"I already knew that," said Tiglath, once she had recovered her aplomb. "What convinced you?"
"I saw the way your people acted around you and the way they acted when you weren't around. And I saw the way you are, and how you reacted to the, uh, stuff at… on Wheelwright's Street. And here," she added, gesturing vaguely around, "there's the fact that you lock your door and keep your little dragon in your room while you're out, and everything in your room is meticulously arranged, down to the angle of the strongbox so that it lines up against the crack in the bottom of your drawer. All these things show that you don't trust anyone but yourself. And that means that if you arranged for your people to steal the staff, you'd have led them yourself, or else you'd take control of the staff as soon as they got it. And it's not in this room, and, frankly, I don't think you'd keep it anywhere else."
Tiglath considered that and slowly nodded.
"Yes," the priestess said, "I think you're right."
"Plus, you know, your reaction right now, well, that looked pretty genuine," added Kehrsyn, by way of a joke.
Tiglath did not respond. She rose from her chair and crossed to the door, stroking Tremor's tiny serpentine head. She opened the door a crack, and Tremor leaped out, bouncing along like a ferret before launching himself into the air with a buzz. Tiglath nodded once to Kehrsyn as she crossed back over to the chair.
"Give us a moment, will you?" the priestess asked. "I need to know if this staff is under my roof."
She sat in her chair and stared at the desktop for many long minutes, moving nothing but her lips, which framed voiceless words that Kehrsyn did not recognize.
Kehrsyn eventually took a seat on the rug by the window and passed the time by twiddling with a lock of her damp hair.
Finally Tiglath leaned back in her chair and looked in the general direction of the ceiling.
"It is not here," she said with finality. "Tremor found nothing, and I trust his senses. I have him hiding in the main hall, where he will sniff at anyone who enters or leaves. He will not find anything, though. I train my people well."
She grumbled deep within her throat and crossed her arms in frustration.
"That means that whoever here arranged the attack and took the wand has another place to keep it," the priestess continued. "Either they have a hideout, which I doubt, given the lack of living space these days, or else they're working with another group or faction seeking power. That is likely the case. The lure of ruling Unther could create some dubious alliances. The question remains whether this is the work of an ambitious soul seeking to advance within Tiamat's order or a turncoat serving a new master."
"Do you think it might be the Zhentarim?" asked Kehrsyn. "I've been hearing them mentioned a lot lately."
"Those bastards?" spat Tiglath. "The only thing I'd hate to see more than them getting into power is the return of Gilgeam himself! Oh, if one of my people is working with them, they will rue the day they were born."
Tiglath set her chin in her hands, a scowl darkening her features.
Kehrsyn sat for a while longer, then broke the silence. "I should be going," she said as she stood, her voice barely above a whisper. She gestured vaguely with one hand. "I'll just let myself out the, uh, way I came in."
"That," said Tiglath, "would probably be best."
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Demok stood beneath a faded silk awning and waited for Kehrsyn to reappear. The awning sagged beneath its burden of rainwater, and periodically the level of the water rose to a point where a sudden cataract dumped over one side. The regular purge was as good a marker of time as any.
From his vantage point across the boulevard from the building Kehrsyn had entered, Demok could not make out the seal that hung over the main entrance; the rain was too heavy. Even though the thin pedestrian traffic offered cover, he chose not to move closer and check. Kehrsyn had no idea she'd been shadowed, and he didn't want to give either her or the occupants any chance to discover they were being watched.
Not that Kehrsyn had taken particularly good precautions. To a seasoned stalker like him, her subtlety rang with furtive intent. Still, he rationalized, she was cautious, and that was probably more than enough in weather like that against what he presumed was an unsuspecting target.
He'd watched her study the building, moving in a circumspect circuit around it. He'd seen her study the figure that sat near one window. He'd watched her bump a massively built matron of a resident, presumably to cut her purse or some such. Though the acting was contrived, she had fast hands. He had to give her that-very fast hands, and a light touch. The matron had left, none the wiser.
The front door of the building opened again, and a group of people stepped out. They walked in roughly his direction, hunkered down against the rain. He glided out of his cover along an intercept course, hoping to glimpse a clue to their affiliation as he passed. And, as he asked them for unneeded directions, he did: they were dressed in scarlet and black, and he caught a glimpse of the dragon-heads sigil that marked the bearer as a follower of Tiamat, the Dragon Queen.
Demok touched the brim of his rain-soaked hood in thanks for their assistance and watched them shuffle off into the cold winter rain.
Tiamatans, he thought. How interesting. My masters will be most interested to hear of her escapades here.
Demok crossed back to his watch post and waited for Kehrsyn to reappear.
I only hope she is of the proper temperament to be recruited, he reflected. If not… such a weapon cannot be allowed to fall into other hands.
He saw a shadow exit the building from the upstairs window. It was Kehrsyn. His heart skipped a beat as he caught a glimpse of her. The excitement of the hunter when he sees his prey, he told himself.
He watched the lithe, expert fashion in which she climbed back down the building, and one corner of his mouth pulled up appreciatively. She moved away, unrolling her cloak against the rain. She never noticed him slide from the shadows and begin stalking her again.
"Well, fancy meeting you here," said Kehrsyn, her smile a bright oasis in the grim, gray rain that drenched the stalls of the bazaar.
Demok pressed his lips together in an expression that Kehrsyn suspected was as jovial as his scarred face ever got.
"Massedar sent me to look for you," he said.
"Why, Demok," said Kehrsyn with mock astonishment, "I do believe that's the longest sentence I've yet heard you say."
To her surprise, he actually laughed, a single coughing snort that showed teeth.
"I'll work on that," he said.
He stepped aside and gestured chivalrously. Kehrsyn nodded and winked at him, and the two of them walked side by side through the soggy streets of Messemprar, the dense city mud unable to stick to their boots in the face of such a rain.
After several moments of silence, Kehrsyn finally said, "Is there some kind of problem? I mean, I'm surprised that someone as important as Massedar would trouble himself for someone like me."
"Explain."
"I mean, I'm just a juggler who-"
Demok raised his hand so sharply that Kehrsyn thought he was going to strike her.
"No," he said, 'You're not."
"Yes, I am," she said. "Call it what you like, but-"
"A juggler you are. You are not a 'just a' juggler," said Demok, glaring at her.
Nervous, Kehrsyn returned his gaze and said, "If you didn't look so angry, I'd say that was maybe a compliment."
"You have exceptional skills," Demok said, dropping his eyes.