“News to me,” said Chant. His mind automatically started a list of people who’d pay good coin to hear it … He pinched off that line of thought. Demascus was his friend, and this particular secret was not his to sell. Old habits were hard to break.
“What kind of mine?” said Jaul.
Demascus raised a finger to acknowledge the question, but continued on his original tack. “Here’s the thing. We found documents that suggest Raneger is somehow connected to the mining disruption. Know anything about it?”
Chant stroked his chin. Mining? “No. Master Raneger has his fingers in a lot that goes on in the city, legal and less so. But I don’t think he’s got the infrastructure to support that sort of operation.”
“A mining disruption-what’s that mean?”
Chant glanced at his son. The boy was persistent. “Jaul’s got a point. What’s this really about?”
“A mine operated by the Crown has gone silent. It’s a secret excavation, so I’m not surprised you haven’t heard of it. But Raneger may have.”
“What kind of mine?” said Chant.
Demascus leaned even closer and said, “Arambarium.”
Arambarium? Sounded like a mineral he should know about, but he was coming up blank.
But Jaul was nodding. “Master Raneger was talking to some people about arambarium a few tendays ago.”
Chant and Demascus speared Jaul with surprised looks.
“Who was Raneger talking to?” said Riltana.
“Not sure-I caught it in passing. But I remember they said ‘arambarium’ because it was a new one on me. It stuck with me.”
“Anything else?” said Demascus.
“Something about moving the goods through some warehouse. But our game was over, so I took off.”
Chant looked at his son, an odd feeling in his stomach. “You play games … with Raneger? In his receiving room?” The idea of Jaul having such a casual relationship with the low-down snake made his blood run cold.
Jaul shrugged. “He gets lots of visitors, some of them pretty odd. I’m usually the least impressive person in Raneger’s court. Except at cards.” He chuckled. “Raneger likes cards. And I’m pretty damn good, Pa.”
“Jaul,” said Demascus, “Can you get us a meeting with Raneger?”
“Probably.”
Chant opened his mouth to protest, then closed it. Then opened it again and said instead, “What if this arambarium is a secret we’d rather Raneger didn’t know that we knew? It could be dangerous to question him on the topic.”
Riltana slapped Chant’s shoulder, “Then I guess we better be ready to fight, huh?” She grinned.
Jaul clapped his hands and shook his head. “Don’t worry. I’ll tell Raneger you’re with me.”
Raneger’s dim receiving room was vast, supported by a double row of marble columns, with a pool recessed in the middle of the floor, giving the air a moist, dank quality. Sometimes the crime lord invited the keepers of fighting drakes and sword moths to provide bloody sport. Other times he hosted musicians, or elaborately costumed dancers, or even the occasional jester.
Chant particularly hated jesters. He was glad to see none were in attendance. However, the rest of Raneger’s “court” was present as Chant and his friends were ushered in. Chant recognized several faces among the varied bunch of bootlickers, bounty hunters, and other scoundrels seeking the crime lord’s favor. What kind of secret monger would he be if he didn’t?
Ah, but who’s this? A man stood before Raneger, tall and kingly. A gemstone was bound on his brow like a crown. But if he was slumming in Raneger’s court, the man was probably a fell dignitary of a foreign power. The symbol of a dark skull on a gold disc on the man’s belt cinched it-the fellow must be some kind of Zhentarim mercenary or captain.
“Until next time, Lord Numegista,” Raneger said to the man. “I look forward to your next visit.”
Chant’s ears pricked. What an odd tone. Raneger actually sounded respectful!
The stranger swept out without so much as a glance in their direction. His green eyes were fixed on some internal question. When he had some time to spare, Chant decided he would put out feelers. It might be interesting to know who Numegista actually was. A Zhent able to command the deference of Akanul’s most accomplished crime lord was someone Chant should know, too …
Raneger motioned them forward. Jaul moved to the edge of pool-it seemed the crimelord never left his aquatic basin. Chant and the others followed, though not as close as his son.
“Jaul, you didn’t mention we’d have guests,” said Raneger. “I suppose you have a good reason to disturb my court?” The waters of Raneger’s pool sloshed against the sides.
“Disturb? But I thought …” said Jaul, and swallowed. The young man mopped at his brow, surprise evident on his face.
“You thought what, whelp? That because I show you more favor than most, that you can abuse my trust and bring beggars to my pool?”
Jaul opened and closed his mouth, apparently speechless.
Chant didn’t give a shark’s fin who Raneger was-no one could treat his son that way! He opened his mouth to tell Raneger to go drown himself or something even more irrevocable, but Demascus beat him to it, saying, “Master Raneger, I apologize for using Jaul’s good graces to burst in on your business; I assure you, he’s blameless. I have a question for you, and hope you’re willing to answer it.”
Not really what Chant had been about to say, but perhaps the diplomatic route was the better choice. He mollified himself by patting Jaul’s shoulder. Jaul shot him an angry look for his trouble. Oops.
Raneger shifted position, sending ripples up and down the pool. A wave broke over the side and a sheet of water slid across the tiles of the receiving chamber toward where most of the court stood in small groups.
Riltana looked horrified as liquid sloshed over her boots. She glanced longingly at the exit but held her ground.
Chant felt liquid seep into his own boots and soak his feet. Wonderful. But if he got out of this meeting with only wet socks as the worst consequence, he would count himself lucky.
“And who’re you?” Raneger jerked his immense bulk upright, sending an even larger wave cascading across the tile. His head was then fully visible-humanoid, but so bloated with fat one might easily mistake Raneger for some sort of grotesque creature.
“I thought he was a kind of high elf,” Riltana whispered in Chant’s ear.
“Most people do,” he whispered back.
Demascus stepped closer. “The name’s Demascus. Thanks for the audience. I appreciate that you’re a busy man, so I’ll be brief; I found a clue linking you to a fairly thorny situation.”
Raneger’s szuldar blazed suddenly, producing chasing spirals of green light that barely outlined something horribly swollen and large beneath the pool’s surface. Raneger might be a watersoul genasi, but only just. “Speak on, Demascus. But know this. As soon as you leave here, I’ll discover everything there is to know about you. Who you know. Where you live. And what’s important to you. So do not make me angry.”
Demascus eyed the misshapen watersoul. His expression seemed to darken, as if he’d stepped back into a shadow. Uh, oh.
Chant cleared his throat, trying to catch the deva’s attention. Now wasn’t the time for Demascus to call his “other” out to play.
“I wish you luck in that, Raneger,” said Demascus. “Because I’ve been trying to do exactly the same. Maybe you can tell me what’s important to me, because I’d dearly like to find out.”
Raneger narrowed his eyes, obviously not understanding.
“But if you’re through with threats-what do you know about Akanul’s arambarium mine?”
Raneger’s expression froze. “What authority do you have that makes you believe you won’t suffer immediate retribution from me? Why should I not kill you, rather than answer?”