Lesser Evils

CHAPTER SIX

WATERDEEP

2 FLAMERULE, THE YEAR OF THE DARK CIRCLE (1478 DR)

Mira found the note from her father tucked into a crack in the window frame of her room, after she and Dankon returned from moving the artifact to the manor grounds. Cloudcroft had as many guards in his manor as he had vulgar works of art, and Chansom had given his guards the morning to themselves.

Dankon nodded at the little scroll as she reached to palm it, shedding armor pieces and weaponry. “Who’s that for?”

Mira unrolled it. “You have a brightbird you’re expecting love notes from?”

The half-orc chuckled. “Do you, Lady Ice Storm?”

Plans are in place and the way is clear, the note read in a simple code she could have managed in the cradle. Meet me at the statue’s head in North Ward, once your duties are discharged. Be prepared to leave. She sighed-a less obvious message with the innkeeper would have sufficed.

“What’s your paramour have to say then?”

“Nothing I want to hear,” she said. “I need to go out.”

Dankon heaved his chestplate over his head and onto the floor. “Well, come in quietly. I intend to sleep every heartbeat we’re given.”

Mira slipped down the stairs and out the rear door of the inn. She sighed again-she could only hope that by leaving he meant to go to Everlund, the city that held the Harpers’ stronghold in the north, but even then the portal meant that none of her prior plans were going to be of use. You make Beshaba proud, Fisher, she thought. She’d have to make tentative arrangements for supplies in Everlund, and send word to her own contacts that their plans had changed.

The Fisher had wanted her unsettled, but she wouldn’t give him that pleasure. She could keep a calm face and a calmer tongue. She could ride alongside her father and not rise to the myriad reminders that he didn’t trust her, didn’t expect enough of her. That he thought things could be simple between them because here and there in her life he’d stopped in and dropped advice on her like a sudden hailstorm, nothing but puzzled when she had ideas of her own. She would show the Fisher he’d made no roadblock, but only a side path. She was clever enough to get through this, she thought, leaving the inn in the pale hours of dawn to find a more private place to contact Maspero.

Nothing would ruin her discovery.

Tarchamus the Unyielding. A figure so vague and difficult to pin down that most insisted he was only a legend, or some error of translation-several arcanists of Old Netheril spliced together in the intervening centuries like one of those wizards’ terrifying creations. It was said he’d crafted a spell so powerful, it burned the floating city of Tenish right out of the air, stone and citizens and all. It was said he had done so while spurning the mythallars, the concentrations of magic that the Netherese arcanists had perfected. If the fragment led to the lost enclave-or tomb or hoard or even midden heap-of Tarchamus the Unyielding, Mira thought, she could make her name-her own name-as a historian. She could get out from under petty patrons and other people’s conflicts.

She could spend a whole lifetime studying the secrets of Tarchamus.

Mira sighed, and imagined what Tam would say. “Do you really want to study the secrets of someone who destroyed whole cities?” Fury squeezed at her chest and throat even at that imagined comment. He would, he would say something exactly like that-he knew best, after all. Her life was precisely like his, wasn’t it?

Enough, she told herself, with another great sigh. At least her father was predictable. She could manage this.

She stepped into the alleyway and withdrew from the pouch around her neck, one of the small glass eggs she carried there. Looking around to be sure she hadn’t been followed, she shook the egg and sent a swirl of white smoke spinning through the center. She smashed it against the wall.

“Plans changed,” she said quickly, as the smoke eddied over the brickwork. “We’ll need supplies in Everlund. Extra hands too. Be there quicker than expected. Should have location deciphered before you arrive.” She hesitated. “Harpers involved.”

The smoke whirled around one more time before catching a breeze and streaking eastward, and Mira heard the faint echo of her words hissing along with it. She brushed the broken glass off the edges of the brick, wondering if she should have mentioned that the Harper involved was her storied father and not the untrained young hirelings they were promised.

No, she thought, stepping from the alley. Maspero might well have called off the whole endeavor. And she could manage her father.

She was within sight of the inn when a pair of wiry men stepped into her path. Mira stopped and looked the two of them over, hands resting on the hilts of her knives. “May I help you?” she said dryly.

