“Because I think you want to know what I know.”
Chant sweated. What the Hells had Demascus led him and Jaul into?
Finally Raneger gave a tiny nod. When he spoke, his voice was as cold as ice. “Arambarium is a mineral. The Throne of Majesty has been secretly harvesting it from an island off the coast.”
“And what about recent happenings?”
“You’ll have to explain,” said the watersoul.
“All contact with the mine is lost. All attempts to find out what’s going on at the site have been stymied. And you’ve been fingered as having something to do with it by a creature named Pashra.”
A miniature tsunami surged over the pool’s lip, but hung suspended rather than crashing across them.
“How interesting. And where is this Pashra now?”
Demascus spread his hands and shrugged. “I hoped you might know, actually.”
Sharkbite, Demascus really was going to precipitate a fight! Chant sidled closer to Jaul. His son’s mouth was open at the spectacle of someone standing up to the criminal lord.
“Let me guess. He double-crossed you, too? Cut you out of a deal just before payment was due? If I find Pashra, he and his friend will learn what it means to cross me.” The frozen wave of water collapsed on itself, becoming a swirling fist of dark fluid.
Demascus spared the watery display a glance, then said, “What was your deal? And who is Pashra’s friend?”
“Tell me what you know first.” The liquid fist unclenched, lost cohesion, and showered down into the pool.
“I found a warehouse where Pashra was routing arambarium. I saw your name in the ledger after we chased Pashra away. Something about your being amenable to the deal. He was working with a woman, though I never saw her. Just heard her voice. And she seemed a fair spider tamer.”
Raneger nodded. He rubbed his jaw as he considered the water-dappled dome overhead. Finally he said, “They came to me with a proposition. One was called Pashra, and the other was a woman named Chenraya. She hid under a hood. As if she could hide who she was from me. Chenraya, of House Xorlarrin, is a drow.”
Drow! It was as if someone poured ice water over Demascus’s head. As much as he disliked vampires, he hated drow more. And why hadn’t he immediately realized it? The spiders, the woman’s head on an arachnid, the promise of vengeance from the queen of the Demonweb Pits … Drow …
A memory bubbled up, swamping his senses with a vision of a vast underground space. An endless vault, purple-lit by phosphorescent fungi and drifting sparks. Massive towers carved from living stone, each the width of entire surface towns, forming a darkling city of fey-like grandeur and sick horror. Screams from sacrificial victims, synchronized to the tolling of passing hours, chasing each other through the massive hollow.
Demascus strode in the vanguard of a great army of dwarves that poured from a freshly burrowed fissure into the vault. Summoned light streamed around him, bright as day, in spearlike shafts of brilliance that stabbed the drow-infested space. The sacrificial screams faltered. The invading army, determined to exterminate the evil fey pocket, surged down the avenues between the towers. Demascus lifted Exorcessum and charged ahead. Directly into an ambush. Thousands of slave warriors poured from the side streets, all screaming in one voice. Spider centaurs called driders-ebony-skinned elf from the waist up and massive spider below-fought at the head of each slave phalanx. Drow sorcerers in the hundreds launched crackling shafts of lighting from high balconies.
And from the shadows directly overhead, a web gondola descended, supported from the spinnerets of a spider so colossal it defied reason. Three women rode the conveyance. Their elegant ebony limbs were wrapped in precious jewels and silks, and each bore the holy symbol of the patron of Lolth. The Queen of the Demonweb Pits.
“Hey!” came Riltana’s concerned voice. “What’s wrong?”
Demascus blinked. The vision of the drow vault shattered, and he was back in the too-warm and damp confines of Raneger’s receiving room. “I just remembered where I heard the term ‘Queen of the Demonweb Pits’ before.”
Raneger said, “Don’t speak her name.” Jaul and Riltana looked confused. Chant’s eyes widened as if he understood the reference.
Demascus fixed Raneger with his regard and said, his voice cold, “What did you agree to?”
He knew Raneger was a criminal, but if the supernaturally fat watersoul was dealing with drow, that made him a blackguard of the worst sort. Someone who Demascus would have to-
“To aid them in one very small way. I didn’t agree to any drow foolishness regarding their goddess-I wouldn’t do anything that would endanger Akanul’s interests, especially when dark elves are involved.”
Riltana snorted, but he pretended not to hear her. Demascus believed Raneger. No one profits under the thrall of dark elves, not even miscreants like the crime lord. “So exactly what did you do for them?”
“I provided a location for them to store their cargo, that’s all. A location secure against scrying and peacemaker inspections. Nothing else, and nothing I haven’t done for others. This was three tendays ago. In return, I was supposed to receive a tidy sum, not to mention a nugget or two of arambarium for my trouble.”
“And what happened?”
“Pashra missed his first payment three days ago. When I sent some muscle over to collect my due, they were rebuffed. I sent a larger squad over today-and Pashra was gone.”
Warmth suddenly fled the air, and Demascus could see his breath steaming in the cold.
“Since you know about arambarium,” Raneger continued, “I can only assume you’re an agent of the crown in this matter. They’re wondering what has happened to the mineral’s production out at the island, yes? You’re employed by one of the stewards, presumably?”
“Something like that,” Demascus allowed. Raneger probably thought he was working for Tradrem Kethtrod, Steward of Earth-the intelligence-gathering master for the realm. Good; no need to disabuse the genasi of his incorrect notion.
Some warmth trickled back into the receiving room. “And you’ve come here, hoping we can pool our resources on this matter, as the Crown and I have done before.”
What? thought Demascus. No, don’t react. Though he promised himself to bring that tidbit up with Arathane next time he saw her. Aloud, with as much conviction as he could muster, he said, “Exactly.”
Raneger stared at him. Demascus returned his look, holding eye contact. Suddenly Demascus wondered if Raneger’s claim to have previously worked for the Throne of Majesty had been a test.
Chant stepped forward and clapped. “So! All of us want to catch the thieves. See how reasonable we all are? How we are not so juvenile as to let our mutual aims evaporate in a stare-off?”
Demascus laughed. Raneger blinked and gave a slow nod. Jaul audibly loosed a held breath. Some dolt on the far side of the chamber clapped, sensing easing tensions in relaxing body language.
“Your name in Pashra’s warehouse led me here.”
“You’re amazingly stupid,” said Raneger “What if I’m working hand-in-glove with the drow and Pashra? You’d be dead.”
“I’d rather think, ‘amazingly sure of myself.’ ”
Riltana snorted again.
Not her best attribute, Demascus thought.
The criminal watersoul turned idly in his pool, this time avoiding soaking everyone standing on the tiles. “I’m only even considering giving you this information because I trust you will use it to find Pashra and deal with him.”
“That is our charge,” said Demascus.
Raneger made a face, as if cooperation itself pained him. “Then listen. Pashra, for all his power, is merely a pawn of the drow Chenraya of House Xorlarrin. He and the drow are only loosely allied; they each want the arambarium for their own purposes. Chenraya wants it to help empower some scheme of Lolth’s.”