be of no help. The words that formed in Teldin's mind held a tone of complete candidness. If the arcane has seen tit to employ a representative, it will probably be because he does not want to deal directly with others. The factor's job, then, will be to prevent the kind of contact that you seek.
"You may be right," Teldin admitted, "but I have to try."
Doing so would draw attention to you, Estriss pointed out. It would expose you to risk, and risk the loss of-he glanced around furtively, even though there were only the three of them on the forecastle-of that which you must protect.
"I have to try," Teldin repeated stubbornly.
Estriss was about to object, but Aelfred cut in with a snort. "The lad's right," he said firmly. "This is important, for several reasons. I know it's a risk, but look. I'll go along with him, maybe take another crewman." He smiled down at Teldin. "We'll keep you out of trouble. Where's this Barrab staying, 'Bale'?"
The illithid shrugged again, this time in resignation. He stays at tie Edgewood, on Widdershins Street.
"Good." Aelfred turned back to Teldin. "We can go at once if you like. If the ship can't do without me for a few hours, we've got the wrong crew."
Gratitude toward the first mate-his friend-swelled within Teldin's breast, but he knew that thanks would just embarrass the big warrior. With an effort, he kept his emotions out of his voice. "At once would be… convenient," he said.
Chapter Eleven
Prissith Nerro's claws clicked on the deck as the neogi descended the ramp and entered the bridge of the Void Reaper. The monster raised its head and sniffed the air. There was still the tang of smoke, of burned flesh, normally not a distasteful smell, but the cause robbed it of its pleasure. The neogi captain looked around the bridge.
Most of the damage was repaired-the worst of it, at least. The forward port, the one shattered by that foul elf s magic, had been replaced, and the burn scars on the deck and bulkheads patched. Still, there's the smell of burning in the air? the creature wondered. Or does it linger only in my mind? Prissith Nerro snarled its anger. The bridge crew backed away, knowing the rashness of disturbing their captain when it was in this mood.
We do not have the prize yet, the neogi told itself, but at least we have valuable information. It smacked its lips as it remembered the tastes of the interrogation. The simple pleasures of tearing flesh made up for the horrendous difficulties the creature had with the human language. What was it about the tongue that made its grammar and syntax so alien to the neogi mind? The creature knew well that it was far from fluent in the grotesque language-the prisoner's reactions had frequently made that clear-and suspected that none of its race fared any better.
My plan is a good one, it reassured itself. If only it didn't have to depend on lesser races for its success. The creature spat in disgust.
There was a sound behind the captain. Prissith Nerro spun, teeth bared, ready to tear. It was Prissith Ulm. The captain felt grudging admiration for the fact that it's brood-brother hadn't even flinched. "What?" it snarled in its own tongue.
The subordinate neogi bobbed its head in respect. "Prissith Nerro Master," it hissed. "We have word from our asset on Toril."
At last, good news. "What?" the captain demanded.
Prissith Ulm bowed again. "The bearer of the cloak has arrived," it said respectfully, "as you said it would. That has been confirmed."
Prissith Nerro hissed with pleasure. "What more?"
"By now, the cloak bearer knows of the arcane and his representative, Barrab," the sub-captain continued. "Our asset is certain the creature will attempt to contact Barrab, and hence the arcane." It hesitated-questioning the captain was a risky business at the best of times, but it had to know. "Do we proceed as you outlined, Prissith Nerro Master?"
The captain spat with harsh neogi laughter. "Yes, brood-brother," it said. "We will let my plan progress a little further before we intervene."
*****
Barrab was a large man, almost as tall and broad as Aelfred Silverhorn, and weighing about as much. While the big warrior was all muscle and bone, without an ounce of fat on his frame, however, Barrab was softly rounded everywhere. His black, rather stringy hair was shoulder-length, framing a round, pale face. His thick lips were always curved in a beatific smile. At first, Teldin had thought the expression made the man look like some kind of giant cherub, then he'd noticed that the smile didn't quite reach the man's small eyes, which were cold and hard. Teldin judged that he was in his early forties, though he had to admit to himself that there was at least a five-year margin of error in that estimate. Barrab sat back in his leather-backed chair and watched Teldin and Aelfred coolly as they stood before the table he was using as a desk.
There had been no problem in finding the Edgewood: it was well-known throughout Rauthaven as the best restaurant, wine room, and inn in the city. The Edgewood was located in what was known as the 'High Quarter'-the district just a little downhill from Duke Admantor's castle-and its architecture and decor immediately identified it as a haven for the upper class. Its entry off Widdershins Street and its halls were spotless, all floors covered by carpets of the finest workmanship, and the rooms-if Barrab's was any indication-as sumptuous as a king's palace.
They'd had no difficulty in getting in to see Barrab. Presumably, as the arcane's representative, he had to be available at all times to any business opportunity. All they'd had to do was ask the functionary in the Edgewood's lobby, and they'd been given directions to Barrab's room.
When they'd reached the door, Teldin had suggested that Aelfred and Julia, who was the second "bodyguard," wait outside, but the first mate had squelched that idea in short order. "Forget it," he'd told Teldin bluntly. "First, there's no telling if there's somebody who wants to put a knife into the back of 'Aldyn Brewer,' for whatever reason. Second, this is a business delegation. What kind of respect are you going to get if you don't have your 'personal assistant' with you, eh?"
Teldin had to admit that it was reassuring to accept the big warrior's arguments. Even though Aelfred was in "civvies," a green jerkin with a garish red sash at his waist, he still carried his short sword with him, and Teldin didn't doubt that he had a couple of throwing daggers concealed on his person. He and Aelfred had entered Barrab's "office," the first mate following his "employer" a respectful step to the left and behind. Julia had stayed in the hallway, exchanging steely glares with the dagger-armed bravo who stood sentry outside Barrab's room.
Barrab sat while they stood. He looked them up and down leisurely, the cherubic smile never faltering. He reached out and, with a delicacy that belied the size of his fingers, picked up a swollen green seed from a glass bowl on the table before him and popped it into his mouth. He sucked contemplatively while he continued his scrutiny. Finally he spoke. "You have business with me, yes?" Teldin was surprised by the man's voice. It was quiet, gentle-weak, Teldin thought, but that was probably a facade the representative used in business situations. The hard eyes were anything but weak.