“Master Rhand would like to speak with you,” the one on the left said, jerking his head toward a carriage waiting across the road. “At once.”

Mira peered at him for a long moment, long enough so that the man started to tense. There was something about his face. Something … off. A disguise, she decided. Interesting. She smiled, “Lead on.”

The man in the carriage did not descend, but beckoned her into the plush, dark space. He watched her settle with piercing eyes.

“You are Goodman Chansom’s guard, yes?” he said, both hands resting on the silver knob of a cane. “The one who killed those thieves.”

“I am. Are you looking for a guard?”

“No,” he said. “I’m looking to … clarify some things. Does your Goodman Chansom know you have more than one allegiance?”

Mira kept smiling and shook her head. “He knows so long as he’s paying me, my allegiances are all his.”

“Truly?” Master Rhand smiled back at her and she found herself wishing he wouldn’t. “I find myself unconvinced. Your thieves were Zhentarim, my sources say. Cyricist Zhentarim. And so I must ask how it is that the Black Network has found out about my little treasure. How they have come to decide it’s dear enough to go toe-to-toe with such a pair as was guarding it.”

Mira knew none of her surprise would show-not even for Master Rhand. She was too practiced for that. “My, Master Rhand, your sources are quick. But my father’s presence was a happy accident. As for me, you can well imagine the likes of the Zhentarim … they would be inclined to underestimate a mere guard.”

He chuckled. “As the bodies prove, yes? Convenient, that. I suppose you’ll tell me I’m being overcautious. Paranoid.”

She gave him a patient look. “My livelihood, goodsir, is based entirely on meeting a need for caution. I would never gainsay it. But in this case, it seems I cannot do much for you but offer my unneeded services and assure you, on my word, I had nothing to do with the thieves.”

“I suppose that’s all I can ask for,” Master Rhand said. She started to excuse herself. “But,” he added, “should you know anyone who might have had something to do with those thieves-who might have anything to do with future thieves, future attempts to take the artifacts-let me give you a word of caution. To pass along.”

Rhand beckoned the guard who’d stared down Mira earlier to the carriage door. He pulled an amulet from inside his robes and held it up near the man’s face. The mask of magic that had obscured the man’s face shivered and dissolved. He looked over at Mira with cold, black eyes and a wicked sneer, twisted by a row of rings in his lips chained to larger rings in the cords of his neck.

It took a great deal more effort to master her surprise this time. “Your guards are shadar-kai,” she said, naming it to nail it down, to make the fact more palatable. It didn’t work.

Rhand lowered the amulet, and the man’s disguise returned. “Mortals born infused with the promise and peril of shadow-isn’t that what they say? So poetic. I assure you, though, anyone who crosses me will not enjoy the sorts of things they find poetry in.”

“So I’ve heard.” Mira didn’t have to have fought shadar-kai to know they’d relish every strike they took, shocked by the pain away from fading into the Shadowfell. Gods knew what he sent them to do to sate that need when people weren’t stealing his things. She thought back to her father’s note, his half-cobbled plan. Piss and hrast. “I see why you say you don’t need guards,” she said as pleasantly as she could.

Master Rhand leaned forward, the cane in his hands more of a staff, a bludgeon perhaps. “You’ll be sure, I trust, to let anyone who might require such information know that Garek isn’t alone. That I’m well protected, and-if need be-that my … betters are keen to keep hold of this pair of artifacts.”

He didn’t have to say Shade. With shadar-kai guards he could mean no one else. Mira nodded, shaken-let him see you’re shaken, she thought, he wants you shaken-and scrambling for a new plan.

Leaving the artifacts-and the possible treasures of Tarchamus-to Rhand and Shade was not an option, not in her father’s eyes and not in Maspero’s. She’d sold them both on the promise of precious history and of thwarting Shade: they’d both be prepared to deal with the pressures of Adolican Rhand. But to get the page and stone in the first place … that would require far more than her father’s quick thinking and lockpicks. She needed time to reconsider her options.

“I’ll do what I can,” she said as she stepped from the carriage.

