Farideh’s stomach tightened. “I think there’s a mistake. I didn’t buy anything from him.”
“No one’s asking how you earned it,” Goodman Florren said. “But you want to tell me there’s someone else he means?”
The package was the size of her haversack, square, and heavy. A ritual book, she thought. What else could it be? She untied the twine and pulled the wrappings aside.
The ritual book had been bound in deepnight blue silk, of all things, and gilded with a pattern of leaves and curling vines. Stunned, she ran careful fingers down its cover-she’d never felt anything so fine, except perhaps the crisp, cream-colored pages within. She leafed back through them-someone’s sharp, precise handwriting marked the first few pages, the instructions for at least three rituals. Adolican Rhand’s instructions. The book fell open to the frontispiece, an etching of the night sky, and an envelope tucked there. She broke the black wax seal.
I think you will find this to your liking, the note read in the same handwriting, the same dark ink. Consider it a welcome to Waterdeep. Should you need assistance filling it, I am ready and willing. Your presence is always welcome at my manor. Adolican Rhand.
Innocent enough words-provided they were turned the right way. But the memory of the man who wrote them made them, when resolutely read, distressing, and there was no place on the face of Toril she’d like to avoid so much as Adolican Rhand’s manor. Farideh dropped the note and wiped her hands on her breeches, staring at the package as if it might come to life.
“I don’t want it,” she said.
Goodman Florren gave her a withering look. “Then take it back to Master Rhand. Just make it clear I held up my end.” He wrapped his Lantan clockwork back up in its oilcloth. “Besides-it’s obvious you do want it if you’re coming down to Dust Alley to bargain.”
… the erinyes scream and shatter into a dozen enormous wasps; wasps with cunning eyes and swords for arms. The air is full of swords and monsters. Lorcan grabs her arm and shoves her back-Run, darling, run fast and run far-
She shuddered, and rubbed her arm where the brand was that marked her pact. If she threw the book out, she would go on dreaming and Lorcan would continue to be tortured and one day she would wake with no powers, no protections because he would be dead.
“No one made him give it to you, darling,” she could almost hear Lorcan say. “Let him come looking for favors-we’ll simply make certain he regrets it.”
She pointed two fingers at the note and drew the powers of the Hells into herself. “Assulam.” A crack and the parchment burst into a fine cloud of ash. The shopkeeper flinched in surprise.
She watched the ashes float down, and said, “You can tell him I did that.” She folded the paper back around the book and scooped it up, all her attention on the churn of Hellish powers seething beneath her skin as she left the shop. She looked both ways down Dust Alley-no sign of Tam, no sign of anyone much, other than some coinlasses loitering in front of another shop several doors down, and a woman hanging wash out her window. Farideh slipped out of the safety of the door way and hurried up the narrow street.
“What happened,” she heard Tam call out from behind her, “to staying out of trouble?”
Farideh cursed to herself, stopped, and turned. Tam stepped out of a narrow alleyway. “It’s not trouble,” she said. “It’s … shopping.”
“At a fence?” He dropped his voice as he reached her side. “What in all the broken planes did you buy from a fence?”
“A ritual book,” she said. “And I didn’t know he was a fence. I was only told he would be inexpensive.”
“Inexpensive is just another way of saying ‘illicit,’ ” Tam said. “You ought to know that.”
“With my vast experience bartering for goods?” she said, acidly. “Be fair.”
“We need to get going,” Dahl said. The younger man watched Farideh and Tam from the shade of the smaller alley. “We’ll be late for the viewing.”
Farideh glanced from Dahl to Tam. “I’ll leave you to it.”
“Not necessary,” Tam said. “And we can stroll and speak.”
“Is that wise?” Dahl murmured. “She’s not …”
Tam sighed. “Goodman Peredur,” he said smoothly, “have you met Farideh? I assure you she isn’t going to rush off with the secrets of where Waterdeep’s most plausible fake artifacts lie and sell them to Shade. Although if she would, I think we’d be a little grateful for giving them the distraction. Come along,” he said, and he started toward the market, Farideh and the now-scowling Dahl Peredur following behind.
“I suppose,” Tam said, when she fell into step beside him again, “you’d prefer I not tell Mehen about this?”
“What’s there to tell? I went into a shop. I bought a perfectly respectable item. He should be pleased, really,” she added, although he would be no such thing.
“Farideh, this city is no mountain village. There are places a young lady really shouldn’t be wandering.”
“I can take care of myself,” she said.
“Oh, believe me,” Tam replied, “I’ve forgotten nothing of Neverwinter. Not even the parts where you did need help.” Farideh locked her eyes on the cobblestones. “But I also seem to recall that if you were to come into a bad way, it’s me that your father will blame.”
She pursed her lips. “You haven’t heard from Mehen, have you?”
“No,” Tam said. “But having been to Suzail, I can tell you that getting paid for a bounty was never going to take less than a tenday. I’m certain he’s fine.”
And Farideh felt certain that Mehen would have sent a message if it turned out to take more than a day, let alone the three days that had passed since he’d left.
“You don’t need a fence for a ritual book. What were you really doing?”
“They’re expensive,” she protested. “I tried plenty of … normal sellers, and it was always three and four times what I could spare.” She thrust the package at him. “Do you want to check it?” Tam waved her away.
“What is it you want a ritual book for?”
Gods, Farideh thought, for all Tam’s insistence that he wouldn’t be a nursemaid, he could certainly play the part. She glanced over at Dahl. If he weren’t there, she might tell Tam the truth-she’d told him a great deal of it already, of Lorcan and the security and danger of the pact. But not in front of Dahl, not after the way he’d acted in the taproom. She wasn’t ashamed of being what she was, but she wasn’t about to open the gates and let his revulsion wash over her.
“Is it so unlikely I want to learn rituals?” she said. “You made that temple in Neverwinter from a ritual. That was impressive. And helpful.” The temporary shrine to Selune had provided a safe place to hide from the fiends infesting Neverwinter.
Including Lorcan.
Tam looked unconvinced. “That ritual’s no trifle. Are you planning something that might require a temple again?”
“Not if I can help it,” she said. “What is it you two were doing at a fence?”
Tam smiled that thin smile she’d come to expect when the priest wasn’t telling the whole truth. “Scouting artifacts for a buyer, you could say. What are we up for next?” he asked Dahl.
“A pair of artifacts,” Dahl said, holding out a leaflet to Tam. “The main one’s a page torn from an ancient book. A magic book. Draconic writing. Same writing on the granite facing that accompanies it.”
“Oh, stlarning Hells,” Tam said. “The dragon’s secret page?”
“So you know it?”
“The streets of Waterdeep have been fairly buzzing with talk of it-claiming it’s everything from a treasure map to the cursed testament of a plaguechanged wizard.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Gods above, this will be a sty’s pile. Did anyone approach the seller ahead of time? Try to get him to give it up?”