“Come in, come in,” the wizard greeted him, hardly surprised that the assassin had returned.
“It is good to be back,” Entreri said.
“And good to have you back,” replied the wizard sincerely. “Things have not been the same since you left us, and they have only become worse in recent months.”
Entreri understood the wizard’s point. “Rassiter?”
LaValle grimaced. “Keep your back to the wall when that one is about,” A shudder shook through him, but he composed himself quickly. “But with you back at Pook’s side, Rassiter will learn his place.”
“Perhaps,” replied Entreri, “though I am not so certain that. Pook was as glad to see me.”
“You understand Pook,” LaValle chuckled. “Ever thinking as a guildmaster! He desired to set the rules for your meeting with him to assert his authority. But that incident is far behind us already.”
Entreri’s look gave the wizard the impression that he was not so certain.
“Pook will forget it,” LaValle assured him.
“Those who pursued me should not so easily be forgotten,” Entreri replied.
“Pook called upon Pinochet to complete the task,” said LaValle. “The pirate has never failed.”
“The pirate has never faced such foes,” Entreri answered. He looked to the table and LaValle’s crystal ball. “We should be certain.”
LaValle thought for a moment, then nodded his accord. He had intended to do some scrying anyway. “Watch the ball,” he instructed Entreri. “I shall see if I can summon the image of Pinochet.”
The crystal ball remained dark for a few moments, then filled with smoke. LaValle had not dealt often with Pinochet, but he knew enough of the pirate for a simple scrying. A few seconds later, the image of a docked ship came into view—not a pirate vessel, but a merchant ship. Immediately Entreri suspected something amiss.
Then the crystal probed deeper, beyond the hull of the ship, and the assassin’s guess was confirmed, for in a sectioned corner of the hold sat the proud pirate captain, his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands, shackled to the wall.
LaValle, stunned, looked to Entreri, but the assassin was too intent on the image to offer any explanations. A rare smile had found its way onto Entreri’s face.
LaValle cast an enhancing spell at the crystal ball. “Pinochet,” he called softly.
The pirate lifted his head and looked around.
“Where are you?” LaValle asked.
“Oberon?” Pinochet asked. “Is that you, wizard?”
“Nay, I am LaValle, Pook’s sorcerer in Calimport. Where are you?”
“Memnon,” the pirate answered. “Can you get me out?”
“What of the elf and the barbarian?” Entreri asked LaValle, but Pinochet heard the question directly.
“I had them!” the pirate hissed. “Trapped in a channel with no escape. But then a dwarf appeared, driving the reins of a flying chariot of fire, and with him a woman archer—a deadly archer.” He paused, fighting off his distaste as he remembered the encounter.
“To what outcome?” LaValle prompted, amazed at the development.
“One ship went running, one ship—my ship—sank, and the third was captured,” groaned Pinochet. He locked his face into a grimace and asked again, more emphatically, “Can you get me out?”
LaValle looked helplessly to Entreri, who now stood tall over the crystal ball, absorbing every word. “Where are they?” the assassin growled, his patience worn away.
“Gone,” answered Pinochet. “Gone with the girl and the dwarf into Memnon.”
“How long?”
“Three days.”
Entreri signaled to LaValle that he had heard enough.
“I will have Pasha Pook send word to Memnon immediately,” LaValle assured the pirate. “You shall be released.”
Pinochet sank into his original, despondent position. Of course he would be released; that had already been arranged. He had hoped that LaValle could somehow magically get him out of the Sea Sprite’s hold, thereby releasing him from any pledges he would be forced to make to Deudermont when the captain set him free.
“Three days,” LaValle said to Entreri as the crystal darkened. “They could be halfway here by now.”
Entreri seemed amused at the notion. “Pasha Pook is to know nothing of this,” he said suddenly.
LaValle sank back in his chair. “He must be told.”
“No!” Entreri snapped. “This is none of his affair.”
“The guild may be in danger,” LaValle replied.
“You do not trust that I am capable of handling this?” Entreri asked in a low, grim tone. LaValle felt the assassin’s callous eyes looking through him, as though he had suddenly become just another barrier to be overcome.
But Entreri softened his glare and grinned. “You know of Pasha Pook’s weakness for hunting cats,” he said, reaching into his pouch. “Give him this. Tell him you made it for him.”
He tossed a small black object across the table to the wizard. LaValle caught it, his eyes widening as soon as he realized what it was.
Guenhwyvar.
On a distant plane, the great cat stirred at the wizard’s touch upon the statuette and wondered if its master meant to summon it, finally, to his side.
But, after a moment, the sensation faded, and the cat put its head down to rest.
So much time had gone by.
“It holds an entity,” the wizard gasped, sensing the strength in the onyx statuette.
“A powerful entity,” Entreri assured him. “When you learn to control it, you will have brought a new ally to the guild.”
“How can I thank—” LaValle began, but he stopped as he realized that he had already been told the price of the panther. “Why trouble Pook with details that do not concern him?” The wizard laughed, tossing a cloth over his crystal ball.
Entreri clapped LaValle on the shoulder as he passed toward the door. Three years had done nothing to diminish the understanding the two men had shared.
But with Drizzt and his friends approaching, Entreri had more pressing business. He had to go to the Cells of Nine and pay a visit to Regis.
The assassin needed another gift.
Book 3.
Desert Empires
16. Never a Fouler Place
Entreri slipped through the shadows of Calimport’s bowels as quietly as an owl glided through a forest at twilight. This was his home, the place he knew best, and all the street people of the city would mark the day when Artemis Entreri again walked beside them or behind them.
Entreri couldn’t help but smile slightly whenever the hushed whispers commenced in his wake—the more experienced rogues telling the newcomers that the king had returned. Entreri never let the legend of his reputation—no matter how well earned—interfere with the constant state of readiness that had kept him alive through the years. In the streets, a reputation of power only marked a man as a target for ambitious second-rates seeking reputations of their own.
Thus, Entreri’s first task in the city, outside of his responsibilities to Pasha Pook, was to re-establish the network of informants and associates that entrenched him in his station. He already had an important job for one of them, with Drizzt and company fast approaching, and he knew which one.
“I had heard you were back,” squeaked a diminutive chap appearing as a human boy not yet into adolescence when Entreri ducked and entered his abode. “I guess most have.”
Entreri took the compliment with a nod. “What has changed, my halfling friend?”
“Little,” replied Dondon, “and lots.” He moved to the table in the darkest corner of his small quarters, the side room, facing the ally, in a cheap inn called the Coiled Snake. “The rules of the street do not change, but the players do.” Dondon looked up from the table’s unlit lamp to catch Entreri’s eyes with his own.