The Sapphire Crescent

CHAPTER TWO

"Stay here," Vambran instructed his sister. He stood up in the carriage and leaped over the side to the street before it had even come to a stop. The lieutenant broke into a run even as he hit the ground, sprinting full-out in the direction of the screams still reverberating from the alley, which was flanked by a bakery on one side and a chandler's shop on the other. Both businesses were dark and shuttered, as were the windows on the stories above, where the shop owners and their families dwelt. Only the light of the moon showed the soldier the route into the alley.

As he dashed down into the deeper darkness between the two businesses, Vambran slipped a narrow-bladed steel sword free of the scabbard that hung on his left hip. With the weapon in one hand, the lieutenant deftly reached inside a pocket of his shirt, pulling free a scrap of parchment with the other. Another scream echoed through the air, definitely the voice of a woman. That was followed closely by a second cry, delivered by a man. It was a cry of pain.

Surging forward, Vambran rounded a bend in the alley and into a small courtyard with no other apparent exits. The backs of several more shops and homes formed the barrier to the open area, which was perhaps twenty paces across at its widest point. In one corner, a handful of figures gathered in a clump.

Slowing for a moment, Vambran closed his eyes and muttered a quick prayer to Waukeen. He pulled out a gold medallion that hung from a chain around his neck and that displayed the Merchant Friend's profile. He brought the coin to his mouth for a quick kiss, the scrap of parchment held between his lips and the coin face. Crumpling the parchment and moving it in a circular motion around his body, he finished the prayer. The lieutenant felt the parchment fragment dissolve into dust in his hand and he opened his eyes to confirm that a shimmering, glowing aura surrounded him. He stepped out into the dead-end courtyard and advanced openly toward the gathering of thugs.

Half a dozen of the attackers were huddled with their backs to Vambran, weapons drawn. Most of the figures were standing, gathered around a trio of others who were down on the ground. One of the standing shapes held aloft a lantern, and by its light Vambran could see that two of the figures lay motionless on the cobblestones of the alley, while the third held a thin dagger in his hand. The kneeling figure thrust the blade into the body closest to it, which convulsed once at the attack, then lay still again.

"Hold!" Vambran said, slowing his pace only slightly as he closed the distance toward the assailants. "Stand down!"

Even as he spoke those orders, Vambran advanced warily, in a crouch, ready for the fight he was certain was coming. A part of him wondered what he was getting himself into.

As the group of assailants turned to face Vambran, the mercenary realized they were more than simple thugs. All armed and armored alike, with half-spears and crossbows, they wore matching clothing: dark-colored breeches with a white shirt. The lieutenant also noticed for the first time a crest or logo upon each man's breast, and as the group in front of him realized they were under attack themselves, they fanned out, bringing their weapons to bear.

Vambran skidded to a stop, his boots sliding on the damp cobblestones of the alley. The symbol of Arrabar-three golden balls on a field of white-shone visibly in the lanternlight on the group's breastplates, marking them as city watch.

Vambran frowned even as he held his free hand up in a placating manner. Something there didn't feel quite right, but that thought, along with the notion that he needed to diffuse the situation, passed through his head in the blink of an eye. Unfortunately, he was not quick enough to demonstrate that he recognized the soldiers as official watchmen, for one of them fired his crossbow at the lieutenant.

In his unbalanced position, having just skittered to a stop so close to the men, Vambran had no way to twist clear of the missile. The bolt flew straight at his shoulder and would have pierced his flesh, had it not been for the magical protection he had thrown around himself just moments before. The glimmering aura of magic saved him, turning aside the bolt at a funny angle but wrenching his shoulder back painfully in the process. Vambran grunted and stumbled back, throwing his other arm up to protect his face well after the missile had already flown past.

"Easy!" Vambran managed to call out as he spun away from the group and went down to one knee, making his body a smaller target as a second bolt flew past. "I yield, watchmen!"