The next day, Farideh slipped out after an early morningfeast and returned to the inn just before midday, footsore and frustrated, with no better idea of where she could learn the rituals she needed. Waterdeep seemed to grow daily, sprouting all manner of shops which sold rituals to copy for more coin than she had, and offered to buy the few things she owned for far less than they were worth. But at least she was one tattered cloak richer. Mehen wouldn’t be able to scold her over that.

She refolded it nervously as she crossed the empty taproom and approached the innkeeper. “Have there been any messages?” she asked. “Anything from a Mehen?” And she braced for the inevitable brief chuckle and “Not today,” only slowing as she passed him.

But the innkeeper reached under the bar and took out a thick envelope that he slapped down on its surface. “There,” he said with a grin. “Not Mehen, but for you all the same.”

“Are you sure?” she asked, reaching for the envelope. “He’s the only one who knows where-” She turned the note over and saw the black wax seal. The same as the one on the note with the ritual book. She set it on the bar, her blood running cold.

“That’s not for me,” she said.

“I’d say it is,” the innkeeper replied. “Fellow in livery, of all things, left it here. Said it was for the tiefling with the sun-and-moon eyes.”

The description made her stomach flip. “How did he know I was here?”

“Am I supposed to know that?” the innkeeper chuckled.

She picked the note back up. “Would you tell me if he comes back? Or anyone like him?”

“As long as you keep that sister of yours from leaving more gouges in my floor.”

Farideh nodded absently, tucking the concern for Havilar’s damages behind the nature of Master Rhand’s note. It was likely nothing: A letter to see if she’d gotten the book. Maybe another offer to show her the rituals she needed. A more forward request that she reply.

But, Farideh thought, climbing the stairs, no matter how innocuous it might be, it should not have found her here, and that knowledge made her stomach churn. She pushed open the door to her room. “Havi,” she started, “the innkeeper …” She looked up from the black seal. The room was empty. Havilar’s glaive leaned against the corner.

“Havi!” she cried, tearing back out into the hallway. She wouldn’t go anywhere without the glaive-she never did. Could Sairche have found them? Could she have lured Havilar away, or worse? She looked down at the envelope-karshoj, it couldn’t be about Havi, could it?

She met Tam coming up the top of the stairs, looking exhausted and rumpled. “I can’t find Havilar,” she said in a rush. “She’s left her glaive and-”

“Hang on,” Tam said, holding up a hand to stop her. “Have you checked with Brin?”

“No,” Farideh said, “but you don’t understand, if she’s left-”

“Check the room first,” Tam advised, maneuvering past her. “They’ve been in there most days when I come back.”

Farideh blinked at him. “In your room?”

Tam laughed at her. “Nothing so brazen. But what do you think she does while you’re out roaming the city looking for things your father doesn’t want you to buy?”

“He told me to buy a cloak,” she started. But a trill of laughter-Havilar’s laughter-cut her off and her attention turned toward the noise, from behind the door across the hallway.

“Well there you are,” Tam said. “Come find me if I’m wrong. Heavens know there’s a good enough chance she’s gotten into something.”

Farideh straightened as he passed her, feeling as if she’d been tossed into the wrong day. What did she think Havilar did? Drilled, mostly. Bothered the innkeeper. Went on errands with Brin. Or wandered herself, she thought.

Mehen was going to be furious she hadn’t kept them apart. Farideh went to the door-there were definitely voices beyond-and tapped gently on it.

“Come in!” Havilar’s voice called out. Farideh nudged the door open. Her sister sat on the floor in the narrow space between the wall and the bed, her pointed toes resting on the bedrails. Brin was cross-legged above her on the bed.

“Well met,” he said.

Havilar gave her a look that was somehow equal parts irritation and self-satisfaction. Good, you’re here to see this and When are you going to leave? Farideh bit back a reply to the unasked question. “I couldn’t find you,” she said.

“You were gone,” Havilar said, just shy of accusatory. “Where did you go?”

“Hey, you found a cloak,” Brin said. Farideh held it open: a plain, brown stormcloak, its half-dozen rents mended in dark thick thread like brutal scars.

Havilar winced. “That’s all you could find?”

“It was cheap,” Farideh said, bundling the cloak back up. “And it’s long enough. What are you two doing?”

