The pair trotted slowly around to another wing of the estate, where Denrick hopped down and strolled inside a back door, which led into the kitchens. Emriana remained mounted, studying the door into which her riding partner had disappeared, suddenly ill at ease. Something was troubling her, something she needed to remember. She couldn't put her finger on it, but whatever it was, her stomach was roiling with nervous energy.
Denrick returned, followed by a kitchen maid carrying a large basket. One look at the woman in her simple dress and flour- and soot-covered apron made Emriana remember, and she nearly fell off Goldy in her alarm.
The woman who had been killed the night before had worked in the Pharaboldi kitchens.
CHAPTER FIVE
The rest of the morning went as smoothly as Vambran and Kovrim had hoped. He and his uncle spent it in the older priest's office, going through the manifests of the cargo that had been offloaded from Lady's Favor, cataloging it and reconciling it against the coffers of coin and goods that had been shipped out two months previous.
Standing watch over trade goods as they were shipped from one port to the next was certainly the least glamorous aspect of the life of a mercenary officer, but sometimes, no one needed the services of a professional fighting force, and when that happened the temple found other uses for its private army. Ensuring the safe transfer of cargo and funds in foreign lands-especially in places where the dealings didn't always go as smoothly as the priests wished-occasionally fell on a division or two of the Sapphire Crescent, as did sorting and cataloging the goods afterward.
At last, Vambran and Kovrim finished their work. Goods had been sold, other goods bought, and after the ship's crew and the men of Vambran's company had been paid, the temple would turn a good profit, which would be plied into new goods to be shipped out again, starting the process all over.
By the time the two men were done reconciling the records, the sun was sitting high over the harbor, and the day was hot and muggy. Kovrim set his quill down, closed the leather-bound ledger, slid his chair back, and rubbed at his eyes.
"Another good trip, indeed," he said. "So let's go celebrate with a meal at Dark She Looks Upon Me," he added. "My treat."
Vambran grinned broadly at the mention of one of his favorite aszraun in Arrabar. He quickly agreed, thinking fondly of the roasted beef and lamb talthaek he always ordered at that particular restaurant. Remembering how the rich, creamy brown sauce literally dripped out of the meat pie made his mouth water.
Kovrim and Vambran made their way from the temple and into the mercantile district on foot, chatting about the events of the Sapphire Crescent's excursion, the family, and politics in the city as they strolled.
Inside the aszraun, the crowds were already growing large, but a couple of Kovrim's coins in the right hands quickly got the pair of men ushered into a private dining alcove where they could enjoy their meal comfortably. The scents of the food at several tables made Vambran's stomach rumble as he sat down opposite his uncle. After ordering their meals, Vambran excused himself and made his way to the rear of the restaurant to visit the jakes.
The privy was a long, narrow room with several private alcoves in a row near the back entrance of Dark She Looks Upon Me. Vambran strolled toward the doorway of the jakes and was nearly knocked aside by a young boy of perhaps nine years who rushed past him and out the back door, into the yard.
Vambran at first turned back toward the dining room of the establishment, thinking that someone was perhaps chasing the lad, but even as he pivoted, realization set in. The scoundrel had grabbed at Vambran's coin purse on his way past. Groaning in disgust, Vambran quickly reached down and felt inside the inner pocket where he kept the leather pouch and discovered it was missing.
"Damnation!" he snarled, spinning back to pursue the thief.
The lieutenant charged past the entrance to the jakes and dashed out into the yard, where a number of wagons were parked. The entire yard was enclosed by the backs of other buildings, making it a completely private area, with the only other means of egress being a large wooden gate off to Vambran's right. At the moment, the portal was shut. Of the boy, Vambran could see no sign.
Stepping quickly out into the middle of the yard, Vambran peered desperately in every direction, trying first to spot some place where the thief could have scrambled up and over a wall, or through a doorway or window, but no escape route was immediately apparent. Rolling his eyes, the lieutenant began to move among the wagons, checking to see if the lad had simply slipped into a hiding place of some sort or another.
"Don't you just hate it when they do that?" came a voice from high up and slightly behind Vambran.
He spun around and peered warily up to the top of a low roof, where a comely woman with close-cropped hair the color of wheat lounged casually on one elbow, smiling at him. She was dressed in a loose, billowy shirt of fine white linen, over which she wore a magenta vest. Both the vest and the shirt were unlaced to midway down her belly, exposing ample cleavage as she leaned forward to return Vambran's gaze. Her shapely legs nicely filled a pair of snug-fitting purple breeches and were tucked underneath her rump.
"You saw the boy?" Vambran said, giving the woman a hard stare. "Which way did he go?"
"Nowhere," the woman replied, shifting her weight and rolling up onto her knees, all the while smiling broadly down at him. "He just disappeared."
"You're quite the jokester," Vambran said icily, turning so that he could watch the doorway back into Dark She Looks Upon Me, in case the boy tried to dart back inside from his hiding place.
Motion caught the lieutenant's eye, but instead of the thief running inside, Vambran spied two figures emerge from inside the aszraun. They didn't look friendly, and they were staring right at him. The first was a short, wiry fellow with long, greasy hair tied back with a strip of leather. He twirled a pair of long-bladed daggers in his hands. The second was a big, hairy man, his face mostly hidden behind a thick, bushy beard and mustache. He repeatedly smacked the steel head of a wicked-looking cudgel into the open palm of his free hand. They both stepped out into the yard and stopped a few paces in, grinning malevolently.
Oh, terrific, Vambran lamented. I walked right into it.
"What's this about?" he said, turning his gaze back to the woman on the roof and cocking his head to one side in accusation. "You already got my coin pouch."
He began to eye the yard, looking for the best place to defend himself.
"Oh, it's not your gold we're after, mercenary," the lovely blonde said, rising to her feet and slipping a hand into her vest pocket. "But your day is definitely taking a turn for the worse."
She pulled her fist free and tossed a handful of something small, like tiny reddish-brown seeds, into her mouth.
Vambran wasted no more time sizing up his opponents. He took several steps backward, away from the woman, drawing his sword free and turning so that his back was against a wall and he could see all three of his foes clearly.
The woman stepped to the edge of the roof and tilted her head back, then thrust it forward again, as though she was going to spit. Instead of the tiny seeds, though, a gushing spray of liquid spewed forth from her mouth, thousands of tiny droplets glinting in the noonday sun like a shower of rain. The burst of spray fanned out and cascaded over Vambran even as far away as he stood, fully five paces away from his attacker.
The lieutenant yelped and turned away from the fountain of liquid, raising his free arm up to protect his face.
The droplets showered over him, instantly sizzling on skin and clothing alike as they soaked him down. Vambran let out a scream of pain and staggered away from the spray, feeling acid burning him from head to toe. He nearly dropped his sword as his skin erupted in numerous blisters, red and swollen. He fell to one knee, swiping at his body futilely, trying to get the source of his agony off of him. He thought he was going to retch.