Lies of Light

40

5 Uktar, the Yearof the Staff (1366 DR) Third Quarter, Innarlith

Phyrea had no idea what made her stop, but was sure that if she hadn’t, she’d have been killed.

She had no ability to cast spells, had never been trained in the Art, and had no ring or wand to help her see magical auras, emanations, or dweomers. All she had was instinct, or luck, or whatever it was that told her to stop. She took a deep breath and held it as she drew so close to the door her nose almost touched the lacquered wood. The keyhole was bigas big as the first twp knuckles of her little fingerand set into a polished brass plate above the handle. She tried to look through the keyhole but saw only black. Either it didn’t go all the way through the door, or the room beyond was unlit.

She unfolded her kita soft leather folio in which were arrayed a series of picks and other fine implementsbut wasn’t sure if she should even bother. Picking the lock would surely set off whatever trap it was she’d sensed on the door.

Why don’t you just knock? the voice of the little girl echoed in her head.

Phyrea closed her eyes and slowly exhaled.

What is if? asked the sad woman, her thin voice on the edge of panic. What’s wrong?

Phyrea let her exhale become a reedy hiss. Though she knew no one could hear the voices but her, she wanted them to be quiet anywayshe wanted them to let her think.

Is fire going to shoot out? asked the little girl. If fire shoots out it will burn your face, and you won’t be pretty anymore.

Phyrea turned her head and saw the little girl standing behind her. At first it appeared as though she leaned against a wall, but in fact she stood so close to the wall that her right arm had disappeared into the wood paneling. Phyrea could see the outline of the shop’s assortment of curios and decorative pottery through the wispy violet form of the spectral child.

The little girl who could walk through walls.

“Would you help me?” Phyrea asked, pitching her whispered words so low they barely registered in her own ears.

The little girl looked her in the eyes, and Phyrea’s blood ran cold. Something about the way the girl looked at her made her want to scream.

You don’t talk to us enough, the child whispered back, though her lips only moved once, parting just the slightest bit. You should talk to us more. All we ever wanted was to be your friend, and for you to stay with us.

Phyrea had to force herself to whisper, “Help me.”

The little girl reached out to touch Phyrea’s face-but she had been several steps away. The little girl had moved closer all at once, never stepping, not actually moving across the intervening space. Phyrea recoiled, lurching back away from those translucent fingertips, and bounced her head off the door. Squatting, she slid onto her backside.

The little girl looked hurt, offended, then she faded away.

Phyrea’s head hurt, but worse, the blow had made a sound. She stiffened, spun, and rose to her feet in one motion, and brought her hand to the hilt of the short sword in its scabbard at her belt.

“Who’s there?” asked a muffled voice from the other side of the heavy door.

Damn it all to the Nine bleeding Hells, Phyrea thought.

She’d wanted to sneak in. She’d planned on waking Wenefir from a deep sleep, unsettling him, starting off with him unbalanced so that she would have the upper hand. That was over.

“It’s me,” she said, her voice low but loud enough to carry through the door. “It’s Phyrea.”

You don’t need to live like this anymore, the voice of the man with the scar on his face said. Go back to Berrywilde.

“The hells do you want?” the voice behind the door asked.

“Open the gods bedamned door, Wenefir,” she demanded. “I need to talk.”

“Have you come to kill me?” he asked. “Did I say I came to kill you?” “Yes or no.”

Phyrea took a deep breath and let it all out at once to say the word, “No.”

Wenefir paused, and Phyrea got the feeling he had some way of knowing whether or not she’d told the truth. The lock clanked open, and the hinge squeaked.

Revealed in the open doorway, Wenefir looked old and tired, chubby and soft. He looked her up and down and from the look on his face she could tell he thought she looked bad too, but in what way she wasn’t entirely sure.

“I thought you were out of the business,” he said, lifting an eyebrow.

“I am,” she said. “I didn’t come to fence something.”

He stood there, staring at her, waiting, so she went on.

“You know why I’m here,” she said.

Wenefir sighed and said, “I don’t have time for this, Phyrea. What’s happened to you?”

She shook her head, almost as though she were trying to shake off the look he gave her.

“I’ve been hearing the things you’ve been saying about the young senator from Cormyr, selling him around town like some piece of pilfered jewelry,” he said. “I’ve also heard that you’ve been spending time with the other Cormyrean, the canal builder. Which is it, Phyrea? Which Cormyrean are you here to plead for?”

“I’m not here to plead for anyone,” she lied. She was there to do exactly that.

And Wenefir knew it.

“You have friends in the senate,” she said.

“So do you,” he replied.

Phyrea shook her head.

“So, it’s the canal builder,” Wenefir concluded.

I don’t like him, the little girl whispered.

Phyrea resisted the urge to look over her shoulder.

Neither do I, said the ghost of the little boy. He doesn’t have his man parts.

“Is there anything that can be done?” she asked.

“Why?” Wenefir asked in return.

“What do you-?”

“What do I care about a canal, or about the Cormyrean nobody who’s building it?” he asked.

“I could make it worth your while,” she ventured, having no idea how she could, really.

He laughed.

“A favor then?” she tried. “A personal favor… for an old friend.”

He thought about it for a moment then said, “You steal things and bring them to me, and I give you gold. What makes you think, all of a sudden, that I can affect the whims and desires of the senate?”

“I know who you work for,” she said, though she’d never wanted him to know she knew that, but he didn’t look surprised.

“I’ve never meant to keep that a secret,” he said, though she didn’t believe him. “Anyone who mixes in your father’s circles will have seen me with him.”

“Is there something that can be done?” she asked.

Wenefir offered a weak smile and said, “Do you care that much? Really?”

She didn’t answer, but looked him in the eye.

“Never come here again like this, in the middle of the night,” he warned her. “Had you tried to pick that lock you would have been burned. You might have been killed.”

Phyrea’s breath caught in her throat. She looked over her shoulder, and the ghost of the little girl was behind her. The glowing violet child smiled. Gooseflesh broke out along the undersides of Phyrea’s arms.

“Are you well?” Wenefir asked.

Phyrea nodded.

“If I have anything to tell you,” he said even as he started to close the door, “I’ll find you.”