Brin held up a fan of parchment. “Reading chapbooks.”

“Brin bought one of just about every title.” Havilar giggled. “Do the lonely widow’s voice again.”

“I said no,” Brin said, but he chuckled when he said it. He looked up at Farideh. “Did you need something?”

“No,” she said, “I just … I couldn’t find Havi.”

Havilar shook her head, as if that were such a strange thing to worry over. “I was right here. Better than sitting among Tam’s things, pretending we’re not curious.”

“Has he come back?” Brin asked. “I need to tell him I’ve moved over.”

“Oh, yes.” Farideh gestured at the open door and the hallway beyond with the envelope. “He’s just come in, I … ran into him,” she finished awkwardly. “He’s here.”

“What’s that?” Havilar asked, pointing to the envelope with her chin.

Farideh looked down at it. Whatever it was, she didn’t feel like opening it in front of Havi and Brin anymore. “Nothing,” she said. “Are you coming down to eat?”

“In a bit,” Havilar said. “We’ll see you there.”

Farideh slipped out and closed the door behind her, hardly sure what to think, but certain she wasn’t wanted in there. Hells, how long had she been in their way?

And how mad would Mehen be if she didn’t stay in their way?

Farideh sat down on the stairs to the taproom, considering the envelope again. With any luck, Mehen would be back soon and both her problems would be solved. They’d leave Waterdeep, and what to do about Master Rhand would be a question she didn’t need to answer. Mehen would see what was going on with Brin and Havilar and she wouldn’t be responsible for being his proxy-or better yet, Mehen would whisk them away after some new bounty, and no one would have to convince Havilar of anything before …

They’re just reading chapbooks, she thought. Even if she’s fond of him, it’s nothing she can’t walk away from.

Farideh shook her head-it wasn’t her problem anymore than the envelope was Havilar’s. She broke the seal and skimmed the note as quickly as she could, as if any word might be like a pressure trap, triggering if her eyes rested on it too long.

An invitation. But not, thank the gods, to come alone. A revel. A viewing for some new treasures. The statue from before. Some sort of painting. An artifact he was particularly proud to show off. And she should come and let him know how the ritual book was suiting her.

All innocent enough. But she couldn’t help but sense the vaguest menace in the way these things were phrased. He seemed, she thought, annoyed that she hadn’t sought him out to say thank you. Insistent that she should. And every word was laced with double meanings.

And now Master Rhand knew where she slept. Farideh folded the note back up, wishing even harder for Mehen to return so they could leave Waterdeep.

She called up enough of her Hellish powers to tint the veins on the backs of her hands, considering all the consequences of the alternative, should Master Rhand press his interests.

The sound of the door opening jerked Dahl out of a shallow sleep, spent hunched over the small table. He blinked, orienting himself. Then he focused on Tam, frozen beside the open door and looking at Dahl with open surprise.

“Good morning,” he said. “Have you been waiting long?”

Dahl swallowed a yawn. “All night. Where have you been?”

Tam unfastened his cloak and chuckled. “Whatever were you waiting for?”

“For my partner to tell me what by all the gods’ books is going on,” Dahl retorted. “Have you got the page?”

“No,” Tam said, piling the slender spiked chain on the floor. “I found it, but it’s been sold already.”

Dahl waited a moment for more information. “And so? You’re just letting it go?”

“Of course not.”

“So what’s the plan?”

Tam considered him a moment, as if he were trying to decide how best to get a sick bull into a cart bed. “I think it’s best,” he said carefully, “if I do this alone.”

Dahl bit back a curse. “Are you at least going to tell me what ‘this’ is?”

Tam shook his head. “Better not to involve you.”

“What is it you think I’m here for?” Dahl asked tightly. “At the very least tell me what you’re doing so I can tell Master Vishter what happened if you don’t come back.”

Tam gave him a thin smile. “I always come back.”

“Until you don’t.”

That made him chuckle again, like an amused uncle. Like he found Dahl’s concerns an adorable approximation of a real Harper. Dahl balled his fists.

But amused or not, Tam took the borrowed leaflet from the pocket sewn into the lining of his cloak and spread it face down on the table. Sketchy lines of charcoal-the tip of a burnt sliver of wood, perhaps-traced the suggestion of a large building’s floor plan.

