“Nonsense,” Jack replied. “This is the sort of unexpected development that might arise in any business transaction. We are all exposed to unanticipated risks.”
“In that case, you are free to deal with all three slavers as you wish,” Narm replied.
“That is unfortunate,” said Jack with a great show of patience, “since we agreed the balance of your payment for the night was contingent upon Fetterfist’s capture.”
“Enough, both of you,” Halamar whispered. “We can manage all three easily enough, but not if they hear us arguing from the street. To your places.”
The half-orc swordsman frowned, but he moved to stand beside Jack. Kurzen hid in a dark space between two large stacks of crates; Halamar in another one farther from the door. Arlith came down from her window and took up a place by the warehouse door. For his own part, Jack drew a blindfold over his eyes-seemingly opaque, but merely translucent-and knelt beside Narm with his hands locked together behind his back, loops of cord loose around his wrists. In his right fist he hid one of the expensive vials he’d purchased during his hectic morning preparations, wrapped in a fine silk cloth. A moment later there was a sharp knock at the warehouse door. Jack adopted an attitude of defeat, allowing his shoulders to slump and his head to nod on his chest. Narm’s callused hand settled on his shoulder, as if holding him upright.
Arlith gave the small company a wink and opened the door for Balathorp. The slaver wore the same leather hood Jack had seen him wearing in Chumavhraele; gone were the fine clothes and effete manners of the nobleman. One of the ruffians with him was a short, hairy fellow with black hair and long arms and the other was a tiefling with skin the color of charcoal. “Well, we are here,” the slaver announced. “Do you have my wares?”
The halfling looked up at the tall human and snorted. “About time. We’ve been waiting for an hour.”
“Take that up with the fellow who made the arrangements, not me,” Balathorp answered. His eyes fell on Jack, kneeling beside Narm, flicked to the half-orc, and then returned to the halfling. “So where is our mysterious go-between, anyway? I don’t know either of you.”
Narm shrugged. “All I know is that we were paid to bring this poor wretch-” he slapped the side of Jack’s head hard enough to make Jack’s ears ring-“to this warehouse and wait for someone called Fetterfist. Is that you?”
The slaver stood in the doorway for a long moment, and Jack wondered if he was going to back out. Then he shrugged and stepped inside, his thugs following close behind him. “Let’s see if this is who I think it is,” he remarked, and approached Jack. He reached out to pull up the blindfold and peer into Jack’s face … and at that instant Jack crushed the vial with the yellow musk extract in his hand and shoved the seeping cloth up under Balathorp’s nose, while seizing the slaver’s tunic with the other hand to hold him close.
Jack had taken the precaution of slipping plugs in his nostrils ahead of time, and he was careful to hold his breath … but even so, the faintest whiff of the extract’s aroma tickled his nose, and his head swam as if he’d been drinking half the night. Balathorp cried out in surprise and protest, but in the process he couldn’t help but to draw a breath of the potent aroma. The remaining two ruffians cursed and went for their weapons, but now the Company of the Blue Wyvern leaped out of ambush. Arlith, who stood by the door momentarily forgotten, expertly kicked the legs of the black-haired thug out from under him even though he was twice her size. Narm leaped past Balathorp to pummel the tiefling furiously, his fist wrapped around a solid lead slug. Kurzen charged out of his hiding-place and clubbed the black-haired thug with a short truncheon as the fellow tried to roll to his feet. The thug managed to draw a knife, but the dwarf smashed it out of his fingers with one blow of the club and knocked him senseless with the second and third. Meanwhile, Balathorp’s furious struggles ceased, and his knees began to buckle. Jack kept the soporific extract right under the slaver’s nose and eased him to the floor.
The tiefling roared in anger and summoned up a blast of infernal fire as Narm struck at him, driving back the half-orc for a moment. He turned and started for the door, but Arlith leaped up, took two quick steps, and yanked the tiefling to the warehouse floor by his cloak. Kurzen and Narm set in at the devil-blooded ruffian immediately, and in a few short moments the last of the slavers was unconscious on the floor. Halamar extinguished the tiefling’s fire with a wave of his hand, and the building fell silent.
“By Cyric’s black heart, that stuff is strong, Jack,” Arlith said. The halfling raised a hand to cover her mouth and nose as she climbed to her feet. “I can feel it from over here.”
“It should be, given how much I paid for it,” Jack said. He’d nearly drugged himself earlier in the day when he’d applied the stuff to the simulacrum he created. Removing his false blindfold, he carefully took the crushed vial and the damp cloth and dropped them both into a small leather pouch before cinching it tight. “Quite expensive, but far and away the best tool for the job.”
“Best to secure him, anyway, and the others as well,” Narm said.
“Of course. I am noted for my attention to detail,” said Jack. He relieved Fetterfist of his sword, dagger, and boots (just in case there were any hidden blades or compartments in the heels), removed a sturdy leather pouch from the slaver’s belt, and pocketed his coinpurse, too. Then he produced a sturdy length of cord from under his cloak and made sure Fetterfist was tightly bound, while Arlith and Kurzen saw to Fetterfist’s associates.
“That was simple enough,” Halamar observed when they’d finished. “Now what do we do with them?”
“Now we summon the watch.”
“Summon the watch?” the sorcerer cried in amazement. “Whatever for?”
“Why, to deliver the notorious slaver Fetterfist to the forces of law and order and unmask him as the traitorous lord Cailek Balathorp.” Jack drew a large envelope out of his pocket and laid it atop the unconscious slaver. “This is a little note explaining his various crimes and misdemeanors. I also took the liberty of claiming credit for his capture.”
“You are simply going to give up a prisoner as valuable as this fellow to the watch?” Narm said. “And make an enemy of the Balathorps, as well? You did not mention the rest of us by name in that letter, did you?”
“Your anonymity is assured, friend Narm. And I do not look at this as giving up a valuable chip for nothing-I mean to buy back Norwood’s favor with Balathorp, here.”
“If that’s the case, it would be better to drop this fellow on Norwood’s doorstep in the dark of night,” Kurzen said thoughtfully. “You’d have a better chance of claiming the credit without the involvement of the watch.”
Jack shrugged. “Norwood might have me murdered on sight by his guards after the whole unfortunate business with Maldridge. I thought it best to arrange a gift for him before showing myself at Norwood Manor.”
The Blue Wyverns exchanged skeptical glances, but offered no more arguments. Jack nodded to himself and gave Balathorp’s coinpurse a jingle. “Now, I do not know about the rest of you, but I find that my labors this evening have left me with a great thirst. Shall we find some friendly establishment to celebrate our successes? Cailek Balathorp has generously offered to buy the first round.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
The next day, after numerous rounds at the smoke Wyrm and one final uncomfortable night on the hard, narrow plank that served as the bed in the room above the tinsmith’s shop, Jack took his duffel of clothing and his momentarily full purse to an inn billing itself as the Ravenstrand Arms on North Road. The place was half-full, with a mercantile clientele that included Sembian importers, Dalesfolk traders, and even a pair of traveling arms merchants from distant Mulmaster. For his own part, Jack passed himself off as a lord’s agent from Calaunt, tasked with inspecting his master’s investments in Raven’s Bluff. He gave the innkeeper reason to believe that he intended to dawdle and shirk at these duties to the greatest extent possible, enjoying the opportunity to live well on his employer’s stipend for a few tendays. The accommodations were far, far better than the tinsmith’s apartment, if somewhat pricier than Jack might like. He immediately put the place to the test by crawling back into bed and sleeping away most of the day, counting it as a reasonable reward for his recent labors.