“Do you know Jack Ravenwild? Sometimes called Jaer Kell Wildhame?”
“The rescuer of Seila Norwood. What of him?”
“Our friends in Chumavhraele are anxious to get their hands on him.”
Balathorp hesitated. “Who are you?”
“Let us say we share an employer,” Jack replied. “What would you say if I were to tell you that I can have Ravenwild waiting for you at the warehouse of Mumfort and Company in Bitterstone-say, the night of the seventeenth at midnight?”
“I would wonder why you needed me.”
“Transportation of goods, my dear sir. It is your area of expertise, is it not?” Jack pressed on quickly; intermission had been announced, and audience members by the dozens were beginning to arrive in the lobby. “I can get Ravenwild to the warehouse and have him ready to be moved. All you need do is take him … downstairs. I understand there is a substantial reward for his capture. Are you interested?” That last remark about a reward was simple speculation on his part, of course, but he thought it had a certain plausibility; if Dresimil was willing to send her warriors up into the streets of Raven’s Bluff, she was likely willing to pay well for his return if someone else arranged it.
“I am well aware of the reward for Ravenwild,” Balathorp answered, confirming Jack’s guess. “But how do you profit from this arrangement?”
“I am well paid for my services,” Jack said with a sly smile. “You might say I am on retainer.”
Balathorp-Fetterfist-studied Jack for a long moment, his eyes cold as steel. “The fact remains that I do not know you, and have no real reason to trust you,” he finally said.
“You will have to accustom yourself to the former condition. I have reason to avoid giving you my name. As for the latter …” Jack gave a small shrug. “You are regarded as a reliable fellow, and I would be happy to employ you. But if you are not interested, I can find someone else.”
Balathorp glanced around at the increasing crowd, and lowered his voice. “Fine: Mumfort’s, two nights from now, twelve bells.”
“Excellent,” Jack replied. He nodded and began to leave, but Balathorp reached out with one long-fingered hand and grasped him by the upper arm. The slaver’s grip was strong, and he did not spare his strength.
“I have my ways of getting to the bottom of things,” the tall lord murmured. “If you wind up wasting my time, I will find out who you are, and you will have cause to regret trifling with me. And one last thing-never approach me in public again.” Then he released Jack and headed back to rejoin his companions.
Jack surreptitiously rubbed at his arm, and allowed himself a smile. “One down,” he remarked to himself. Then he let himself out of Rundelstone and headed into the gloomy night.
Putting his unfortunate argument with Seila out of his mind for the moment, Jack hurried back to the Smoke Wyrm with a tentative answer to his difficulties taking shape in his mind. The night was damp, cool, and windy; a waning moon peeked through fast-scudding clouds from time to time, but otherwise the sky was dark and starless. He retained his nondescript magical guise until he reached Vesper Way, just in case anyone with sinister intentions toward him was skulking about in the shadowed alleyways and looking for a wiry, dark-haired, dark-goateed fellow with a confident manner and impeccable taste in clothing. No dark elf war parties or cabals of scheming wizards put in an appearance, so Jack deemed his precautions a success and trotted down the steps to Tharzon’s tap-room.
The Smoke Wyrm was as full as Jack had seen it. Close to twoscore laborers, clerks, touts, merchants’ wives, and dancing girls crowded the room, all of them speaking loudly at once to be heard over the energetic strumming of a trio of minstrels who played by the far wall. It was a merry little scene, and Jack had half a mind to join in the revels for an hour or two … but he had serious business to attend, and there would be time for good ale and dancing later. He paused to study the crowd and spied the brawny half-orc Narm against the wall, nursing a mug of Old Smoky.
Jack made his way over to the swordsman and inclined his head. “Narm, I believe you are just the fellow I am looking for,” he began. “Did you get your cut from Tharzon?”
“Not a quarter-hour ago,” Narm answered. He patted his left side; there was a jingle of mail and a clink of coin. “Tharzon called me over as soon as I walked in the door. A good thing, too, because I was beginning to wonder whether you had a notion to play us false.”
“Such a notion never crossed my mind,” Jack said nervously, belatedly asking himself if Narm was in fact the fellow he needed at the moment. “I merely retained the book until I was certain the entire sum was forthcoming.”
Narm nodded. “A wise precaution. When one agrees to perform a dangerous task in exchange for a certain sum of gold, one expects to be paid.”
“I agree wholeheardedly,” Jack replied. There was no need to bring up the additional fee he’d negotiated for the Sarkonagael’s return. “Now, speaking of employment … would the Blue Wyverns be interested in assisting me the night after next, around nine bells? I need to arrange a difficult transaction, and I am willing to pay each of you fifty gold crowns for your time and trouble.”
The big swordsman scratched at his stubble-covered chin. “In light of the mortal danger we encountered on our last venture, we’ll need to be paid in advance. And I’ll be the judge of whether fifty crowns is enough for your job. Now, what do you have in mind?”
“Let us find a place to speak more privately, and perhaps see if Kurzen is interested as well,” Jack answered. The rogue and the sellsword moved over to the crowded bar, where Tharzon’s son and a pair of human barkeeps worked to keep the mugs and pitchers of the Smoke Wyrm’s customers full.
Kurzen glanced up and saw Jack and Narm waiting. He gave them a small nod, wiping his hands on his apron. “Back again, Jack? I thought you were off to the opera or some such business this evening.”
Narm glanced down at Jack. “The opera?” he asked.
“I am a cultured man. Besides, that’s where the rich people can be found.”
“I see that another scheme is afoot,” said Kurzen. “Speak quickly, if you please-we’re a mite busy this evening.”
“This shouldn’t be more than a few moments of your time, friend Kurzen,” Jack replied. “Do you have a quiet place to talk?”
The dwarf glanced at the room and the waiting customers. “Hold down the bar, lads,” he said to the barkeeps. Then he came out from around the bar and led Jack and Narm to the kegroom where Jack had spoken to Tharzon earlier. Several of the big kegs were lying empty on the floor, which was now wet and slick with spillage. Jack was impressed; they went through a good deal of ale at the Smoke Wyrm, or so it seemed. Kurzen wiped his hands on his apron and glanced around once to make sure no one else was in earshot. “Well, Jack, what’s on your mind?” he said.
“I need some help in convincing some persistent enemies to leave me alone.”
“It’ll cost you more than fifty crowns to hire me as an assassin,” Narm muttered.
“That is not precisely what I was planning,” Jack replied. “I wish to retain you for security.”
He went on to describe the situations with Tarandor and the dark elves while Narm and Kurzen listened closely. At length the half-orc made a counteroffer, and after some negotiation, they settled on a price of four hundred gold crowns for the participation of Kurzen and the Company of the Blue Wyvern.
“Good enough,” the dwarf grunted. “But let’s have half in advance, if you please.”
“Aye, half in advance,” Narm agreed. Jack started to protest, but the half-orc only smiled. “You’ve just told us that two different bands of foes are looking for you. If they catch you, Kurzen and I will have nothing for our troubles.”