"How perfectly suited for clandestine meetings and secret doings," he said with a laugh. "An auspicious start to the evening's festivities!"
A ten-minute walk brought him to the Cracked Tankard. The place was unusually crowded, choked with crewmen from two Chessentan galleons that had tied up at the city's wharves earlier in the day. Jack threaded his way through the crowd, elbowing a space at the bar. No fewer than three barmaids plus the barkeep Kirben were manning the rail tonight; they rushed back and forth, serving draughts as quickly as they could draw them. Jack dropped a silver talon on the countertop as the tavern-keeper stomped past.
"Ho, Kirben! Perchance have you a message for me?"
"Ho, yourself," the barkeep snapped. Kirben swept the coin into a pocket of his apron and handed Jack a small envelope sealed in red wax. "Don't say I never did anything for you."
Jack broke the seal and scanned the note inside. The Storm Gull, Aldiger's pier. Make sure you lose any tails. Don't leave this message here. Skullduggery and dark doings, he thought. A dangerous prize and a lovely lady!
"I won't be back tonight," he told Kirben, stuffing the note into his pocket. Then he headed out into the night again, winding his way through the city toward the harbor neighborhood known as Silverscales.
He turned south on Blacktree Boulevard and followed it to the harbor, pausing at the intersection of Blacktree and Fishleap to look for any signs of pursuit. A man in a dark cloak about twenty yards behind Jack casually halted and began to inspect the goods displayed in a store window; Jack ducked out of sight into a dark alleyway and worked a minor illusion that altered his appearance, taking the form of a hulking half-ogre longshoreman with stooped shoulders and long, powerful arms that hung almost to his knees. Adapting a drunken sway to his walk, he stepped out of the alleyway and roughly shouldered the black-cloaked man aside.
"Outta my way," he rumbled ominously.
"I beg your pardon, sir," the man said. He turned and dashed down the alleyway, intent on reaching the other end to keep Jack in sight, not realizing, of course, that he'd just run right past his quarry.
Jack leered with a mouth full of peglike teeth and continued on his way. Magic was so useful and so easy, it was almost like cheating. He wondered why more people didn't take it up. Wizards and magicians claimed that it took years of tireless study and punishing apprenticeships to glean even the beginnings of the Art, but it had always come naturally to Jack. They studied pages full of exhaustive formulae, pored over ancient texts, scrabbled for hints and ciphers in the works of their predecessors. Jack just thought of things he'd like to be able to do, sharpened all his will and attention on wanting to be able to do them, and through trial and error found out how, through nonsense words and simple gestures and patterns or focuses he could concentrate on, just like a man playing at ninepins might stand on one foot and pull in an arm while trying to will the ball to strike the lead pin dead on.
"Faerun's wizards have, no doubt, a long-standing agreement by which all initiated into the Art swear to make it look as difficult and obtuse as possible," he mused as he walked. "Therefore they ensure that anyone paying for their services believes that he is hiring a rare and talented professional indeed, the one man in a thousand who can make sense of magic. Why, if they let slip that anyone could do it, the whole lot of them would be ruined. Hah!"
He followed Fishleap through Bitterstone and around the end of the city wall into Silverscales. Here a dozen ramshackle piers and wharves jutted out into the outer harbor, crowded with three or four times that number of galleys, caravels, carracks, and yawls. Stomping along the boardwalk Jack came to the last pier, the one opposite Aldiger's Cut, and scanned the ships moored there. At the end a small sloop rocked gently by the wharf. "The Storm Gull," he read from the lettering across the ship's stern. Jack threw one more glance over his shoulder and didn't spot anyone paying him undue attention, so he resumed his own appearance and trotted down the pier to the ship.
Two easterners in metal-studded jerkins lounged on the ship's deck, watching Jack without saying a word. They were strange-looking fellows, with bronzed faces and straight black hair, perhaps from the fantastic lands beyond even Thay or Rashemen. Jack boarded the ship and nodded politely.
"Take me to Elana," he said.
The first easterner straightened with a rattle of steel and pointed at a companionway leading down to the Storm Gull's main cabin. "That way," he said through a thick accent. He returned to his watch, studying the wharves and streets intensely.
Jack clattered down the steep ladder and found himself in a short passageway lined by several doors. At the end of the passage, the door leading into the stern cabin-presumably, the master's quarters-stood slightly ajar. With a shrug, Jack pushed it open and went inside.
The decor showed a distinct preference for the remote East; paper lanterns hung from the beams overhead, a low desk or table surrounded by cushions sufficed for furnishings, and tall screens of carved and inlaid wood were secured to the walls. Elana knelt comfortably behind the desk, examining a small explosion of paper. Behind her, a tall mage in yellow robes and a high-collared vest or tabard of tooled red leather stood watching, his scalp shaven and his face marked by a long, drooping mustache. He, too, was an easterner. Elana looked up as Jack entered, carefully covered her work by sweeping it into a wooden valise, and gestured at the opposite place at the table.
"Jack Ravenwild. Please, sit down."
Jack dropped to the deck carelessly, sitting cross-legged before her. He glanced around the cabin, admiring the eastern furnishings. "You surprise me, dear Elana. I would not have suspected you of having a taste for the exotic. Shou Lung?"
She offered a slight smile. "No. Shou work tends to be more ornate, more complex than this. The screens, the lamps, and the table are from the island empire of Wa. I prefer its austerity and simplicity." She raised one hand to indicate the tall shaven-headed mage at her side. "This is Yu Wei, Adept of the Seventh Mystery, Sublime Dragon of the Black Pearl Order. He is my chief advisor in magical matters."
The tall adept inclined his head. Jack returned the gesture. "Yu Wei felt that I should not have left the retrieval of the Sarkonagael in your hands, once you'd told me that you knew where it was," Elana continued. "You persuaded me to allow you to try your hand at the task. How did you fare?"
Jack unlocked his satchel and removed the burlap-wrapped book. He set it on the table and removed the cloth cover, revealing the sinister black binding with its silver skulls.
"May I present the Sarkonagael, or the Secrets of the Shadewrights?"
Elana smiled coolly and reached out for the book. She opened it carefully, running her fingers over the ciphered text absently, and then handed it to Yu Wei.
"See if the spell is there," she told him. The tall mage bowed deeply and then left the cabin, stooping to pass through the low door. He did not speak a word. "Well done, Jack Ravenwild. My sources inform me that you bearded Iphegor in his lair and then defeated him in a confrontation in the street shortly thereafter."
"Your sources? It seems you are well-informed, my lady."
"I'm surprised that you chose to confront Iphegor. I would have thought that escaping anonymously was more important to you."
Jack shrugged. "I did make use of a disguise, so I doubt that Iphegor will easily discover my identity. In any event, he shouldn't give me much trouble for a long time. Unfortunately, his familiar was killed when he confronted me, and you know how much that discomfits a wizard."
Elana smiled. "Indeed. I hadn't thought you so ruthless."
"Not ruthless, dear Elana. Merely-businesslike. I do what must be done." Jack leaned forward and offered a charming smile. "Are you satisfied with the services I have rendered?"