"Kupfer and I," Hoffman continued, "hatched a plan that when one of us died, the other would sneak into the cell, and trade places with him in the sack, on the off chance that there was a chance of surviving the underground trip out to sea."
"Was Kupfer a dwarf too?" Rassendyll asked, intrigued by the plan.
"No," Hoffman answered, his voice hardly a whisper, "he was a firbolg."
"Don't you think they would have noticed the difference in the size and weight?"
"Not with this, they wouldn't," the dwarf explained holding out a charm. "Don't touch it. I'm not too sure how long it will last in close contact with that mask of yours. It transmits an aura of disguise so that, for a limited amount of time, the guards will believe that the burden they are carrying is actually the mass of the previous bearer of the charm."
The dwarf carefully placed it back in the pouch beneath his beard, making sure that the young used-to-be mage-in-training saw exactly where he kept it.
"Now quickly return from whence you came," Hoffman instructed, "and just let old abbe Hoffman die in peace. I am old and it is about time. When you hear the bell, wait for the dinner service to begin, and then hightail it on over here. Drag my body back to your cell, being sure to place it in the darkest corner possible. We only have to be able to trick the watch once. Then take my place in the sack, and go with Dumathoin, my son. Perhaps you will be able to find someone who can remove that coal bucket from your head."
Rassendyll was saddened by the weakening condition of his newfound friend.
"Maybe you're being a bit premature about this whole thing," he offered.
The dwarf shook his head slightly.
"Nope," Hoffman replied, starting another frightful coughing fit. "Afraid not. I'll be gone by dinner, and with any luck you'll be gone not too much later."
"Why should I benefit from your death?" a tearful Rassendyll asked.
"Because it would be a darn no good waste of a near perfect escape plan, that's why," Hoffman replied. "Now back to your cell, and let me die in peace."
Rassendyll returned to his cell to meditate on the opportunity that had been presented to him. His thoughts were soon interrupted by the clear tolling of a bell.
It tolls for he, Rassendyll thought to himself, and he steeled himself for the hours ahead.
As Hoffman had indicated, the evening meal came like clockwork, and as soon as he heard the guards move on, he set his plate to the side, and shimmied back down the tunnel.
Hoffman's body had already been placed in the sack, a weight carefully attached to its end.
Carefully, the masked prisoner removed the body of the dwarf from its low-budget shroud, being sure to remove the charm from around its neck. He then pushed the corpse of his recently acquired friend back through the tunnel and up into his cell where he placed it, as instructed, in the shadow-most corner. He then placed his plate back outside of the door, and raced back down the tunnel, pulling the blocking rock back into place behind him, and rushed at breakneck speed back to Hoffman's cell hoping that he would be able to beat the guards there, be disguised by the powers of the old dwarf's charm, deceive the guards, and survive the trip downstream and out to sea.
He realized that all of the odds were long, but knew that the gamble would be worth it because it was the only game in town and he was no longer content to just wait for death.
No sooner did he cinch the sack shut from the inside, than Rassendyll heard the lock to the door of the cell being opened, and two guards coming inside. Rassendyll clutched Hoffman's charm to his bosom, desperately trying to keep it from making contact with the magic-leeching iron mask. Please work long enough to get me out of here, he prayed.
With a heave-ho one of the guards hoisted the burial sack over his shoulder, magically unaware of its newly added bulk.
"Good riddance," said the guard who opened the doors for his corpse-laden associate. "That's one less prisoner to keep an eye on."
"And one less dwarf to blight Mulmaster," the other added, as they ventured further into the keep's bowels, toward the entrance to the sewer.
Rassendyll could smell the stench of sewage getting closer when he heard the guard who was carrying him complain: "Gee, I must be out of shape. This dwarf is getting awfully heavy."
Rassendyll prayed that the spell would last just a little while longer.
The guard stopped for a moment, and the masked prisoner expected to have his presence revealed at any moment.
One guard opened a trap, releasing an aromatic draught of sewage stench. The other guard shifted the weight of his burden and carefully, so as not to entangle himself in the shroud's downward descent, dropped what he thought to be the corpse-filled sack down into the sewer below.
Before the sack made its splash in the water below, Rassendyll thought he heard an alarm sound in the chambers above. His disappearance had been discovered, but he was already on his way down the drain and out to sea.
5
"Your majesty," the ambassador said in urgent hushed tones, momentarily forgetting the breaches of protocol that he had just committed.
"Silence, worm!" the First Princess of Thay ordered. "My husband is on his way. My spy in the Tower of the Blades believes that he intends on confronting me with evidence of our conspiracy."
"But your majesty-"
"Silence! Do you wish to join the ranks of your predecessors? Don't try my patience! I must concentrate before he gets here. It will require all of my feminine wiles to distract him."
"The prisoner escaped!" the ambassador blurted out, just as the Tharchioness's backhand made contact with his doughy cheek.
"What did you say?" she asked, her hand poised to strike again.
"My spy in Southroad Keep just informed me that all havoc has broken out due to the escape of a certain prisoner. Two guards have already been executed for gross incompetence."
"Have they recovered the prisoner yet?"
"Not according to my sources, your highness," the ambassador answered, his head still ringing from the last blow.
"Is there anything else I should know, worm?"
"Only that the last words of the executed guards were that they were sure he was dead-drowned, or something."
"Did they find the body?"
"No," the ambassador answered cautiously. "They believe it was washed out to sea."
The Tharchioness stroked her own brow seductively.
Well, this does change things, she thought. No body, no evidence. No evidence, no conspiracy. It would appear that my dear husband has snatched a stalemate out of the jaws of victory. I will have to comfort the dear lad.
The Tharchioness let loose a fiendish laugh, and continued to apply her makeup. The ambassador took the opportunity of his mistress's distraction to escape from her boudoir with his life in hope that she had already forgotten his several infractions of protocol.
Once in the safety of the public hallway, the ambassador breathed a sigh of relief at having cheated death yet again.
In the Courtyard Between the Towers of the Blade and the Wyvern:
"What do you mean he's gone?" the High Blade demanded.
"We believe him to be dead, sire," Rickman explained. "My experts believe that the sheer weight of the iron mask would have made it quite impossible for him to swim, and that he would undoubtedly have drowned before he even reached the open sea."
"How can we be sure?" Selfaril demanded.
"We can't, sire," the Hawk captain conceded. "The men responsible for this severe foul-up have already been executed."
"That is not good enough," the High Blade blustered. "Your Hawks have been slipping. First, they could not hold onto a possible witness to our plans, even though you yourself thought him to be nothing but an itinerant thespian. Now, they have allowed the prisoner to escape."