He heard a snort from behind him, and several footsteps closing, but no more shots were fired.

"Drop your blade now, pretty boy!" Vambran heard one gruff voice call out, even as two more soldiers fanned into view on either side of him, leveling their half-spears at his head.

Calmly, gently, Vambran laid his steelblade down in front of him and lifted both of his hands well out to either side of himself.

"All right, easy," he said, peering at the two men who were in view. "It's down, no need to get worked up."

He tried to offer a disarming smile, but he got nothing but scowls in return.

"Stand up! Get away from the weapon," the same gruff voice demanded.

Vambran did as he was instructed, backing away from where he had laid his sword down.

"Now turn around," the guard commanded.

Vambran spun slowly in place, keeping his hands up and out, trying to look as unthreatening as possible.

"I didn't recognize your uniforms in the dark," he started to explain as he turned in place, "I thought you were muggers or-"

"Shut up!" the soldier commanded, stepping closer as Vambran completed his turn. The lieutenant was facing the fellow and noticed that he was marked as a sergeant. "You have a death wish?" the sergeant asked.

He was a short, stocky, dark-skinned fellow, with darker hair that sat in greasy waves on his head. A full, unkempt beard matched the hair, and even in the weak lanternlight, Vambran could see streaks of gray in both. The man's eyes were dark and sunken, with big circles under them, like he hadn't gotten a good deal of sleep. As he stood in front of the lieutenant, he brought his free hand up to bite at the fingernail on his thumb, studying his counterpart.

"Of course not," Vambran answered, shaking his head. "As I said, I didn't-"

"Yeah, yeah, I get it. Shut your trap."

The sergeant motioned for one of his men to move closer, then stood back and watched as the soldier handed his half-spear to a companion and stepped forward to search Vambran, patting him down.

Vambran suffered the examination quietly, but his sense that something was out of place was growing steadily. Though their clothing marked them as guards, none of the men had the bearing of city watchmen. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but they seemed somehow less professional than he remembered. That alone wouldn't be enough to convince him, he knew, but then there was the matter of the two other individuals, who still lay motionless on the cobblestones behind the row of guards.

Vambran peered in that direction, trying to see who was lying there as the guard completed his search of the lieutenant's body. From that distance, with the light so bad and with the soldiers screening his view, he could make out very little, but it was clear that a man and a woman were both back there, dressed in fairly simple clothing.

Once the guard was finished searching Vambran, he stepped back into the line. Vambran lowered his hands to his sides.

The sergeant noticed Vambran trying to get a better look at the two corpses and moved closer, blocking his view.

"Keep your eyes on me, and stop getting your nose into business that doesn't concern you!" the fellow barked.

Vambran's eyes narrowed. He was not fond of that one. In most cases, when the watch encountered a man dressed in the markings of a mercenary of the temple of Waukeen's private army, he could expect a certain amount of deference. Even when that was not the case, however, city guardsmen rarely displayed such a brazen lack of manners.

"It seems awfully odd that the Arrabar city watch is in the business of slaying people in dark alleyways," Vambran said, his voice cold, "especially as I don't see any weapons on those two."

The man in front of him cocked his head to one side, his jaw beginning to jut out in what Vambran could only believe was belligerent insult.

"Oh, a thinker, eh? Well, not that it's any concern of yours, pretty boy, but them two back there were running from us after we tried to question them about three dots on their foreheads." He stepped closer still, putting his face right up next to Vambran's, though the guard came up only to the lieutenant's nose. "The same three dots that mark your head!"

Vambran blinked, taken aback a little bit.

"What?" the mercenary asked. "They were wizards?"

"No," the sergeant replied smugly, smiling for the first time and showing a mouth full of yellowed and blackened teeth. "That's the whole point. They weren't wizards, but they were pretending to be. And you know what the penalty for pretending at sorcery is, right?"

Vambran nodded, not liking where the discussion was going at all.

