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The wizard looked back to find Pook staring at him. “Tell me more!” Pook insisted eagerly.

LaValle shrugged helplessly and put his hand on the crystal ball. “I have not been able to glimpse them myself,” he said. “Ever has Artemis Entreri been able to dodge my scrying. But by Oberon’s words, they are not too far. Sailing the waters north of Calimshan, if not already within the borders. And they fly on a swift wind, Master. A week or two, no more.”

“And Regis is with him?” Pook asked.

“He is.”

“Alive?”

“Very much alive,” said the wizard.

“Good!” Pook sneered. How he longed to see the treacherous halfling again! To have his plump hands around Regis’s little neck! The guild had fallen on tough times after Regis had run off with the magical pendant. In truth, the problems had come mostly from Pook’s own insecurity in dealing with people without the gem, so long had he been using it, and from the guildmaster’s obsessive—and expensive—hunt to find the halfling. But to Pook, the blame fell squarely upon Regis. He even blamed the halfling for the alliance with the wererats’ guild, for certainly he wouldn’t have needed Rassiter if he had had his pendant.

But now everything would work out for the best, Pook knew. Possessing the pendant and dominating the wererats, perhaps he could even think of expanding his power outside Calimport, with charmed associates and lyncanthrope allies heading guilds throughout the southland.

LaValle seemed more serious when Pook looked back at him. “How do you believe Entreri will feel about our new associates?” he asked grimly.

“Ah, he does not know,” said Pook, realizing the implications. “He has been gone too long.” He thought for a moment then shrugged. “They are in the same business, after all. Entreri should accept them.”

“Rassiter disturbs everyone he meets,” the wizard reminded him. “Suppose that he crosses Entreri?”

Pook laughed at the thought. “I can assure you that Rassiter will cross Artemis Entreri only once, my friend.”

“And then you shall make arrangements with the new head of the wererats,” LaValle snickered.

Pook clapped him on the shoulder and headed for the door. “Learn what you can,” he instructed the wizard. “If you can find them in your crystal ball, call to me. I cannot wait to glimpse the face of Regis the halfling again. So much I owe to that one.”

“And you shall be?”

“In the harem,” Pook answered with a wink. “Tension, you know.”

LaValle slumped back in his chair when Pook had gone and considered again the return of his principal rival. He had gained much in the years since Entreri had left, even rising to this room on the third level as Pook’s chief assistant.

This room, Entreri’s room.

But the wizard never had any problems with the assassin. They had been comfortable associates, if not friends, and had helped each other many times in the past. LaValle couldn’t count the number of times he had shown Entreri the quickest route to a target.

And there was that nasty situation with Mancas Tiveros, a fellow mage. “Mancas the Mighty,” the other wizards of Calimport had called him, and they had pitied LaValle when he and Mancas fell into dispute concerning the origins of a particular spell. Both had claimed credit for the discovery, and everyone waited for an expected war of magic to erupt. But Mancas suddenly and unexplainedly went away, leaving a note disclaiming his role in the spell’s creation and giving full credit to LaValle. Mancas had never been seen again—in Calimport or anywhere else.

“Ah, well,” LaValle sighed, turning back to his crystal ball. Artemis Entreri had his uses.

The door to the room opened, and Pook stuck his head back in. “Send a messenger to the carpenter’s guild,” he said to LaValle. “Tell them that we shall need several skilled men immediately.”

LaValle tilted his head in disbelief.

“The harem and treasury are to stay,” Pook said emphatically, feigning frustration over his wizard’s inability to see the logic. “And certainly I am not conceding my chamber!”

LaValle frowned as he thought he began to understand.

“Nor am I about to tell Artemis Entreri that he cannot have his own room back,” said Pook. “Not after he has performed his mission so excellently!”

“I understand,” said the wizard glumly, thinking himself relegated once again to the lower levels.

“So a sixth room must be built,” laughed Pook, enjoying his little game. “Between Entreri’s and the harem.” He winked again at his valued assistant. “You may design it yourself, my dear LaValle. And spare no expense!” He shut the door and was gone.

The wizard wiped the moisture from his eyes. Pook always surprised him, but never disappointed him. “You are a generous master, my Pasha Pook,” he whispered to the empty room.

And truly Pasha Pook was a masterful leader as well, for LaValle turned back to his crystal ball, his teeth gritted in determination. He would find Entreri and the halfling. He wouldn’t disappoint his generous master.

9. Fiery Riddles

Now running with the currents of the Chionthar, and with the breeze at enough of an angle from the north for the sails to catch a bit of a push, the Sea Sprite cruised away from Baldur’s Gate at a tremendous rate, spitting a white spray despite the concurrent movement of the water.

“The Sword Coast by midafternoon,” Deudermont said to Drizzt and Wulfgar. “And off the coast, with no land in sight until we make Asavir’s Channel. Then a southern journey around the edge of the world and back east to Calimport.

“Calimport,” he said again, indicating a new pennant making its way up the mast of the Sea Sprite, a golden field crossed by slanted blue lines.

Drizzt looked at Deudermont suspiciously, knowing that this was not an ordinary practice of sailing vessels.

“We run Waterdeep’s flag north of Baldur’s Gate,” the captain explained. “Calimport’s south.”

“An acceptable practice?” Drizzt asked.

“For those who know the price,” chuckled Deudermont. “Waterdeep and Calimport are rivals, and stubborn in their feud. They desire trade with each other—they can only profit from it but do not always allow ships flying the other’s flag to dock in their harbors.”

“A foolish pride,” Wulfgar remarked, painfully reminded of some similar traditions his own clannish people had practiced only a few years before.

“Politics,” Deudermont said with a shrug. “But the lords of both cities secretly desire the trade, and a few dozen ships have made the connections to keep business moving. The Sea Sprite has two ports to call home, and everyone profits from the arrangement.”

“Two markets for Captain Deudermont,” Drizzt remarked slyly. “Practical.”

“And it makes good sailing sense as well,” Deudermont continued, his smile still wide. “Pirates running the waters north of Baldur’s Gate respect the banner of Waterdeep above all others, and those south of here take care not to rouse the anger of Calimport and her massive armada. The pirates along Asavir’s Channel have many merchant ships to pick from in the straights, and they are more likely to raid one that carries a flag of less weight.”

“And you are never bothered?” Wulfgar couldn’t help but ask, his voice tentative and almost sarcastic, as though he hadn’t yet figured out if he approved of the practice.

“Never?” echoed Deudermont. “Not ‘never,’ but rarely. And on those occasions that pirates come at us, we fill our sails and run. Few ships can catch the Sea Sprite when her sails are full of wind.”

“And if they do catch you?” asked Wulfgar.

“That is where you two can earn your passage,” Deadermont laughed. “My guess is that those weapons you carry might soften a looting pirate’s desire to continue the pursuit.”