Vraggen said, "Let's go," and started across the street.
As they wove their way through the thick crowd, Azriim flipped a copper penny up to a fat apple vendor sitting on the driver's bench of his cart and plucked a green sour from the back. The vendor gave a nod and the copper vanished.
Alkenen saw them coming and must have sensed their intent. Perhaps he thought them guildsmen looking to chase him off. As they approached, he rose from his stool and tried to hobble into the safety of his cart. Dolgan and Azriim darted forward, intercepted him, and boxed him in against the side of the cart, near the driver's bench. Alkenen's draft horse, a road worn gray nag, idly chewed at a quarter-bale of straw set near it.
Wide-eyed and breathing fast, Alkenen swayed on his uneven legs. To maintain his balance, he steadied himself with one hand against the cart.
He looked fearfully at Azriim and Dolgan and asked, "What's this now? I'm an honest businessman. I'll summon the Scepters if need be."
He made wet sounds when he spoke, as though speaking caused his mouth to fill with too much spit.
Azriim took a loud bite of his apple, glared at the peddler, and said nothing. Dolgan took a step nearer Alkenen, fairly blotting out the sun. The peddler sank back and tried to meld with the wood of his cart.
Vraggen, ignoring the peddler for the moment, walked up and surveyed the peddler's goods, looking for the globe.
"What's this about?" Alkenen asked again, his voice quaking.
"Shut up," Dolgan said, in his deep, threatening voice. Alkenen did exactly that.
Vraggen looked carefully at each of the shelves in turn, but did not see the globe. He saw only the mundane wares of a mundane man, with the occasional item of modest value hidden in the mix—something Alkenen had fenced from a petty thief while in Cormyr, no doubt. Here a jade dragon figurine brought from the east, there a tarnished silver serving set lifted from a noble's manse.
"What is it that the sirs require?" the peddler asked, hopping awkwardly on his deformed leg and warily eyeing Dolgan. "Alkenen has wares of every sort." He nodded at Azriim. "Even clothes for the sir, who is obviously discerning."
Azriim took another chomp of the green sour and eyed the peddler darkly. After he swallowed, he said, "You'd have to pay me to wear your common trash, fool. You've been told to keep your mouth shut, so do so. And don't refer to yourself in the third person. It annoys me."
Dolgan smirked, though Vraggen doubted the Cormyrean knew what "third person" even meant.
Obviously discomfited, Alkenen swallowed whatever reply he had thought to make. The sucking sounds continued nevertheless.
After a time, the peddler asked in a very small voice, "Are you guildsmen?"
Vraggen snatched the jade dragon figurine from the shelf and turned from the wares.
"No," he said, trying to keep the distaste from his expression. Vraggen approached the wretch. "My name is Vraggen, and we are not working for any guild. What we require of you is a particular item. Failing that, we require information regarding its whereabouts. Provide us with that, and we can all be friends."
He held out the jade figurine, and Alkenen took it, eyes wide.
Vraggen indicated Dolgan and Azriim with his eyes then winked conspiratorially at Alkenen and said, "These are good men to have as friends, peddler. As am I."
He did not need to say that they were bad men to have as enemies. Alkenen understood.
"No doubt," Alkenen said, managing an uncomfortable smile. The dragon figurine vanished into the pocket of his trousers. "What item do you seek?"
Vraggen gave a satisfied smile and backed off a step.
"First things, first."
He nodded to Azriim and Dolgan and they seized Alkenen by the arms. Alarmed, Alkenen began to struggle against their grip; a feeble attempt.
"W-wait," he sputtered, spraying spit. "No!"
Vraggen began to incant a spell that would cause Alkenen to believe that Vraggen was a trusted friend, a trusted friend to whom he would not lie or tell half-truths.
It took only a moment to tap the Shadow Weave and complete the spell. When he finished, an immediate change came over Alkenen. He blinked and shook his head in confusion. Perplexed, he looked at Azriim and Dolgan, who still held him by the arms.
"Vraggen, what's going on? Call off the muscle, eh?"
Vraggen smiled as sincerely as he could manage and said, "Of course, old friend. My apologies." He looked pointedly at Azriim and Dolgan. He could not resist. "These two are thick, and often misunderstand my directives."
Azriim swallowed whatever comment he might have made, but his glare bored holes into Vraggen.
"Release him," Vraggen commanded, and they did.
Azriim bit into his apple, still staring. Vraggen ignored him and put an arm around Alkenen.
"Now, old friend. The item I'm looking for is a translucent globe of quartz, grayish in color. About so big, with many small gemstones inset. You would've purchased this item from a bearded warrior, a member of an adventuring company out of Cormyr who called themselves the Band of the Broken Bow."
Alkenen rubbed his scruffy beard and said, "I remember that warrior. A few months ago, right? Big fellow, lots of weapons, but needed hard coin. A drinker, I think. Sold that globe to me on the cheap."
"That's precisely the item," Vraggen said, and tried to keep the intensity out of his voice. "Where is the globe now? It's very valuable to me and I will pay you handsomely for it."
Alkenen sucked in some renegade spit dribbling down his chin and answered, "Sold it. If I'd a known you—"
Vraggen grabbed the peddler by the shirt and slammed him against the cart.
"Sold it! Sold it? To whom?"
Vraggen could hear the mockery in Azriim's voice when he said, "Do attempt to control yourself, Vraggen. I know I'm 'thick,' but isn't he your old friend?"
Vraggen shot Azriim an angry stare. The half-drow merely chewed his apple and smiled. Vraggen turned back to Alkenen. The peddler was wide-eyed and too stunned to breathe. Even the sucking sounds had ceased, and a stream of spit dribbled from the side of his open mouth. Vraggen came back to himself.
He released the peddler, patted him on the shoulders, and said, "Forgive me ... friend. I'm not myself." He took a deep breath. "Do you remember to whom you sold it?"
Alkenen smiled at that, a mouthful of stained teeth.
"Of course," said the peddler. "As I was saying, I put it together with some other unusual items I had obtained and sold the whole lot to the old man Uskevren. Walked by with his butler, he did. Took an immediate liking to that globe and an orrery. Bought the whole lot of items on the spot." Alkenen grinned and added, "I told him it came from Evermeet."
Vraggen breathed the name, "Uskevren."
He knew of the family, of course. Everyone with any familiarity with Selgaunt did. He also knew that Thamalon Uskevren had died recently—that news was the talk of the taverns—but something else itched at the back of his brain. Someone in the Zhentarim had once had ties to the Uskevren ...
"Drasek Riven," he said softly, and frowned.
"Who?" Alkenen asked.
Vraggen ignored him. Riven, one of the Network's top operatives in Selgaunt, had once had cause to surveil the Uskevren manse, but Vraggen couldn't remember why.
The answer came to him then, all in a rush.
Because Riven had tried for years to get the Zhents to put down the Uskevren butler, who had been a member of the now defunct Night Knives. Likely the same butler who had been with Thamalon Uskevren when he had acquired the globe.
"Cale," he said softly.
Alkenen's head bobbed up and down and he said, "Cale! Exactly! He was butler to old Uskevren. Tall prig, he was. Mean looking too."