"I can assure you, my own markings are completely legitimate, and I'll be happy to-"

"Hey!" one of the other soldiers cried out, turning and scampering across the alley toward the exit. "Someone's spying on us!"

The guard sprinted across the cobblestones to a pile of wooden-slatted crates stacked haphazardly near the back door of one of the buildings.

Vambran groaned as almost all the other soldiers either turned to peer at what their companion was chasing or wisely tightened their grips on their weapons as they surrounded him. He turned to look at what the guard was pursuing, too, already knowing what was about to happen.

As the guard got closer to the stack of crates, there was a shrill squeak, and a figure flashed up and away, running awkwardly back in the direction of the end of the alley. But the mysterious spy was not fast enough and the guard quickly grabbed her, yanking her to a stop.

"Ow! Let me go, you big orc!" the figure cried out.

It was Emriana, just as Vambran feared. The guard twisted her around and held her at arm's length for a moment, eyeing her critically. Then he reached out and pulled something free of her sash and proceeded to haul her back by her wrist toward the gathering in the courtyard.

"Stop yanking on my arm!" Emriana continued to complain as she was dragged against her will, digging in her heels.

Her slippers skidded fruitlessly across the damp cobblestones, unable to keep the man from making progress. Vambran saw that the guard had confiscated a dagger from his sister, and indeed, he then recognized it as the very same one he had given to her for her birthday a year previous.

The leader of the surly band of watchmen hissed in vexation as his underling towed Emriana into the lanternlight, still thrashing and yanking her arm, trying to pull free of her captor.

"Who the blazes is this?" the sergeant demanded, jerking his gaze back and forth between the girl and Vambran.

"My name is Emriana Matrell, of House Matrell, and you will let go of me immediately! My uncle-"

"Em! Enough," Vambran growled, staring hard at her. "Didn't I tell you to wait in the carriage?" he asked, his voice hard-edged with anger.

"You know her?" the leader asked, forcing Vambran to turn his attention back to the guard.

The lieutenant nodded and said, "Yes, she's my sister. We were on our way home when we heard the screams and I came running. She's out past her bedtime," he added, raising his voice and directing this last bit at Emriana, hoping to drive his point home, "and should not be here."

The girl glared at him but said nothing.

"And why shouldn't I assume that you two are actually friends of my two deaders-" the sergeant jerked his thumb over his shoulder, indicating the pair of bodies lying in the courtyard behind him-"sneaking in here to help them?"

At that, Vambran nearly laughed. The word of a lieutenant of the Sapphire Crescent should have been good enough for the soldier, but everything about the man just seemed wrong.

Shaking his head and with disdain clear in his voice, Vambran said, "Well, of course you should suspect us. You wouldn't be doing your duty if you didn't insist that I demonstrate my ability right here and now." The lieutenant was just baiting the man, then, seeing how well the sergeant knew procedures. "So, what do you say? Shall I prove to you that I have the right to mark myself thrice with the chalk?"

He turned his palms up, waiting to see whether he should proceed or not.

After a moment of eyeing him warily, the sergeant gave a nod to the soldier who was holding Emriana, and said, "Keep her close, and slip her own blade into her ribs if this one tries anything."

Emriana squeaked again, and Vambran opened his mouth in anger, ready to argue with the sergeant, but the man held up his hand to indicate he would hear nothing from his prisoners.

"If you are who you say you are," the sergeant said, "then you've got nothing to hide, and if you aren't, then I'm not giving you a chance to charm us all with your stinking magic. Now make a show, and no tricks."

Vambran sighed, equally angry at both the sergeant and Emriana, and considered what he might show them that wouldn't be construed as an attack or threat of any kind. Then, he got an idea. He only hoped Prandles would understand. Outwardly, he nodded.

"I use this little trick to rally troops on the battlefield, to signal for reinforcements to move out, or to indicate any of another few special instructions. It's just a simple magical flare, so don't get excited when it goes off, all right?"

