"Today I'll choose to believe so," Jack replied.
He frowned in distaste at his surroundings. He'd replaced the fine clothes and noble trappings of the previous few days with what he thought of as his working clothes-black leather over gray cotton, all veiled in a fine dark cloak of light wool. But his flesh crawled as he contemplated what might or might not be scurrying past him in the rainwater. Jack was more fastidious than he cared to let on, and he would never wear these clothes again without imagining a faint whiff of the sewers in the fabric, no matter how many times he cleaned them. "Are we almost there?"
"Almost," Tharzon replied. "So, what's this dwarf-work mystery you wanted to ask me about?"
"Have you ever heard of Cedrizarun?"
"The master distiller of ancient Sarbreen?"
"The very one. I take that as a yes."
"Of course!" Tharzon said. "I've spent a human lifetime exploring old Sarbreen and studying the lore of my fathers. Cedrizarun's name is still revered among my folk."
"Can you think of a reason why a Red Wizard-leader of an adventuring company-might become intensely interested in Cedrizarun's resting place? Specifically, a riddle or an inscription on or around the tomb?"
"Certainly. Your mage seeks the Guilder's Vault."
Jack looked up so quickly that he knocked his head on the tunnel roof. "The Guilder's Vault? Hold a moment, friend Tharzon, and tell me of the Guilder's Vault."
Tharzon looked back over his broad shoulder. His eyes smoldered beneath his heavy brow, and gold bands glinted in his ringleted beard. He paused in the next intersection, a high chamber where water streamed down from the glow of daylight above, and set his lantern on a ledge high on the wall.
"What do you know of old Sarbreen, Jack?" the dwarf asked, hunkering down on a dry ledge.
"A great dwarven city, built about seven hundred years ago but destroyed soon after. Raven's Bluff sits on top of Sarbreen's ruins. Many of these sewers are old dwarf-work… as are cellars, vaults, and catacombs underneath much of the city."
Tharzon shrugged. "About as much as a human might be expected to know, I guess. Well, let me tell you a little more. These passageways were indeed built by master masons of the City of the Hammer, but carving stone and delving chambers is not all that there is to a city. Dozens of masters skilled in the other arts-armorers, weapon-smiths, jewelers and miners and woodcarvers and glass-blowers and all the others-ruled thousands of skillful craftsmen. That was the wonder and the strength of Sarbreen, my friend. Skill and industry, ceaseless labor in a great thriving city that shone for a brief moment as the richest of all dwarven holds.
"Everyone knows the work of the old stonecutters, but the master masons were only a part of Sarbreen's Ruling Ring. Other masters whose works do not survive today were held in high honor, too-swordsmiths whose blades are scattered from here to Waterdeep, merchants whose wealth now lies in dragon hoards or lost at the bottom of the sea, and others. They were sometimes known as Guilders, since they led guilds of craftsmen.
"Cedrizarun was the master distiller, the maker of dwarven spirits whose fire would consume any lesser mortal who dared imbibe them." Tharzon offered a sere smile. "My folk delight in work well done, but we also delight in strong drink, and it's said that none crafted a better spirit than Cedrizarun. He was an old and honored dwarf when Sarbreen was first built, and he wielded great influence as a Guilder.
"He died before the fall of the city and was entombed in the old manner, with his riches about him. Few of the other Guilders or the master masons received such honors. Sarbreen was sacked a short time later, and most of Cedrizarun's peers died in battle, their hoards carried off by the cursed orcs and vile drow who worked Sarbreen's doom. But Cedrizarun's tomb has not yet been found." Tharzon fixed his eyes on Jack. "What do you know of this mage?"
"She's found Cedrizarun's crypt. In fact, she's recorded some kind of inscription or riddle in or around the tomb." Jack thought for a moment, and then reached into a waterproof pouch at his hip and pulled out the parchment copy of the rubbing. "She's been trying to figure out what this means," he said, handing it to Tharzon. "I suspect that she knows that something of great value is hidden nearby. She is desperate to solve the riddle."
"And you think that I can solve it for you?" the dwarf asked. "Instead of asking me to solve the riddle so that she can loot the Guilder's Vault, I would prefer that you ask the mage where Cedrizarun's tomb lies. We can solve the riddle and respectfully remove the Guilder's wealth ourselves. My people laid it to rest; it is only fitting that I, as their heir and descendant, should bring it back into the sunlight again."
"I doubt that the mage of whom I speak would find such a plan agreeable," Jack said.
"Then she should not be advised of its details."
"Indeed. We can safely assume that my acquaintance will not willingly divulge the location of the crypt to me. That implies that I can only come by the knowledge we require by some means she would resist. I must trick it out of her, steal it from her, coerce her into telling me, or simply watch her closely and see if she leads me to the spot I seek."
"Throw a sack over her head and tie her up," the dwarf suggested. "You can hold her feet over hot coals until she's more cooperative."
"Subtlety is not your strong suit," Jack remarked. "Your plan is simple and direct, but I'd rather obtain the knowledge without giving her reason to suspect that I've learned her secret. Then she would have no cause to be angry with me, since she won't know what I've done."
"With my plan, you could just slit her throat and drop her in the harbor when you finished," Tharzon said. "She might be angry with you, but she couldn't do anything about it."
"I am not a murderer, friend Tharzon. There's no art in it."
"So you say. Well, don't rule it out as an alternative if more subtle tactics fail, eh? Pragmatism can be very practical." The dwarf stood and shook off his heavy cloak, looking at the rubbing from Cedrizarun's tomb. "Can I keep this?"
"If you like. I have other copies now."
"Fifty-fifty, if I break the riddle and you find the tomb's location?"
"I find that eminently agreeable," Jack said.
What he left unsaid was the obvious: If he cracked the riddle and found the tomb himself, Tharzon didn't need to be included as a partner. If the dwarf had any brains in his head-and Tharzon did-he must have noted that Jack didn't mention the identity of the mage who'd found Cedrizarun's tomb. Jack therefore guaranteed that Tharzon wouldn't have an opportunity to cut out Jack in just the same manner. One couldn't make a living at thievery, skullduggery, smuggling, and swindling without a certain willingness to discard obsolete arrangements at need or at least plan for the possibility that would-be partners might do so at their need.
"Good," Tharzon grunted. "Now to the other business of the day. This wall here stands between you and the wizard's cellars." He rapped on one decrepit masonry wall, off to one side of the sewer chamber. "My guess is a foot of hard stone, four or five feet of fill, and then another foot of stone in the cellar. This is old dwarf-work, built to last."