“The viewing’s in this North Ward manor,” Tam said. “The page will be placed in the ballroom, about here.” He tapped the largest room in the building, toward the back of the house. “Eight windows face the rear gardens, which are walled in by seven feet of stone. Everyone enters through the front gate, and exits in the same fashion, if the guards have anything to say about it. He’s expecting around seventy guests.”

“You found all this in a night?”

“I am very good at what I do,” Tam answered. “Now the festivities start at sundown tomorrow, an hour after the page is brought in and placed. A friend is getting me in.”

Dahl frowned at the drawing. “You mean to steal it from him at the viewing?”

“Well,” Tam said, straightening, “I think it unlikely Master Rhand will sell it after he’s just bought it.”

“Rhand?” Dahl looked up. “Adolican Rhand?”

“Do you know him?”

“I’ve heard of him,” Dahl said dryly. “The Harpers think he’s got ties to Netheril. He runs caravans up north, to points that make no sense, and he profits a great deal from it. We’re fairly sure he’s smuggling goods to Shade. Possibly information too.” Tam raised an eyebrow and Dahl folded his arms. “People talk.”

“Indeed. All the more reason to keep the page out of his hands.”

Farideh’s dealings with the wizard were on the tip of Dahl’s tongue, but Tam’s dismissal made him set that revelation aside. “All the more reason,” he said, “not to go into this lightly. You can’t rob him on your own.”

“It’s better I do,” Tam said. “The fewer people involved, the fewer chances someone gets hurt. I have a contact inside-I don’t need anyone else.”

“And if that manor’s full of Netherese guards? Or worse? There are rumors he’s got access to shadar-kai-”

“I’ll manage,” Tam said, in a voice that sounded so much like Dahl’s old enchantments teacher that he bristled. “This is the best option.”

“Have you explored any of the other options? ’Cause I’m fairly certain having agents as backup or distractions or cover would prove useful. Have you asked Master Vishter to assign more Harpers?”

“He won’t,” Tam said, as if Dahl were asking why the sky was blue or why the moon didn’t fall down on their heads as she crossed the sky: it was an immutable fact of nature. Aron Vishter wouldn’t help them.

Dahl drew another long breath, and counted to himself.

“Don’t you think,” he said, as civilly as he could, “that it would be safer and simpler to take the page before viewing? Or before it’s transferred?”

“No,” Tam said.

Dahl waited for some explanation, but Tam was already folding up his map. “Because,” Dahl said, “it seems there will be even fewer people involved if we just knock aside some guards.”

“It’s too dangerous.”

“For whom?”

“For all of us,” Tam said sternly. “Trust me, I have been doing this for some time.”

“I’m well aware,” Dahl replied.

Every moment of this assignment made it clearer and clearer that Tam didn’t think of Dahl as a partner, nor truly even as an assistant. Him, Dahl thought bitterly, and everyone else. A millstone, perhaps. A nuisance to be worked around.

Jedik had put Dahl in contact with the Harpers just a year before, hoping no doubt that the opportunity would clear Dahl’s mind, give his thoughts somewhere to focus and his hands something to do besides pick up another bottle. It didn’t matter. The Harpers hardly needed him either.

“At least put me somewhere I can be useful,” Dahl said bitterly. “Give me that if nothing else. A lookout-put me near the doors.”

Tam smiled, but it was that slick, outward smile Dahl had begun to notice and hate. Unimpeachable on the surface, but gods above, Dahl knew he didn’t mean it. “I can handle a good deal more than you give me credit for,” Tam said.

“I’m not doubting you. I’m saying there are too many things that can go wrong.”

“A good reason for you to stay out of the thick of it.”

Oghma’s bloody papercuts, Dahl though, I’d like to hit him. “So my entire purpose is to tell Master Vishter how you died?” Dahl fumed. “You do know I can swing a godsbedamned sword?”

“No one needs to swing swords,” Tam said more firmly. “We want everyone to walk away from this.”

“Good luck to you when there’s a room full of shadar-kai on you.”