The sergeant squinted at the lieutenant suspiciously but then nodded, indicating for Vambran to proceed.

Taking a deep, steadying breath, Vambran uttered a single magical syllable, and about twenty feet directly over his head a dazzling burst of bright white light went off, hanging there for several momenta, illuminating the entirety of the courtyard. All of the city watchmen murmured in mild surprise, and the sergeant cocked his head, then finally nodded in reluctant approval. But Vambran wasn't watching. He had taken the opportunity to get a good, long look at the two victims lying on the ground behind the row of soldiers.

The male of the two was turned face down and away from Vambran, and the mercenary couldn't get a clear view of the man's face. But the woman was on her back, her simple white dress stained with her own blood, her eyes staring sightlessly up into the night, as though she, too, were watching the flare overhead. On her forehead Vambran could see three fuzzy marks, apparently dots made with a bit of blue chalk, though they were not the neat, orderly marks he would have expected to see on someone vain enough to paint herself as reader, writer, and wizard. They seemed to have been applied hastily.

The flare fizzled out after a moment, returning the courtyard to relative darkness, and Vambran turned his attention back to the sergeant, cocking one eyebrow expectantly. He realized quickly that the soldier could not see his expression, though, because he had gazed into the light of the magical flare and was suffering an inability to see clearly in the darkness.

"Well?" Vambran demanded at last, tired of waiting for the foolish man to admit that the lieutenant was who he said he was and no threat to the city watch.

"All right," the sergeant said at last, waving Vambran away. "You've proved your point. You and your sister can go." He motioned for his underlings to let the pair pass unhindered, then turned back to Vambran. "But let this be a lesson to you, and don't go barging in where you aren't wanted or needed."

Vambran sniffed in bemused disgust. The suggestion that he was doing anything other than what was noble and right appalled him. That just wasn't like the city watch at all, to go around insulting members of the merchant families, or of the mercenary companies, for that matter. There might be some resentment or even jealousy on the guards' parts, but rarely was there such a level of animosity and lack of respect.

At that moment, there was a commotion from the opposite end of the courtyard, where the alley emptied into it. A new group of city guards had arrived, a full squad of twelve, moving out into the open with the obvious self-confidence that Vambran was used to in Arrabar. From the first sergeant's expression, it was plain to Vambran that the man had neither expected nor welcomed the intrusion, but he was at a loss as to what to do about it for the moment. More damning evidence against him, as far as Vambran was concerned.

Briefly, the lieutenant considered just outright accusing the original soldiers as imposters to the newcomers, exposing them through their own ignorance of proper procedure and letting the new squad arrest them for impersonation of city officials and, more important, murder, but he doubted it would end as simply as that. More likely, the original group would put up a fight, and Vambran didn't want Emriana in the middle of a skirmish.

On impulse, Vambran decided to try something. Taking another drawn-out breath, he focused his attention on the sergeant in a new way, drawing on his spiritual connection with his faith and his deity to sense the man's emotions, his surface thoughts. He let the sensation wash over him, building in strength. At first, all the lieutenant could sense was the presence of thoughts tumbling around, but then he was able to focus specifically on what the man was thinking.

The sergeant was standing there looking back and forth between Vambran and the new arrivals, frowning more deeply by the moment. The new squad of watchmen drew close, and Vambran could see that they were led by a captain, a crisply dressed woman with very short dark hair and a perpetual smirk. She was eyeing the first group askance.

She finally barked, "So? What's going on here?"

Vambran smiled calmly and replied, "We were just waiting for you to arrive. The sergeant here was just about to tell me where I should report tomorrow. For the debriefing, of course," he added, still grinning disarmingly.

All the while, he was still focusing on the male sergeant's mental emanations.

"The debriefing?" the man opposite Vambran asked, obviously confused.

The watch captain nodded and said to Vambran, "Right. You need to be at the district headquarters first thing tomorrow, at seven bells. Do you know where that is?"

