“Nothing, please. I would like to speak with Bronwyn. I might have a commission for her.”
The gnome’s eyes cooled just a little. “She isn’t available, I’m afraid. Would you like to leave a name and word of where she can contact you?”
“I will return. Perhaps tomorrow?”
“After highsun,” the gnome said quickly. “That is the best time.”
He thanked her and left, not believing a word of it. Remembering the friendly half-elf seamstress—and reconsidering the possible importance of that small pink gown— he retraced his steps to the dress shop and struck up a conversation.
The woman was quickly charmed and soon was chatting easily. “Yes, spring is late to come this year. The markets are just starting to open, and folk from here and beyond coming into the city....”
“Quite an influx of paladins, I notice,” he said casually. “I rode past the Halls of Justice this morning. Such a racket they made, with their endless bashing away at each other.”
She made a face. “Let them keep at it, and leave the rest of us alone. One was around the other day.” She glanced down at the pink silk, which she had fisted in both hands. She smoothed out the wrinkles and seemed to reconsider saying more.
But Dag had already learned quite a bit. He leaned closer to the woman. “Perhaps you can help me. If I were to need a special gift for a lady, something different and rare, where should I go?”
“Oh, to Bronwyn’s shop, of course. The Curious Past.” Her face fell slightly. “You have a lady who requires a special gift?”
“My mother,” he lied smoothiy. The woman brightened again. So predictable, he noted with a touch of scorn. No wonder he found so little time to waste on women.
But this one had been useful. The half-elf knew his sister well. She was working on the little gown with quick, neat stitches, not even putting aside her work for their flirtation. She expected to deliver the dress soon. It would seem that the child would soon return, and Bronwyn as well.
Dag spoke with the half-elf for a few more minutes, making an appointment to meet later in a certain discretely lit tavern—an appointment he had no intention of keeping.
It was a small cruelty, but satisfying. And more important, it served a purpose. If the half-elf wench thought herself jilted, she was less likely to speak of her embarrassment and the man who had caused it.
Dag promptly forgot the half-elf as soon as he left her shop. He had more important things to tend. Somewhere in this city was a paladin who called himself Algorind. Before the day was through, Dag intended to roast the paladin’s heart over purple fire.
* * * * *
Bronwyn returned to her shop with her linen shopping sack laden with treats. She’d left Cara sleeping and intended to have a special breakfast of pastries, fruit, and lemon tea ready for her, but the look on Alice’s face stole such pleasant thoughts from her mind.
“A man came by just a bit ago,” the gnome said tersely. “He was about your height and small enough to balance you in a scale. He had black hair, dipping here,” she said, tapping at the center of her forehead.
The contents of Bronwyn’s sack spilled unheeded to the floor. That was the one detail Cara had been able to give them about her father. “Just like Cara said,” she muttered.
“Just like.”
“Did you tell him Cara was here?”
Alice looked insulted. “What do you take me for—a kobold? He didn’t ask, nor would I have told him. It was you he wanted. A commission, he said.”
Bronwyn stooped to gather up the fallen groceries. She picked up a lemon and dropped it into the sack. “One more thing. Did he wear purple?”
“Purple and black,” Alice confirmed. “Why?”
Bronwyn just shook her head, for her throat was too tight for her to form an answer.
“Child, it’s time,” the gnome said. “If that was the girl’s father, you’ll have to turn her over. Cara would be the first to insist.”
“I know,” Bronwyn said, but she meant nothing of the sort. Never before had she felt less sure of anything. Before she could decide what to do with the little girl, she needed to find some answers. It was time to face down Khelben Arunsun, and test her ability to hold to her own path against the Master Harper’s powerful will and subtle manipulations.
Thirteen
As it turned out, Bronwyn did not have to seek out Khelben Arunsun. He came to her.
The street outside of her shop was always alive with a pleasant clamor during the day and well into the evening. So the sudden lull in this bustle held a portent that few warning horns could match.
Bronwyn peered out the window and understood at once. Lord Arunsun and his lady, the mage Laeral Silverhand, strolled arm in arm down the street, stopping at shops to admire this or that trinket. This was far from a common sight, but Bronwyn suspected that this visit was for her benefit and that the other stops were visited so that she would not seemed to be singled out.
At that moment one of Ellimir’s helpers came running out, a bolt of cloth-of-silver in her arms. She held up a length of it to show that it was of near color to Lady Laeral’s hair. The two women haggled pleasantly for a few moments. Bronwyn watched, troubled by something but not quite able to pinpoint her concern. Then the young seamstress turned, and Bronwyn noted the heavy kohl that lined her eyes, the smudge of henna still on her cheeks.
So that was why the three-copper courtesan in the alley had looked so familiar, Bronwyn thought grimly. She was willing to bet good gold coin that this shop assistant was one of Danilo’s Harpers.
That flustered and angered her. She drew back from the window and busied herself with some rare volumes as she collected her thoughts.
The bell over the door rang too soon for her comfort. The archmage and his lady were met at the door by Alice Tinker. Bronwyn had to admire the gnome’s performance. Alice’s response was perfect. She seemed overawed by the presence of two of the city’s most powerful magi, and so eager to please that she resembled a puppy who regretted she had but one tail to wag. Anyone who witnessed the gnome’s performance would have a difficult time believing that she had been a Harper informer for many years. Since Alice’s admission, she had spoken freely to Bronwyn of her past. It was difficult to equate the motherly gnome with the fierce fighter she once had been, but Bronwyn could see how that very dichotomy would make Alice a more effective Harper agent.
Khelben looked somewhat bemused by the presence of a child in the shop. Bronwyn noted how his eyes followed Cara, but his countenance was too difficult for Bronwyn to read. She studied Cara herself and tried to imagine what the archmage saw. Cara was a small girl, exceedingly thin, and brown as a wren. Half-elf, that was obvious, but except for her delicate frame and the slight point to her ears, she looked more human than elf. Did the archmage also note that the girl followed Bronwyn like a second shadow? That, like her apparent mentor, the child had an eye for rare and pretty objects? Following Alice’s lead, Cara brought choice baubles to show Laeral. Soon she was giggling and chattering, utterly charming the lady mage.
Khelben was not long content to stand to one side and watch the womenfolk exclaim over trinkets. Bronwyn caught his eye as she bent to hold a hand mirror so that Laeral could admire the effect of a necklace of rosy pearls.
She put the mirror into Alice’s hand and straightened. “Can I show you anything, my lord?”
“Old tomes, perhaps? I see none about, but perhaps you have some that are not on display?”
Bronwyn took the hint and led him into the back room. He waited until she had lit a small oil lamp and shut the door. “You no doubt have many questions about your past,” he said without preamble. “I believe I have the answers you seek. Or at least, I can tell you where they might be found.”