Grozier snorted. "That's easy for you to say," he replied dryly, still pacing. "Your role in all of this has been carefully cleansed so no taint is visible. Underlings stepping beyond their bounds, business associates blundering without your knowledge. The whole city isn't clamoring for your head on a pike right now."
"You're fortunate your head is not already on a pike," the priest scolded, folding his fingers in his lap. "You could still be locked in the cells at the bottom of the temple. At least here, you are safe and untouchable. You have doubled the guards, as I suggested?"
Grozier waved the question away impatiently. "Yes, yes, the estate is safe. No one is going to slip onto the grounds without being seen. And Bartimus here has even established some magical alarms to inform us if someone tries anything more subtle."
"Then all you need to do is be patient until the furor dies down. None of the other Houses in the city truly care what you have done. They only cry for justice to keep attention away from their own dealings, equally questionable operations that should not suffer the harsh glare of public scrutiny. You're simply the news at the moment, nothing more."
"I suppose you're right," Grozier said at last, slumping down into his chair once again. "But it burns me nonetheless. I do not take well to humiliation. House Matrell needs to feel a little of that for a change."
"And they will; I assure you," Grand Trabbar Lavant said, leaning forward and placing a hand upon his ally's arm. "They will have their due. We will make sure of it."
"But how?" Grozier asked, looking disgusted once more. "Hetta's brood seems to have nothing better to do than to attempt to spy on us and everything we have in motion. And I cannot believe that Kovrim Lazelle hasn't proven to be more of a thorn in your side."
"Do not worry about Kovrim, or Vambran," Lavant said coldly. "I already have signed the orders to have them both shipped on a mercy mission to a sister temple in Cimbar. With Kovrim away on campaign, he can't snoop around in my affairs. Once Mestel's 'friends' deal with the two of them, they won't be a problem any longer."
"Good," Grozier said, though he still sounded grumpy to Bartimus.
"You will also be glad to know that my latest divinations seem to confirm what I foresaw the last time we spoke. Everything is falling into place for even more support for our cause."
"Truly?" Grozier asked, an eager gleam appearing in his eyes. "And you have the backing in the temple to take advantage of it?"
"I believe so," Lavant replied. "We will know soon enough. In the meantime, we must get a better handle on what House Matrell is up to if we hope to take advantage of any weaknesses. Divide and conquer is our motto, but even with Vambran and Kovrim out of the way, Hetta and her gaggle of women can still be a problem. We need someone on the inside to convey information back to us on what, exactly, they are planning, so we can mete out suitable counter-strokes."
Grozier began to nod even before the priest was finished. "Yes, I have been thinking about that. I think I know just who will help us."
"I thought that might be your answer. Will she cooperate?"
"Oh, yes. I'll insist on it." Grozier answered, smiling for the first time all evening.
Darvin Blackcrown stared down at the lights of the city from his perch atop the vine-covered walls of Academia Vilhonus in the Governor's District. From such a vantage point atop the bardic college's main library, he could observe much of the lower city, all the way to the docks, as well as the Generon to the north. In contrast, Darvin's own hiding spot was deep within the shadows of two eaves of an upper floor of the building. No one would think to look up from the library grounds some forty feet below, but even if one did, one would see nothing but shadows.
It was Darvin's favorite retreat, that spot atop the library, and he rested there against the steeply sloped roof, content. He kept his feet braced against a crumbling chimney and reclined against the tiles-still warm from the sun despite the nighttime hour-just staring down at the city. No one could bother him there.
Are you alone? came a voice in Darvin's head.
So much for not being bothered, the man thought wryly.
Yes, he replied, glancing over at the Generon for a moment.
You haven't visited in several days, the voice said, a hint of irritation present.
Darvin sighed but tried to keep his own irritation out of his thoughts. I've been busy, he responded. Too many people looking for me.
Do the others suspect anything?
No, Darvin answered. Talricci still trusts me. He has no idea.
Good. The voice was silent for a few moments. Are their plans still moving forward?
As far as I know, Darvin replied. They went to meet with the Pharaboldis tonight, trying to convince the woman to help them.
Excellent, the voice said, and pleasure radiated through the mental connection. And how are you staying useful to him? How are you making sure he needs to keep you around?
Darvin nearly laughed out loud. Don't worry about that, he replied. Keeping the Matrell family off his back is work enough. I'm making myself very useful.
All right, the voice replied. Stay close, but don't let him suspect. I need to know if there are any more snags.
Have I let you down, yet? Darvin asked, feeling a little put out at being tutored like a schoolboy. Don't worry; Lavant is keeping things right on schedule. And he knows I report it all back to you.
He'd better. This will all fall down on his head if it doesn't work.
Darvin shrugged. If you say so. Is there anything else?
No. Just don't be a stranger.
Darvin smiled. I sort of thought you wanted to keep your involvement with this a secret.
I do.
Then trust me to stay away when there's a chance someone might follow me.
All right. I'll check with you again in a few days.
Fine, Darvin replied, but the mental connection was already gone. Darvin sighed and glanced back over at the Generon again.
Then the man the rest of the world knew as Junce Roundface settled his head back onto his interlaced fingers and began once more to watch the city below.
CHAPTER 2
10 Mirtul, 1373 DR
Mulled wine sprayed over Xaphira Matrell as a hurled mug shattered against the wall just behind her, but the woman ignored it. Even the slightest distraction would likely earn her a split lip or black eye. The hulking dock worker who had cornered her needed little excuse to take a swing, and from the size of him-he was easily a head taller than she-any punch that connected would definitely leave a mark. As it was, the bald fellow was grinning stupidly, flashing a smile that showed several missing teeth. He had both meaty fists up and clenched, eager to fight. He seemed oblivious to the rest of the tavern brawl raging behind him. Xaphira eyed the brute warily, balanced on the balls of her feet, watching for that first sign, that first flicker of flexing muscle, that signified an attack.
It had been about a dozen years since Xaphira had last visited The Silver Fish, and the rathrur hadn't changed much in all that time. It still stank to high heaven, the drink was still watered down, and brawls were still a regular occurrence. For a moment, the mercenary officer wondered if even the patrons were the same since the last time she had paid a call to the place.