“But the library is battened down as tight as a Mrorian iron vault!”
“I know. It’s been very frustrating. But I think finding a way in is no longer necessary. I think they—the gnome and his friends—I think they stole the notes from the library last night.”
“Do you mean the instructions on how to use that relic you took?”
“Precisely,” said the Fox. Her face paled, and she laid herself back down gingerly. She drew and exhaled a trembling breath. “Now we don’t need to break into the Congress Library,” she continued. “Thank the Host, too, because there’s no chance on Eberron that I’d be able to do it, not with these stitches in my hindquarters and that poison in my blood.”
Dyen reached out one hand and pulled a stray strand of hair away from Fox’s face. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“I’m as well as can be. The time for antidotes is long past, friends, and the treasury was utterly depleted by our trips to Breland and Aundair. I’ll weather this storm, but it will be a while.”
“So what can we do?”
“There are three of them,” answered Fox, “staying at the boardinghouse on Fletcher Square, two blocks and a half from the Phiarlander Phaire. A human named Teron, a gnome named Praxle, and a half-orc named Jeffers.”
“How’d you get all that?”
“I followed them to the lodge. The names came from Squints at the Phaire. Now shut up and let me talk.” She paused to marshal her thoughts. “Second floor. I don’t know their room. Find out exactly where they’re staying. Squints said they’ve been eating at the Phaire, so break into their rooms when they’re dining. Do it after dark, just in case you get caught. Bring one or two of the mages, and look for anything that seems arcane and take it. Are we clear on this?”
“Yes, Fox,” the Cyrans said in unison.
“Good. Because now I want you both to leave,” she mumbled as she turned her head away. “I’ll kill anyone who disturbs me for any reason, I’m going to sleep to morning.”
By the time the two visitors left the room, the Fox’s breathing was deep and even.
Squints looked up as seven people entered the Phaire. Each carried a weapon—sheathed, thankfully—and several wore light armor. They entered with purpose, striding boldly in, not sauntering like regulars or hesitantly entering like those unfamiliar with the establishment.
They moved immediately for the serving counter, where Squints stood. He subtly grabbed the haft of the brutal spiked mace he kept behind the counter as insurance against bandits and the like.
“You must be Squints,” said their leader, holding out one hand. “My name is Dyen. I hear you have some visitors frequenting this establishment.”
“This is an inn,” he said. “I get visitors.”
“I’m sorry,” said Dyen. He leaned closer, accidentally revealing the chainmail he wore beneath his tunic. “The Fox sent me.”
At the mention of her name, the look in Squints’ one eye eased considerably, and he gently set the mace back to its resting place.
“We’re after a group of three: a human, a gnome, and a half-orc.”
“I know them,” said Squints.
“Great! We hear they’re renting a room just down the street; do you happen to know which room is theirs?”
“No, I don’t,” said Squints. “But Kelcie over there, she helped them get back to their room the other day. She knows.”
One of the Cyrans clawed his hand, and arcane power arced from fingertip to fingertip. “Let’s go find out, shall we?”
Squints snapped his hand out and grabbed the mage’s wrist. He leaned forward, his one eye flaring menacingly. “Don’t none of you lay a hand on her,” he demanded. “Do you hear?”
“Easy, Squints,” said Dyen. “Just talk. Nothing else.”
The magician rounded on Dyen, “Just talk? Is that all we do? Talk and wait? No! We find out where they are and we do this now!”
Dyen held up his hands placatingly. “Easy, Rezam. First things first. We can’t do anything until we know which room is theirs.” He glanced over to Squints, who gave him a meaningful glare. He nodded. “So you all just let me go and ask her, right?”
Dyen walked across the mostly empty dining room to the young woman. “Excuse me,” he said, “your name is Kelcie, right?”
She nodded, pulling her hair behind one ear. “Please, have a seat,” she said. “What can I bring for you?”
“I just need some answers,” he said, placing a sovereign next to the dirty flatware on her tray. “Are you acquainted with a threesome visiting the city, I believe them named Teron, Jeffers, and Praxle?”
She narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “Why?”
He dropped his head for a moment, then looked back up. “It’s embarrassing to say, but they have something of mine, and I intend to recover it before they exit the city.”
“You?” Kelcie chuckled. “I sure hope you have a lot of friends.” She turned away and headed for another dirty table. Without looking back, she added, “You’re going to need them.”
Teron finished stretching with a satisfied sigh. He stood, walked over to the nightstand, and splashed his face with some water from the tarnished copper bowl, then ran his wet hands through his short-cropped hair.
He went back over to his bed and carefully picked up his vest. “It’s closing on sundown,” he said, “do either of you want to get yourselves something to eat before we go?”
“I’m too excited,” said Praxle. “I can’t eat. And neither can you, Jeffers.” He paused to giggle. “Oh, to be this close, after all this time. I can feel the power!”
“What do you mean?” asked Teron pointedly, as he adjusted the waistband of his trousers and then pulled on his vest.
“Excuse me?”
“Power?”
Praxle walked over to Teron. “Do you have any idea what sort of power this will give me among my people, to recover this artifact? Right now I report to the doyen of the College of History and Archaeology. Next week, she’ll be reporting to me! And that’s just the beginning!”
“We may be working together,” said Teron cautiously, “but we haven’t yet settled the ultimate fate of the Sphere.”
“Ah, but I am sure we will,” said Praxle, “You’re reasonable. Especially when you understand the Orb of Xoriat better, you’ll be perfectly agreeable, I’m sure. For that matter, we can share.”
Teron raised his eyebrows. He started to say something, but Praxle cut him off. “Pack it all, Jeffers,” he said. “Don’t leave anything. I want to be out of this town as soon as we have it back in our possession.”
“That’s wise,” said Teron, “I was thinking much the same. Shall we leave by land or sea?”
“I arranged for a private carriage on the midnight run of the lightning rail,” said Praxle with a touch of a gloat. “Jeffers, see to it that the staff here knows to deliver our bags to the rail tonight.”
Teron was taken aback. “And here I thought you didn’t have much coin,” he said.
Praxle shrugged. “I didn’t, especially alter evading your friend the prelate,” he explained. “But I was able to draw from the University and House Sivis accounts. It gave me some needed funds to shop for essentials. Like this.” He picked up a long dagger from the dresser, flipped it in his hand, and slipped it into its sheath. “I rather like it. Creation and destruction, and a nice balanced blade, to boot. Noisy, though.”
Teron shrugged noncommittally.