CHAPTER NINE
The Beholder’s hoard was not as magnificent as the treasure Jack had once looted from the Guilder’s Vault, but it was certainly a substantial addition to the expedition’s returns. A dozen or more of the scrolls seemed magical, and many of the old tomes looked rare or valuable. In a back room of the Smoke Wyrm, the small company tended their injuries, divided out the coins and gemstones, made their arrangements to have the books and scrolls appraised and sold, and settled their nerves after the harrowing day with pints of the excellent Old Smoky. Perhaps inspired by the effects of the dark dwarven ale, Jack hit upon the idea of keeping the Sarkonagael safely out of sight for a few days while negotiating a higher price for its return. After all, anyone who would offer five thousand gold crowns for this book might very well offer six, or even seven; could it hurt to send word to Horthlaer House that the book was in the possession of an anonymous party who required a somewhat larger payment before parting with it? “It never hurts to ask,” he decided.
Pleased with himself for devising such a simple method for increasing his gain from danger already past, Jack returned to Maldridge. He waved off Edelmon’s daily correspondence and instead composed a letter containing his instructions for the counting house of Albrath, which would serve as a fine go-between with Horthlaer’s. “Discretion is required,” he told himself when he finished. “I will allow my agent to make inquiries at Horthlaer’s without revealing my name, just in case the person seeking the Sarkonagael might consider more stringent measures to obtain the book when he discovers that the price is under negotiation. Anonymity is assured.”
“What was that, sir?” Edelmon asked.
“A stroke of genius, my good man,” Jack replied. “Draw me a bath, if you please.”
With that important bit of business attended to, Jack indulged himself in an hour-long soak in a tub of piping hot water, after which he had Edelmon summon the physician to look after the various cuts, bruises, and sprains that he’d acquired in the dungeons of Sarbreen. By nine bells he was in his bed, from which he did not stir for the next fourteen hours. He only roused himself the next morning when Edelmon knocked on the bedchamber door and let himself in.
“Excuse me, Master Jack, but you have a guest. Lord Norwood is here to call on you.” The valet studied Jack’s groggy visage and added, “Shall I tell him you are indisposed?”
Jack sat up and ran his hand through his hair.
“Norwood here?” he muttered. “What does he want with me at this indecent hour?”
“Begging your pardon, sir, but it’s already struck eleven bells this morning.”
It seemed like it would be a bad idea to turn away his benefactor out of sheer indolence. Jack allowed himself one long yawn, and gave the old valet a nod. “In that case I’ll be right down,” he said. “And ask the cook to begin breakfast; I’m famished.” Edelmon bowed and withdrew; the rogue climbed out of his bed, dressed himself quickly from his fine new wardrobe, and took a moment to drag a comb through his hair. In a matter of minutes Jack trotted down the grand zalantar-wood staircase to the front hall.
Marden Norwood waited for him there, with an armsman in Norwood colors standing unobtrusively two steps behind the lord. “Ah, there you are, Jack,” Norwood said. He studied Jack’s face for a moment, and snorted softly to himself. “My apologies if I woke you early.”
“Think nothing of it,” Jack replied with a wave of his hand. “I intend to breakfast shortly; would you care to join me, Lord Marden?”
“No, thank you. I won’t be staying long.” The nobleman’s customary geniality was nowhere in sight; his silver brows brooded low over his eyes, and his mouth was set in an even frown. “You might say that this is not a social call.”
This does not look promising at all, Jack decided. He suddenly wished that he’d feigned illness and had Edelmon send away Seila’s father. Still, there was nothing for it but to play out the scene; he could hardly avoid it now. He clicked his heels and bowed. “I am at your disposal, my lord.”
“Let us adjourn to your study,” Norwood said. He held out a hand, indicating the adjoining room with its katana-holed door. Jack glumly led the way to the study, and waited by the door until Norwood entered. “Have a seat,” the lord said, motioning toward a chair by the hearth as if it were his study and not Jack’s they were entering. Jack took the offered seat; Norwood took the chair opposite. He studied Jack long and carefully, a look of keen thoughtfulness etched on his features. Jack didn’t like it at all.
Finally Jack couldn’t stand the waiting any longer. “You have something you wished to discuss with me?” he prompted.
“I do,” Norwood replied. “You may not be surprised to learn that I have recently conducted some inquiries into the estate, family, and titles of the landsgraves of Wildhame. Do you know what I found, Jack?”
“My home and family survived the Spellplague?” Jack asked with an artfully hopeful note in his voice.
Norwood smiled and shook his head. “Not exactly. I learned that Hlath was never ruled by a king. The ruler of the city in the years before the Spellplague was Lord Darvis Shennelm, High Councilor of the city’s Council of Lords, yet you claimed your family had a home quite near the king’s palace. Clearly, you never lived anywhere near Hlath or you would have known that. Moreover, I have determined to my satisfaction that there never existed any holdings or lords by the name of Wildhame in Hlath, the lands nearby, or any realm in the Vilhon Reach.” His expression darkened, and he leaned forward to point an accusing finger at Jack. “You, sir, are an imposter, a fraud, laying claim to a place and station not your own. Who are you, really? The time for deceptions is at an end.”
Jack mustered every ounce of wounded dignity and earnestness he could summon. “Your suspicions are ill-founded, sir,” he said sharply. “Clearly your research is incomplete, or quite possibly the records of my home and family simply have not survived to this day. Your library is admirable, but it is hardly the summation of all there is to know about vanished Chondath or its proud old families.”
“Oh, I did not rely on my library alone,” Norwood replied. “The day I received word of your arrival on my doorstep at Seila’s side, I engaged the services of three different sages in two cities. When they reported failure, I hired diviners to determine the truthfulness of your claims. It has been a very expensive undertaking, I might add; as generous as I was with your reward, I have spent even more to plumb the truthfulness of your claims. You are not Jaer Kell Wildhame, because no such person has ever existed. So, I repeat my question: Who are you?”
“I am afraid you spent your coin imprudently, Lord Norwood. Your sages and diviners have failed you. Is it so hard to believe that a small estate erased a hundred years ago might escape the notice of both mundane and magical researchers?” Jack straightened in his chair, and allowed a little temper to show in the set of his mouth and the timbre of his voice. “I am who I say I am.”
“I thought that you might say that,” Norwood remarked. He leaned back in his chair, fixing Jack with his stern gaze. “Very well, then; here is how I will proceed. Since the available evidence indicates that you are a liar and a scoundrel, I will treat you as the fraud that you are unless you somehow produce irrefutable evidence to support your claims. In other words, sir, the burden of proof is on you. Demonstrate the validity of your claims, or retract them at once.”
“Fine,” Jack answered. “Your resources may have failed you, but I am certain I will have better luck. I will find the proof you require, Lord Norwood … although I must say it will be a long time before I forget the distrust you have shown me. Perhaps it would be best if we concluded this conversation at once, before either of us says something regrettable.” He stood and motioned to the door.