Vambran began to read nervousness in the fellow's mind. He pushed a little further.

"Yes, absolutely," he answered agreeably. "Seven bells. And you'll perform the divine ceremony then, too, right? To contact the spirit of the slain victims? Standard procedure whenever there's a death, right?"

The female captain nodded in agreement.

"Ask for me," she said, "Captain Leguay."

Vambran nodded, but his attention was on watching the male and still focusing on the man's thoughts and emotions.

"Oh, uh, right," the sergeant said, befuddled. Vambran was reading clear uncertainty and panic in his thoughts by then. "You said you were with House Matrell?" the sergeant asked, and Vambran sensed desperation.

"Right" he answered, smiling even more. "It's just around the next bend, in fact."

"Well, uh, then be sure to report at seven bells, just like she said."

The captain looked quizzically at her male counterpart and said, "I don't recognize you. Are you stationed in this district?"

The male's eyes widened, and his fingers flexed, as though he wanted to go for his half-spear. Vambran sensed almost overwhelming panic, and he was afraid the man would lose his nerve and simply try to fight his way out of the situation, but instead, the greasy-haired fellow shook his head and said, "No, we're from the other side of the city. We were, urn, working on a special assignment."

The female cocked one eyebrow, then shrugged it off.

"Ah, well. Saves me from having to fill out the report," she said. "Let's get the bodies to the station house."

The sergeant winced, then nodded and slunk off, just to get away from the woman's scrutiny. Vambran's smile grew even broader.

"That sounds fine," he said, and he was smiling on the inside, too.

The sergeant was clearly scrambling to maintain his facade, struggling to appear legitimate, when all he wanted to do was get away from there. The lieutenant was picking up another line of thought, too. The sergeant was very worried about Vambran finding out about the others, and what sort of threat that would be to him. Who the others were, the lieutenant could not get enough of a read on to figure out, but the sergeant was obviously afraid of them and would do whatever it took to keep them placated. It was, of course, what the lieutenant had hoped to glean from the man, figuring that thugs wouldn't go to all the trouble to kill someone and make it look like a crime on their own. Someone else had to be behind the deaths, and he figured the best way to find out was to the let the men get away with it, then track them down later.

"Tomorrow, then," the captain said, and Vambran sensed that it was time for him and his sister to leave.

"Of course," Vambran said, "We're on our way." He turned on his heel and moved over to where Emriana was still scowling at the soldier who had accosted her in the first place. "Come on, Em, let's get you home and into bed. I'm sure this is enough excitement for you for one night."

"But my-!" the girl started to protest, but Vambran clamped a hand over her mouth as he spun her around to lead her down the alley.

Emriana squirmed and tugged at her brother's hand, but when it was clear he wasn't going to let go, she relaxed and let him lead her away.

When they were far enough from the soldiers not to be overheard, Vambran released her mouth after whispering, "Don't make a scene. I have my reasons."

"They have my dagger," Emriana complained. "They never gave it back."

"That's right," Vambran replied. "I want them to keep it."

"Why?" the girl demanded, turning with a furious mien to face her brother. "That was your birthday present tome!"

"Shh!" Vambran admonished her, gesturing for her to quiet down. "Because I want to be able to find that first group of soldiers later," he explained as they passed out of the alley and back into the street. "Now I have a way to track them."

"What? How?"

"With magic," Vambran said.

Across the street from the alley, Prandles saw the two of them emerge, and his shoulders slumped in obvious relief. As the siblings approached the carriage, the driver jumped down to open the door for them.

"And why do you want to track them down?" Emriana asked quietly.

"Because I don't think they were city guards," Vambran replied. "I think something else was going on here."

He wondered if he was being as foolish as that comment just sounded. Even with all of the intrigue so common to Arrabar, thugs posing as the city watch seemed a bit farfetched.

"Then why didn't you report that to the others when they arrived?"

