She could not stay in partnership with Isabeau. The woman was as rapacious as a troll. Who knew what she might do next? No, Lilly could not stay-not with Isa shy;beau, and perhaps not even in Waterdeep. She needed a place to hide, to start anew, a place to come to terms with what she had done, to find a way to make amends.
A bright, ringing clatter tore her from her guilty thoughts. Two mercenaries stood toe to toe, staring stu shy;pidly at the half sack each of them held. For a moment they watched the spilled coins roll away, then they began to pummel at each other. Isabeau shouted for the others to break up the fight. Most merely joined in.
All was chaos. Lilly knew what to do in such moments-she had done some of her best pickings during tavern brawls.
She eased her way into the melee and faked a stumble. With a quick swipe she gathered up some coins and gems and dropped them into her pocket. When she stood up, a blow caught her in earnest.
Her jaw exploded with pain, her head snapped back, and the ground slammed up to meet her.
Lilly awoke to the sound of dripping water, which kept an eerie rhythm with the pounding in her temples. Cautiously she opened one eye. Isabeau was stretched out beside her, a smug little smile on her face and a pile of treasure beside her.
A heap of gleaming white globes dominated the hoard. Longing swept through Lilly like a healing tide. She sat up and reached for one, clenching her hand around the comforting magic.
"You know those?" asked Isabeau.
Lilly tried to move her aching jaw, and decided that a nod would do the job.
Isabeau smiled. "Perhaps you would like to take your share in these? Say, seven?"
It was a ridiculously low payment, even at the cost of dream spheres, but Lilly considered it a fair enough way out.
"That will do," she mumbled.
Her words seemed to ring in the empty cavern. The silence struck her, numbed her. Like a dreamwalker, she rose and stumbled in growing horror through the too-quiet cave.
Everywhere the mercenaries lay in twisted, tortured positions. Blackened tongues protruded through mouths stretched open with silent screams. Their pockets had been turned, their gear bags sliced open and looted.
Lilly's hand flew to her mouth. She whirled back toward Isabeau, hardly believing what her eyes told her.
"You're wondering how we will move the cargo," the woman said, misreading her partner's dismay. "The porters I've arranged know the tunnels well. They can have the goods moved to Waterdeep's undercity faster than an overland caravan could cover the same ground."
One of the shadows moved and broke away into the torchlight. Lilly backed away, shaking her head in ter shy;rified disbelief at the monstrous sight.
Isabeau did not seem concerned by the sudden ap shy;pearance of an enormous, bipedal lizard. She strode for shy;ward and handed the creature a fine short sword that held the sheen of a newly made weapon.
"An Amcathra blade," she said. "There will be four more when you get to Skullport."
Enormous claws closed around the hilt, and the crea shy;ture grunted in apparent satisfaction. Isabeau looked to Lilly and seemed amused by the woman's reaction.
"Meet the tren," she said casually. "You might as well get used to them. We will be doing a considerable amount of business with them from this point forth."
She cocked her head and regarded her horror-struck partner. Her eyes narrowed in speculation, and she turned back to the monster. "Lilly does not appear to approve. Show her what happens to those who speak of matters best left in shadows."
The curved, fang-lined jaws parted in a reptilian smile. With a grunt, the creature hunkered down beside one of the dead mercenaries. The enormous, clawed hand closed around the man's protruding black tongue. One yank, and the tongue came free with a wet, tearing sound. The tren grinned again, then tossed the tidbit into its fanged mouth.
Through the whirling haze that gripped her, Lilly heard the grunting echoing throughout the cavern. More tren emerged from the shadows, and they crouched down to feed.
Lilly began to scream. Dimly she was aware of Isabeau scolding her, slapping her, but she could not stop. She sank to the stone floor, hands fisted against her ears to block the sound of the horrid feast, and she screamed and screamed until the merciful blackness closed in again.
Nine
The scent of autumn was strong in the wind that whipped along the city streets, whirling the bright fallen leaves in small eddies and tugging at the skirts of passing women.
Danilo clapped one hand to his head to keep his hat at the angle dictated by current fashion. "You picked an unfortunate time to develop a love of the shops," he told his companion.
Arilyn impatiently brushed a dark curl off her face. "What if street rumor is right? What if the per shy;fume merchant sells more than scents and oint shy;ments?"
"It is hard to credit. Diloontier has a fine reputa shy;tion. Many of the merchant families do business with him. His scents hold true, and the few potions he sells are harmless and reliable. Believe me, the wizards' guild keeps a wary eye on his affairs, as they do anyone who traffics in minor magic."
"What of the tunnels?" Arilyn persisted.
"My dear, this city is built over a veritable anthill. Creatures of all sorts have been digging tunnels under Waterdeep Mountain since dragons ruled the land. It does not signify."
Arilyn shrugged and pushed open the door to the shop. She stopped so abruptly that Danilo bumped solidly into her.
Cassandra Thann regarded both of them over the exquisite bottle in her hands. After a moment's hesita shy;tion, she handed it back to Diloontier.
"The blend is not quite right. Too much spice. I have no wish to go about smelling like a winterfest pudding."
"I will see to it at once," the merchant said. He made a quick bow to her, then turned aside and snapped his fingers at one of his apprentices. "You, Harmon. See to this gentleman while I repair this perfume."
He bustled off, leaving the two women eyeing each other like swordsmen in need of their weapons.
"I'm fond of winterfest puddings," Arilyn commented. "Since that perfume didn't suit you, perhaps I should buy it."
Cassandra looked nonplussed for a moment. She quickly covered her reaction with a cool smile. "My dear, that scent is far too. . formal for you. Surely there is something in this shop that would suit you better."
The subtle insult held an opportunity. The noble shy;woman was aware of Arilyn's dark reputation. The half-elf decided to play upon that knowledge. She folded her arms and let her gaze go flat, cold, and deadly-the stare of a hunting hawk or a hired killer.
"So I hear. I have no immediate use for such things, but I would be very interested to know who might."
They regarded each other for a long, measuring moment. Cassandra glanced back at her son. She took a small vial from the shelf and handed it to him. "Take this as a gift for your … lady, and go. You would do well to heed my advice."
Cassandra pulled on her gloves and sailed out to her waiting carriage.
Danilo waved away the perfumer's assistant. He led the way out into the street, then turned an apologetic gaze upon his friend. "I suppose you realize she was not referring to perfume," he murmured.
"The thought occurred to me," Arilyn said with a touch of sarcasm. "Does Cassandra have a general aver shy;sion to half-elven assassins, or did she have some other, more specific advice in mind?"
"I'm not entirely certain," he admitted. "She was most insistent that I not involve myself with Oth's death, but I put that down to her abhorrence for scandal. She is concerned about my choice of companion, probably for much the same reason. As you have observed, some of the nobility look askance at alliances between their peers and other races."