Tam looked as if he’d like to hit Dahl too. “Watch your tongue.”

There was a tentative tap on the door, and a slight, pale young man with streaky blond hair pushed in. His eyes darted from Tam to Dahl, and back again.

“Good morning,” he said. “Are you just getting in?”

“Ah, gods, Brin!” Tam said. “My apologies.” He turned back to Dahl. “You might have answered the door, seeing as you were using my rooms.”

“No, no,” the young man said. “I took a room of my own. Farideh said you’d gone out and when I didn’t see you return … well, why come knocking?” He looked over at Dahl. “Is this your new apprentice?” he said, a hint of a chill in his tone.

“I’m working with him,” Dahl said, too furious to be more articulate. He was years out of apprenticeship. “Dahl Peredur.”

The young man’s expression took on a certain steeliness as he clasped the proffered hand. “Brin. Brin Crownsilver.”

Dahl’s surprise must have shown; the young man smirked. The Crownsilvers were well-heeled and influential in Cormyr, enough that even a farmer’s son out of the Dalelands recognized his name.

“I thought you were fresh out of coin,” Tam said, “Goodsir Crownsilver.”

Brin turned back to him. “Yes, well, I’ve … come in to some. Quite a bit, actually. I was hoping … I’m not sure I ought to be using it. It’s … family coin.”

“Presumably your family is the one who gave you access to it,” Tam said, “so I should think they don’t mind.”

“I mind,” Brin said. “If I’m taking it, I feel as if I ought to be putting it to some better use than room and board.”

“I think you’ll find surviving is a very good use for coin,” Tam said. “Start there. Now, if you’ll excuse us?”

Brin looked over at Dahl again. “Are you two working on that page Farideh mentioned?”

“This isn’t open business,” Dahl said.

“It’s more open than you think,” Brin replied. “I know what Tam does outside of his goddess’s dictums. I’m going to assume you do the same?”

Tam held the door open. “What he does or does not do isn’t a point of discussion. Now, if you don’t mind-”

“She seemed to think you were going to steal it,” Brin went on. “But you haven’t got it, have you?” He looked back at Dahl. “You wouldn’t be arguing if you had.” Dahl scowled-he hadn’t meant to be loud enough to be heard, and now Tam would surely point out his indiscretion.

“Enough, Brin,” Tam said, pulling the younger man toward the door. “We’re not playing at courtly intrigue. Remind Farideh of that as well, if you please.” He did not shut the door behind Brin.

“Well,” Tam said, in a voice that brooked no argument. “We’d best prepare.”

Dahl squeezed his fists even tighter and counted to ten the way Jedik always insisted. Dahl’s patience broke anyway.

“I see now why they say the Harpers are a dying breed,” he said acidly. Tam’s expression shifted, as fierce as a dire wolf, and he shut the door, the only way out of this. But it had been too much already. Let’s do this, Dahl thought. “The answer was right there before you-”

“Brin is not the answer,” Tam said. “I already have a plan.”

“It’s not much of a plan.”

“If you want to play adventurer,” the silverstar said, “and run about with foolish ideas that don’t account for reality in the slightest, then get down to the Fisher and hand him your bloody pin. But if you’re assigned to me, you’ll have a little godsbedamned sense and listen.”

“I have been listening!” Dahl shouted. “I’ve done nothing but listen to you, and you’re wrong. He was standing there, all but offering you the funds to cover a competing bid. If we’d asked for the coin-”

“We’d have doomed the scion of a very wealthy family to the tender ministrations of the Shadovar.”

“If you go in alone-”

“Then I have only myself to manage. Which seems a good sight better than the alternative.”

“So you’d rather doom yourself and this mission than tell me what to do?” Dahl shouted. “You’re not the only person involved! You’re not the only one who can do anything.”

“This isn’t a discussion!” Tam snapped. “Go back to Aron and tell him you’re free for more antiquity hunting.”

Dahl stormed from the room, cursing Tam in a dozen different tongues. How could he act like Dahl couldn’t do anything, like he couldn’t help? He wasn’t broken. He wasn’t useless just because he’d fallen, and yet there was Jedik tossing him aside-

Tam. Not Jedik. The thought stopped him in his tracks. Gods, if ever there was a time for a drink. He headed down the stairs.

