Somewhere outside, a horn sounded three times: the morning call to prayer for Helm’s faithful. The rogue ignored it.
“How do I contact you?” Arvin asked.
“Enter any tavern and make this sign,” the rogue instructed. With a finger, he rubbed first the inside corner of his right eye, then the outside corner.
Arvin smiled to himself. It was one of the first words in silent speech the Guild had taught him.
“When you see someone make this sign,” the rogue continued, making a V with the first two fingers of his right hand and drawing them along his left forearm from elbow to wrist, “you’ll know you’ve found us.” He paused. “Do we have an agreement?”
Arvin nodded. “It’s certainly a tempting offer,” he said. “I’ll let you know.” He set the pouch back on the barrel—carefully, so none of the diamonds spilled.
“May I go now?”
The rogue opened the door and stepped away from it. As Arvin walked past him, he moved his hand to the hilt of his dagger. “Just remember,” he warned in a low voice. “We’ll be watching you. Don’t cross us.”
Arvin nodded. The rogue wasn’t telling him anything new. If Sespech’s rogues’ guild was anything like Hlondeth’s, Arvin’s every move would be marked.
It had been bad enough, finding Zelia in Sespech.
Now he had a second reason to watch his back.
Arvin went directly to Dmetrio’s residence. There was no need to be secretive about his destination—not when the local rogues’ guild knew who he was. The meeting with its two representatives had taken only a short time; the sun had risen, painting the winter sky a dull white, but it was still early in the morning. The same two militiamen were still on guard duty outside the residence. The younger man was yawning widely—and being glared at by his sergeant.
“Good morning, Rillis,” he called to him. “Don’t they ever let you sleep?”
Rillis grinned through chattering teeth. “Soon, I hope. The watch change—”
The sergeant jabbed him with an elbow. “Quiet, soldier,’ he snapped. Then, to Arvin, “I suppose you expect to see the ambassador now?”
Arvin nodded and pulled out his letter of introduction.
The sergeant took it. “I’ll let him know you’re here.”
After a few moments, he returned and opened the gate. “This way,” he instructed.
As Arvin stepped through the gate, he heard rapid footsteps behind him.
“Vin! I am so sorry!”
Startled, Arvin turned and saw Karrell hurrying toward him. She slipped her hand under Arvin’s arm, grasping him firmly by the elbow. “Please do not be angry with me, Vin,” she said, tugging him toward the front door of the residence. “I did not mean to sleep so late. When I saw that you had left without me, I hurried here as quickly as I could.” She tugged Arvin toward the residence.
The sergeant quickly blocked their way. Rillis was slower to react; he’d been gaping at Karrell. Belatedly, he stepped forward and held up a hand.
Karrell beamed a smile at him. “Was Ambassador Extaminos kept waiting?” She loosened her cloak, as if to cool down from her run. Rillis’s eyes lingered on her breasts, which rose and fell as she panted. “No, lady. He has only just been summoned.”
Arvin glared at Karrell.
She gave him a coy smile. “Come, Vin. Be thankful it’s me who is accompanying you, and not that blue-tongued she-demon. She’d only embarrass you in front of the ambassador.”
Arvin tensed at the thinly veiled reference to Zelia. He wished he’d had the cleric lock Karrell up last night, when he had the chance. What now? If he protested, she would alert Zelia to his presence in Ormpetarr.
“It’s all right,” he told the sergeant. “She’s with me.” He pinched Karrell’s arm, however, as they walked toward the door. “An introduction,” he gritted under his breath. “No more. Then you go.”
She nodded.
Rillis unlocked the front door with cold-stiffened fingers and ushered them through. He was about to close it again when the sergeant motioned him inside. “Go ahead, Rillis,” he said. “Warm up a bit.”
Rillis grinned then followed Arvin and Karrell inside. They stepped through the door into a wide, semicircular hall whose floor tiles glowed with a soft green light. A ramp, its stonework also glowing, curved up the wall on the right to doors on the building’s second floor. The wall to the left had a fireplace in which a fire was roaring; a rolled-up carpet and several boxes lay against the wall next to it. The air in the hall was uncomfortably hot and stank of spice and snake. Arvin unfastened his cloak and wiped his face with a sleeve, blotting away the sweat that was beading on his forehead. Another member of the militia—this one with wide shoulders and watchful eyes—stood just inside the door, dressed in full armor. Arvin wondered how the fellow could stand the oppressive heat.
As Rillis warmed his back at the fire, sighing his relief, Karrell moved toward what Arvin had at first taken to be a painting that rested on the mantle. He saw that it was a hollow pane of glass, filled with viscous red, turquoise, and indigo liquids that rose and fell in a swirl of ever-changing patterns.
“It’s a slitherglow,” Rillis said. “I don’t suppose you’ve seen one before.”
“It is beautiful,” Karrell answered. She held out her hands to the fire, warming them, and stared at the slitherglow as if mesmerized. Arvin shook his head. She certainly wasn’t acting like a rogue casing the residence. Her eyes should have been darting around the room, noting the exits and appraising its contents. The larger boxes, for example, probably held breakables, judging by the sawdust packing that had trickled out of the corner of one of them—ceramics, perhaps, or statuettes. And the rug was bulged slightly; something was rolled inside it. Judging by the boxes and the bare appearance of the room, the ambassador was planning a move from the residence, probably in a few days’ time. Arvin wondered where he was going.
A door at the top of the ramp opened. The militiaman standing next to Arvin stiffened, and Rillis ushered Karrell back to Arvin’s side then stood flanking her. Neither had a weapon in hand, but Arvin didn’t want to make any sudden moves. Rillis was probably new to the militia, but the second man looked tougher, more experienced—and the House Extaminos bodyguards were rumored to coat their weapons with yuan-ti venom.
A man in a red silk robe stepped through the door and began making his way down the ramp. He appeared human, at first glance. He had dark hair that swept back from a high forehead; a long, narrow nose; and a thin, muscular body. His walk, however, immediately gave him away as yuan-ti. Instead of stepping, as humans did, he turned each footstep into a slither, sliding his slippered feet along the stone. His body swayed as he walked, his head moving gently from side to side. As he drew closer, slit pupils and a flicker of a forked tongue confirmed his race. Despite these attributes, he was a handsome man, full of poise and self-confidence. No wonder the baron’s daughter had fallen for him.
In one slender hand, he held Arvin’s letter of introduction. The other hand was hidden by a silk sleeve that hung past his fingertips.
Arvin bowed. “Ambassador Extaminos.”
Dmetrio stared at him. “Vin of Hlondeth,” he hissed, his voice as devoid of emotion as dry leaves. “Agent of the Mariner Mercantile House.”
Dmetrio shifted his gaze to Karrell, who also bowed. He stepped closer to her as she rose, his tongue flickering in and out of his mouth as he drank in her scent. “And who is this?”
Arvin rose. “An… acquaintance of mine,” he said slowly. Threat or no threat, he wasn’t going to call Karrell more than that. “We met on the journey here, and she insisted on meeting you. Her name is Karrell. She—”