"Because, my incorrigible sister, you were in the middle of it, and if a fight broke out, you'd have been in a risky spot."

"I can take care of myself."

"Like you did hiding behind those crates?" Vambran asked sarcastically, scowling. "That was really foolish, you know."

"No more foolish than you running down an alley by yourself." Emriana replied smugly.

"That's different."

"Why?"

"Because," Vambran said, sighing in exasperation, "I'm a trained soldier, equipped to deal with the kinds of things found in dark alleys. I really can take care of myself. You aren't used to dealing with anything beyond the walls of House Matrell yet, though you may think you are. Em, didn't you see that woman lying there? She was dead, killed by those men. I don't want that to be you."

"Vambran," Emriana whispered, changing the subject, "I think I knew that woman."

"What?" Vambran said, spinning his sister to face him. "Who is she?"

"I don't know," the girl confessed, shaking her head doubtfully. "But I think I've seen her somewhere. Several times, in fact."

"Try to remember, Em," Vambran encouraged her.

"When I saw your signal, Master Vambran, I was about to drive home and fetch the house guards," Prandles said to the pair. "But thankfully, those city guards arrived. Is everyone all right?"

Vambran, realizing that they were standing in the middle of the quiet street, nodded as he turned Emriana and guided her to the steps of the vehicle.

"Yes," he answered as Prandles helped Emriana up into the seat. "The guards are taking care of it." He climbed in after his sister. "But we were lucky," he said, giving Emriana a stare as he sat down.

"You had me worried more than a man has a right to be, Mistress Emriana," the driver added, trying not to scold a superior, but making his point all the same.

"Prandles, the next time she tries to sneak off, even if she orders you to sit still and be quiet, you have my permission to hold her down and sit on her to keep her out of trouble," Vambran said, though he was still looking directly at Emriana as he said it.

The girl bristled and started to open her mouth to protest, but Vambran gave her a level look so scathing that she wilted under it and snapped her teeth shut again.

"As you say, sir," Prandles replied, though Vambran knew the man would never do any such thing.

All the way back to the front gates of the Matrell estate, Emriana sat opposite her brother and scowled. But Vambran was in no mood to soothe her feelings right then. He was figuring out what he was going to do about men pretending to be city guards.

Grozier Talricci, standing behind Bartimus and watching the events taking place in the mirror, made a strangled sound deep in his throat. Bartimus couldn't blame the man; it was an amazing stroke of bad luck that Vambran and Emriana Matrell had managed to stumble onto the scene when they did, and the arrival of a second squad of watchmen, legitimate guards who had claimed the body and were taking it back to the station house, just made everything worse. The uniforms for the team had been meant as a means of avoiding notice, but through terrible luck, they were being forced to pose as guards for who knew how long. Events had just gotten far more complicated than they really should have been, and Bartimus was very sympathetic toward Grozier's state of mind at that moment.

The wizard waited expectantly for Grozier to give him some kind of instructions, occasionally glancing around at his study. There were only a few candles burning, not really giving off enough light to make everything out clearly, though that wasn't causing a problem right then, since the scene the pair of them were currently scrying was dark, too. But he had been working by candlelight for quite a while, having run out of lamp oil at some point and never bothering to go fetch any more from the storerooms. So the place was constantly dark.

Matters weren't helped by the dim decor of Bartimus's chambers. He had always liked rich, dark furniture, things made of dark woods and leather. He had plenty of it in there, with shelves lining just about every wall, and more than a few chairs, tables, and desks in what space was left over. Of course, most of all that was stacked with piles of books, tablets, and scroll cases, with even more spilling over onto the floor in every imaginable corner. The few tapestries that hung on the walls, mostly covered up by shelving, had the same heavy colors, as did the rug on the floor. There was more of the same in the other room, where Bartimus slept. It was a consistent theme, he realized. Somehow, it contrasted nicely with Bartimus's incessantly pasty skin.