At the foot of them, Farideh stood, staring down at a note as if it were a slowly opening portal to the Abyss. Dahl’s temper flared.

“What is wrong with you?” he demanded in a low voice. “Did you just flit out of there and start telling anyone who’d listen?”

Farideh looked up at him as if he’d gone a little mad. “What?”

“Your Crownsilver friend knew about the page,” he said. “About what it was.”

“Oh.” She looked back down at the note, turning it in her hands as if she weren’t sure whether to crumple it or handle it like it was made of crystal or read it over again. “He’s no one to worry about.”

“Considering your other ‘friends,’ you’ll forgive my skepticism. Any more gifts from your dear Master Rhand?”

The look she turned on him could have melted steel. She shoved the note at him, crumpling it against his chest. “He sent that,” she said, a tremor of anger in her voice. “He knows where I am.”

Dahl caught the note and opened it: an invitation to the viewing.

An invitation to come right into the room where the page and stone would be, whether Tam appreciated it or not. His thoughts started spinning. He could salvage this …

“Would you consider going?” Dahl asked.

She looked at him as if he’d gone completely mad. “I know you don’t like me, but karshoj-why would you even suggest such a thing?”

He considered the note, the spiky handwriting and the subtle suggestions. He could spin a story, try and convince her it was in her best interests-Hells, maybe it was in her best interests to show up and tell Adolican Rhand to leave her be.

But she’d never trust a word of it. And then he’d be as bad as Tam.

“I need to get into this revel,” he told her quietly. “He’s bought the page and he’s putting it on display. Master Zawad intends to steal it.” Dahl handed back the invitation. “I think he’s underprepared and I want to be there to help.”

“To help,” she asked, “or to catch him in his mistake?”

“With luck there is no mistake, and he can lecture me on my lack of trust,” Dahl said. “But if I can save his neck-and I’m willing to bet I will … I’m not going to promise I won’t ask for his thanks.”

“I wouldn’t believe you if you did.”

He bit back a retort. “You know we have to get that page,” Dahl said. “And … what I said before, I was only repeating what I’d heard. For all you or I truly know, Master Rhand is just …” He hesitated, trying to think of the most innocuous way to phrase it. “An overly wealthy gentleman with poor conversational skills and unfortunate dress sense.”

“That’s plenty for me.” Farideh bit her lip. “Maybe you could just take the invitation,” she said. “I don’t want to wind up in any trouble, and-”

“I’ll teach you rituals,” Dahl interrupted. “Five. Fair?”

She hesitated. “I don’t know if you know the ritual I need.”

“As long as it’s not along Master Rhand’s lines, I can all but guarantee I do know it. Common or obscure-I have a lot of rituals. Ones you won’t find outside of Oghma’s faithful.” She looked unconvinced. “Ten,” he said. “One a day for a tenday. You can choose half of them. Once we’ve got the basics. And I’ll set up a safehouse for you,” he added. “And your sister. Somewhere Rhand can’t bother you.”

She seemed to consider the invitation in her hands, and sighed. “I might not be here in a tenday.”

“Then as many days as you are here,” he said. “I can’t take the chance they won’t let me in, and we have to be sure Netheril doesn’t tease any information out of that page. It could spell war.” Still she hesitated. “I’ll get you a dress,” he said in a wheedling tone. “Something to wear to the revel.”

She scowled at him. “Do you think I’m an idiot? Get me a knife. I’ll need that more.”

“A knife and a dress. You’ll look out of place in leathers.”

“Then get one for Havi too,” she said. “I’m not going in there without someone at my back, and she’ll be a terror if she doesn’t get to wear something frilly.”

Dahl winced. “No. You’ll stand out as it is. Add your sister and all the guards will be eyeing us.”

Farideh folded her arms across her chest. “You’ll be watching Tam’s back. Which means I’ll be left alone … And if we’re moving to another place, I want to be sure we aren’t separated. I want Havilar with me.”

“If anything happens I can’t promise I can get both of you out of danger.”

Farideh laughed to herself. “If anything happens, Havi will be happy to clear a path twice as wide as you need.”