"Sentimental nonsense." Her angry blue eyes settled on the watchful half-elf. "Can you talk no sense into him?"
Arilyn merely shrugged.
Cassandra hissed a sigh. "Let me paint the picture. Many caravans are waylaid. Pirates, bandits-these are hazards of the trade. This theft was unusual, but we could have quietly worked the matter through to its con shy;clusion. For whatever reason, rumors are turning it into a parlor guessing game, in which all those involved are suspect. By presenting that. . thing . . while Gund shy;wynd was ranting about the ambush, you gave him fuel for his fire. What do you suppose he will conclude when he learns what you've brought to the family villa? Do you think the pieces will not be put together? By your actions, you made it appear that Rhammas's little bas shy;tard was involved in this theft!"
"That was hardly my intent," Danilo began.
"Intentions seldom matter. Impressions, on the other hand, matter a great deal. This may well put the Thann family in an untenable position. Once this new scandal comes to light-and it will, for you've made sure of it! — no one will believe that the girl acted without the complicity of the legitimate clan."
"How can any reasonable person draw that conclu shy;sion?" protested Lord Rhammas. "I did not even know the girl existed until after the attack! From our scant acquaintance, I would venture to say that she could not possibly have had a hand in that sordid affair."
"Oh, and I'm sure all Waterdeep will accept your word as if Ao Himself had finally spoken," the noblewoman retorted. Her angry gaze traveled from her husband to her son. "You are a pair of children, blinded to the larger issues by a worthless trollop!"
"That is remarkably callous, even for you," Danilo said with equal heat.
"Think what you like, but obey me in this. The matter dies with the girl. You and Arilyn have already stirred up more trouble than the pair of you can possibly charm, buy, fight, or spellcast your way free of."
Danilo studied his mother for a long moment. "For shy;give me, my lady, but I must observe that your words could be construed as a threat."
"Could they now?" Her thin smile was as sharp as a dagger. "I am gratified to hear you say so. Evidence at last that you are not such a fool as today's events would suggest!"
"But-"
"Enough," she said in cold command. She suddenly changed tactics. "Would you be content if we acknowledged the girl as family and buried her in the Thann tomb?"
This concession startled Danilo, and his anger soft shy;ened somewhat. "Thank you, but in all honesty, that will not end the matter."
"Possibly not," murmured Cassandra, "but we will do what we can."
* * * * *
Arilyn rode out directly from the Thann villa, leaving Danilo to battle Lady Cassandra over the details of Lilly's final arrangements. She tracked Isabeau to the orchard farm and confirmed from the farmers the tale that Hector had passed to Danilo.
Isabeau had left soon after her rescuers deposited her in the safe house-but not before she had managed to insult the farmers who risked their home and their safety for the Harpers' charge. As Arilyn picked up the trail of Isabeau's horse, she wondered where the woman was bound and what sort of reception she expected to get.
It would seem that Lady Isabeau's ambitions were lifting faster than a courtesan's skirts. Just a few moons past, when they'd found her on the road north of Baldur's Gate, she was happy enough to have left the remote gnome settlement that had given her shelter all her life. Waterdeep delighted her, as did the modest wealth that had awaited her there-most of it the legacy of her mother, who had been forced to leave the city without gathering her possessions. Now it seemed Isabeau was no longer content with her transformation from serving wench to lady of station and substance. She had pro shy;gressed from thief to murderer.
This Arilyn firmly believed, regardless of the facts of Oth's death. Whether or not Isabeau was responsible for the Eltorchul mage's fate, she had left Lilly to hers. To Arilyn's way of thinking, that made Isabeau as guilty as if she herself had cut the girl's throat.
Nor was the woman any more merciful to the ani shy;mals under her control. Isabeau had pushed her bor shy;rowed horse at a high pace, with callous disregard for the creature's safety. The moon had been full the night before, and each of the seven gleaming shards that fol shy;lowed the silver orb through the sky had been as bright as will o'wisps, but no amount of light, not even the brightness of highsun, could justify running a horse full-out on such rough terrain.
As Arilyn followed the trail, the road widened, and the forest gave way to fields. She rode past a few tidy cottages, through an orchard dense with late fruit, to the gates of an imposing country estate.
Whose lands these were, Arilyn could not say. Many of the merchant lords of Waterdeep had farms or stables or country manors in the northlands. One thing was certain: The owner possessed a rather dark streak of whimsy.
The manor and the wall around it had been fash shy;ioned from gray stone, a ghostly color that seemed to merge with the mist of coming twilight. Gargoyles, most of them winged cats with vampiric sneers, stood guard on the ramparts and towers. Arilyn did not bother to stop by the gatehouse to seek admission, even though the guards seemed more interested in their dice game than in their post. When a group of peasants came to the gate pulling a cart laden with late-summer produce, Arilyn left her horse in the shadows of the orchards and took a long, thin rope from her saddle.
She slipped around to the rear wall and tossed her rope. The first try fell short. With the second she snared one of the gargoyles. She gave the rope a tug to ensure it would hold, then quickly climbed the wall. Using a spreading elm for cover, she draped the rope down the inside of the wall and slid to the ground.
While the estate's cooks were haggling with the peas shy;ants over the price of carrots and cabbage and the guards' attention was absorbed by the cooks, Arilyn crept into the building through the kitchen entrance to await the coming of night. It proved to be a good choice, for the heavy tapestries and drapes intended to keep out the chill also provided ample places to hide.
When all was dark and silent, Arilyn slipped into the halls. Her passage went unchallenged, for the servants demonstrated the lax concern for their responsibilities that often marked those who labored under an absent tyrant's rule. She checked each bedchamber for occu shy;pants. Most were empty-the noble family was not in residence.
Most of the chamber doors were open. At the end of a long hall, near a balcony overlooking the garden, one door was firmly shut. Arilyn tried the door and found it locked. She took a bit of thin paper from her pack and slid it under the door handle to catch the key, then inserted a pick into the lock. To her chagrin, the key had been removed from the lock. Picking it would take several minutes more. The task felt familiar to her fingers, and she overcame the lock in short order. Carefully she eased open the door.
Moonlight poured in through the round window placed high on one wall, lingering on the sleeping woman and the abundant dark locks strewn about the pillow. It was without doubt Isabeau Thione. Before confronting the woman, Arilyn took a few moments to take stock of her surroundings.
The chamber was luxurious, but macabre. The bed was enormous, and it was covered with a heavy coverlet of blood-red velvet. Drapes of similar fabric shrouded the tall bed frame and the windows. A statue of a man with the head of a cat stood vigil in the corner, and winged cat gargoyles leered down at her from their perches on pil shy;lars and shelves scattered about the room. Other than the sleeping Isabeau, the only sign of life in the room was the gray tabby curled up at the foot of the bed. The cat raised his head and regarded Arilyn with a somno shy;lent stare, then yawned hugely and went back to sleep.