The place needed a good cleaning, Bartimus noticed, looking around more earnestly then, though the wizard told himself that at least once a tenday and somehow never managed to do anything about it. Too much else going on to take time for housework. And there was no way he was going to bring anyone else in there to do it for him. If he ever let anyone else into his chambers to move things around, he'd never find half his possessions again. Even having Grozier in there was making him nervous; one wrong step, and the man could send a whole pile of stuff scattering across the floor.

Perhaps a special sort of servant spell could do the trick, the diminutive wizard mused, pondering briefly if he had ever acquired such an incantation, and where it might be stashed in his collection of scrolls, books, and other magical writings.

I'll have to dig through those Sembian letters sometime, he thought. I think there might be something in there. Later, though.

Bartimus turned his attention back to the moment, still waiting for his companion to say something. His scrying spell wasn't going to last much longer. Grozier just continued to stare into the large mirror, a finely wrought piece of furniture worth thousands of gold coins, resting on a large easel in the middle of the study. The image in the courtyard continued to show Captain Dressus and his men milling about, discussing what to do with the bodies lying there. The original plan had been for them to haul the pair to the nearest guard station in the city and deposit them there, but it was obvious by then that the Waukeenar lieutenant's words had unnerved them, and they were uncertain what to do any longer.

"Oh, just run!" Grozier growled from behind Bartimus. He was beginning to pace. "Is there no way to talk to them through this damned mirror?"

Bartimus cringed as he said, "Unfortunately, no. It really only works one way. I could see if I have some other means of communicating with them, perhaps a scroll in my collection." He started to rise, completely enraptured at the thought of looking through some of his papers. "I think I might have just the thing," he muttered half-aloud, moving toward a distant shelf, "a little spell I acquired from a man I met in Cormyr several years ago. Let's see, I think I put those papers-"

"No, don't waste the effort," Grozier snapped, standing still and watching the scene again. "By the time you find something, it'll be too late. Besides, they've gone and mucked the whole plan up completely already."

Bartimus shrugged and sat back down as his counterpart sighed in exasperation.

"Dressus is an idiot," Grozier continued. "He should have just sent the Matrell boy away and cleared out of there. He got baited into that, you know."

Bartimus nodded, though he didn't, in fact, know that until just then, and he wondered how Grozier had come to that conclusion.

"Now," Grozier continued, "the city watch is concerned about our two dead victims, and Dressus is under suspicion. If not by the other guards, then at the very least, by the mercenary and his sister. We're going to have to take care of this ourselves."

He began to pace again.

Bartimus nodded, though he had no idea what his employer meant, and no desire to take the initiative to suggest some things until he knew more. He sat and waited while Grozier stewed.

Finally, the other man stopped his repetitive motion and said, "We're going to have to clean this up completely, you know."

Bartimus risked a glance over his shoulder at the other man, the head of House Talricci, to be sure he understood correctly.

"You want me to find someone?" the mage asked.

"No," Grozier replied, tapping the wizard on the shoulder. "You're going to have to do this yourself. I don't want to put it into anyone else's hands."

Bartimus swallowed hard.

"Me?" he asked, sounding more timid than he had intended, though he certainly felt a little intimidated at what his employer was asking him to do. "How would you like it handled?" he quickly added, hoping to cover his earlier hesitation.

"I don't know," Grozier growled. "You're the house wizard. You cook something up. But make sure you get rid of all the loose ends. And I mean all of them. I don't doubt for a minute that the mercenary is going to start sniffing around, trying to find out what happened tonight. I can just feel it."

He turned to go, then stopped and looked back at Bartimus through the gloom of his ill-lit room.

"And make it clever," Grozier added. "Something really good. Come find me and run it by me before you begin, though. I'll expect a first idea from you within an hour."

Bartimus nodded, inwardly sighing. Knowing Grozier, he was going to have to stay up half the night concocting something suitable to solve the problem.