"Yes, good lady?" one of them asked hesitantly, rub shy;bing nervous hands together. "How may we serve you this fair night?"
"We can offer you the widest selection of goods in all Scornubel," the other put in brightly, "and at excellent prices."
The she-drow in the black cloak eyed him. "I come not to buy," she purred, "but to trade. Have you any interest in exchanging bolts of woven silk-Calishite, if you have such-pitted dates, and metalwork for wines and mushrooms from below?"
The shop attendants reared back from her as if she'd thrust a viper into their faces. One of them dropped a hand to the knife at his belt, and the other stammered, "W-we don't usually barter here at Chasper's, good lady-and certainly not in bulk. Perhaps you should meet with Sarltan."
"Ah, yes," the lady drow agreed with the faintest of smiles. "That's a name I've heard before. Yet no one in all Scornubel tonight seems to know where Sarltan can be found. You wouldn't have him under one of these tables, would you? Or in another room, per shy;haps?"
The doorswords appeared behind her then, having taken the unprecedented step of leaving their posts. The she-drow had her back to them, and gave no indication that she knew of their approach, but as they approached her, four long black knives rose in unison from among her garments. The knives came to a halt, hanging in a cluster in the air above her. The two guards eyed them, frozen with their hands gripping the hilts of their swords, and came no closer to the unexpected visitor. One of them reached up to a bellpull on the wall and tugged it in a careful rhythm. No resulting bell or chime could be heard.
The eyes of the older and larger of the shop atten shy;dants flicked to the doorsword's work with the bellpull, then came quickly back to the faintly smiling drow in front of him.
He tried a smile of his own, licked his lips, and said, "Ah, no, good lady. I don't think there's a shop in all the city that could help you there, but if you'd care to step into the back our owner might be able to help you. . ah, in regards to what you seek."
He motioned down one of the corridors as reverently as if he'd been conducting a queen or priestess of power, and the lady drow in the cloak flashed him a dazzling smile and glided forward whence he'd indicated, her knives keeping station above her shoulders.
The back room proved to contain a once grand carpet, paneled walls almost completely hidden behind stacked and dusty rows of bulging ledgers, and a sharp-eyed, wrinkled old woman behind a desk who gave her visitor a sharp look as the lady drow entered, and said crisply, "Close the door and sit down, dear."
In smooth silence the lady drow did as she was bid, taking the only chair in the room that wasn't heaped with bundles of papers. It offered her behind a fresh, dust free cushion that hissed and settled under her weight as she sat upon it. If she noticed the wisps of greenish gas that curled up out of it to drift around her, she gave no sign of this.
The old woman behind the desk sat in frozen silence for the space of a long breath, as if waiting for some shy;thing, and at length her visitor leaned forward and said pleasantly, "Greetings this night, and prosperity upon this house of commerce. I've come to Scornubel to do a little trade, but find folk here curiously reluctant to do business with me. I represent interests from below who have a strong assortment of wines to offer, and many barrels of fresh glowcap mushrooms, which they desire to exchange for Calishite silks, pitted dates, and metal gates, bars, gratings, and filigree of superior quality. Whenever I speak of this to anyone in this city, they seem ill at ease, and direct me to 'Sarltan.' Your helpful young men out front believe you can help me. Can you, or is this a notion we should both disabuse them of?"
The old woman's fingers moved in a few quick, crawl shy;ing patterns above the parchments on her desk; her visitor responded with a gesture of her own.
The old woman sighed, then, and sat back. "I don't deal with the nameless," she said quietly. "Give."
"Iylinvyx," the lady drow replied, "of House Nrel'tabra. I'm also called"-she gestured at the knives hanging above her shoulders-" 'Pretty Teeth.' "
"And in what city does House Nrel'tabra flourish?" the old woman asked, her eyes two black flames.
"Telnarquel," Iylinvyx replied, gracefully crossing two black-booted legs and lounging back in her chair.
"Ah, yes, the Hidden City-sought by many, and found by none. Many of our wisest explorers refuse to believe that it even exists."
" 'Our'?" the she-drow asked softly.
The old woman gave her a smile bereft of warmth and humor, and said, "All of us in this city obey Sarltan. Among other things, he strictly forbids us to reveal our true natures. I advise you to at least put up your cowl on your way to see him. I know not if he'll apply his dic shy;tates to outside traders. So far as I am aware, you are the first such to come here."
" 'On my way to see him'?" Iylinvyx echoed, reaching for her cowl.
The old woman nodded, her smile now a trifle more approving, and said, "Ask my doorswords to direct you to a private club called Blackmanacles, and there seek a man known as Daeraude. Tell him Yamaerthe sent you before you ask him how to find Sarltan-and keep your cowl up and those knives of yours out of sight. You might say those from below are cautious in Scornubel, and embrace cautious ways."
Iylinvyx Nrel'tabra nodded and let her cloak fall away to her elbows to let the four daggers slide down into waiting scabbards. She did not try to hide the dazzle of gems at her throat as she replied softly, "I had begun to notice that-and had also begun to wonder how far a people can stray from their true natures before they become that which they dis shy;dain."
The old woman stiffened behind her desk. She let out a hiss from between clenched teeth before she replied, "A pleasant night outside, is it not? I wish you every success in the conduct of your business in our fair city."
And with those words, the owner of Chasper's Trad shy;ing Tower rose and let herself out through another door at the back of the room as fast as any charging warrior, but with considerably more grace than most.
Her visitor heard a heavy bolt clack into place an instant after the door closed, and acquired a thoughtful half smile as she gathered her cloak about herself and left the room, her cowl up.
Iylinvyx Nrel'tabra was unsurprised to discover that she'd acquired a stealthy escort that increased in number by one pair of soft-booted feet for every person she was sent to after Daeraude: a corner lantern and candle seller, a lock storage keeper, and a master of "discretion guaranteed" hireswords, thus far.
"Well," she told the night air lightly, "at least I'm get shy;ting to see the glories of Scornubel."
According to her latest directions, the cobbled lane she was now traversing was Delsart's Drive, named for a long-ago wagon maker whose habit, when in his cups, was to race his latest creations along the winding lane at breakneck speed-with the inevitable consequences. Delsart's descendants owned the coach yard ahead on her right, and somewhere in the darkness to her left was Pelmuth's Draw, a narrow alley that would take her to a little lamp-lit courtyard, where among the busi shy;nesses and their loitering doorswords she'd find a cer shy;tain blue door. . and somewhere beyond it (she didn't doubt complications awaited) was the elusive Sarltan.
The Draw, the lamp-lit court beyond, and the bored guardsmen were all as they'd been described to her. If her escort disliked her pauses in the alley to cast two spells, that was just too bad.
A mountain of a man was leaning against the blue door as she approached. He lowered the dagger he was using to clean his nails and rumbled, "Closed. Try else shy;where."