“The place is a fortress,” Dondon shrugged. “No way is safe.” Bruenor started slipping closer, his scowl deepening.
“But, if I had to try,” the halfling blurted, “I would try through the sewers.”
Bruenor looked around at his friends.
“It seems correct,” Wulfgar remarked.
Drizzt studied the halfling a moment longer, searching for some clue in Dondon’s darting eyes. “It is correct,” the drow said at length.
“So he saved his neck,” said Catti-brie, “but what are we to do with him? Take him along?”
“Ayuh,” said Bruenor with a sly look. “He’ll be leading!”
“No,” replied Drizzt, to the amazement of his companions. “The halfling did as we bade. Let him leave.”
“And go straight off to tell Entreri what has happened?” Wulfgar said.
“Entreri would not understand,” Drizzt replied. He looked Dondon in the eye, giving no indication to the halfling that he had figured out his little ploy within a ploy. “Nor would he forgive.”
“Me heart says we take him,” Bruenor remarked.
“Let him go,” Drizzt said calmly. “Trust me.”
Bruenor snorted and dropped his axe to his side, grumbling as he moved to open the door. Wulfgar and Catti-brie exchanged concerned glances but stepped out of the way.
Dondon didn’t hesitate, but Bruenor stepped in front of him as he reached the door. “If I see yer face again,” the dwarf threatened, “or any face ye might be wearin’, I’ll chop ye down!”
Dondon slipped around and backed into the hall, never taking his eyes off the dangerous dwarf, then he darted down the hall, shaking his head at how perfectly Entreri had described the encounter, at how well the assassin knew those friends, particularly the drow.
Suspecting the truth about the entire encounter, Drizzt understood that Bruenor’s final threat carried little weight to the wily halfling. Dondon had faced them down through both lies without the slightest hint of a slip.
But Drizzt nodded approvingly as Bruenor, still scowling, turned back into the room, for the drow also knew that the threat, if nothing else, had made Bruenor feel more secure.
On Drizzt’s suggestion, they all settled down for some sleep. With the clamor of the streets, they would never be able to slip unnoticed into one of the sewer grates. But the crowds would likely thin out as the night waned and the guard changed from the dangerous rogues of evening to the peasants of the hot day.
Drizzt alone did not find sleep. He sat propped by the door of the room, listening for sounds of any approach and lulled into meditations by the rhythmic breathing of his companions. He looked down at the mask hanging around his neck. So simple a lie, and he could walk freely throughout the world.
But would he then be trapped within the web of his own deception? What freedom could he find in denying the truth about himself?
Drizzt looked over at Catti-brie, peacefully slumped in the room’s single bed, and smiled. There was indeed wisdom in innocence, a vein of truth in the idealism of untainted perceptions.
He could not disappoint her.
Drizzt sensed a deepening of the outside gloom. The moon had set. He moved to the room’s window and peeked out into the street. Still the night people wandered, but they were fewer now, and the night neared its end. Drizzt roused his companions; they could not afford any more delays. They stretched away their weariness, checked their gear, and moved back down to the street.
Rogues Circle was lined with several iron sewer grates that looked as though they were designed more to keep the filthy things of the sewers underground than as drains for the sudden waters of the rare but violent rainstorms that hit the city. The friends chose one in the ally beside their inn, out of the main way of the street but close enough to the guildhouse that they could probably find their underground way without too much trouble.
“The boy can lift it,” Bruenor remarked, waving Wulfgar to the spot. Wulfgar bent low and grasped the iron.
“Not yet,” Drizzt whispered, glancing around for suspicious eyes. He motioned Catti-brie to the end of the ally, back along Rogues Circle, and he darted off down the darker side. When he was satisfied that all was clear, he waved back to Bruenor. The dwarf looked to Catti-brie, who nodded her approval.
“Lift it, boy,” Bruenor said, “and be quiet about it!”
Wulfgar grasped the iron tightly and sucked in a deep, draft of air for balance. His huge arms pumped red with blood as he heaved, and a grunt escaped his lips. Even so, the grate resisted his tugging…
Wulfgar looked at Bruenor in disbelief, then redoubled his efforts, his face now flushing red. The grate groaned in protest, but came up only a few inches from the ground.
“Suren somethings holdin’ it down,” Bruenor said, leaning over to inspect it.
A “clink” of snapping chain was the dwarf’s only warning as the grate broke free, sending Wulfgar sprawling backward. The lifting iron clipped Bruenor’s forehead, knocking his helmet off and dropping him on the seat of his pants. Wulfgar, still clutching the grate, crashed heavily and loudly into the wall of the inn.
“Ye blasted, fool-headed…” Bruenor started to grumble, but Drizzt and Catti-brie, rushing to his aid, quickly reminded him of the secrecy of their mission.
“Why would they chain a sewer grate?” Catti-brie asked.
Wulfgar dusted himself off. “From the inside,” he added.
“It seems that something down there wants to keep the city out.”
“We shall know soon enough,” Drizzt remarked. He dropped down beside the open hole, slipping his legs in. “Prepare a torch,” he said. “I will summon you if all is clear.”
Catti-brie caught the eager gleam in the drow’s eyes and looked at him with concern.
“For Regis,” Drizzt assured her, “and only for Regis.” Then he was gone, into the blackness. Black like the lightless tunnels of his homeland.
The other three heard a slight splash as he touched down, then all was quiet.
Many anxious moments passed. “Put a light to the torch,” Bruenor whispered to Wulfgar.
Catti-brie caught Wulfgar’s arm to stop him. “Faith,” she said to Bruenor.
“Too long,” the dwarf muttered. “Too quiet.”
Catti-brie held on to Wulfgar’s arm for another second, until Drizzt’s soft voice drifted up to them. “Clear,” the drow said. “Come down quickly.”
Bruenor took the torch from Wulfgar. “Come last,” he said, “and slide the grate back behind ye. No need in tellin’ the world where we went!”
The first thing the companions noticed when the torchlight entered the sewer was the chain that had held the grate down. It was fairly new, without doubt, and fastened to a locking box constructed on the sewer’s wall.
“Me thinking’s that we’re not alone,” Bruenor whispered.
Drizzt glanced around, sharing the dwarf’s uneasiness. He dropped the mask from his face, a drow again in an environ suited for a drow. “I will lead,” he said, “at the edge of the light. Keep ready.” He padded away, picking his silent steps along the edge of the murky stream of water that rolled slowly down the center of the tunnel.
Bruenor came next with the torch, then Catti-brie and Wulfgar. The barbarian had to stoop low to keep his head clear of the slimy ceiling. Rats squeaked and scuttled away from the strange light, and darker things took silent refuge under the shield of the water. The tunnel meandered this way and that, and a maze of side passages opened up every few feet. Sounds of trickling water only worsened the confusion, leading the friends for a moment, then coming louder at their side, then louder still from across the way.
Bruenor shook the diversions clear of his thoughts, ignored the muck and the fetid stench, and concentrated on keeping his track straight behind the shadowy figure that darted in and out at the front edge of his torchlight. He turned a confusing, multicornered intersection and caught sight of the figure suddenly off to his side.