The Black Bouquet

CHAPTER 7

With the approach of evening, the Talondance had become more crowded and unruly. The clamor of the customers nearly drowned out the constant reedy music that droned from no visible source, as if ghosts were playing the birdpipes, shaums, and whistlecanes. As she surveyed the assembly of orcs, hobgoblins, bugbears, ogres, lizard men, and humans who appeared equally savage, Miri was glad that she had a comrade to watch her back.

She turned to Sefris and said, "I don't think you'll have to linger here very long to see things you wouldn't see back in the monastery."

"I imagine you're right," Sefris replied. "In fact, here's one of them now. Look sharp."

An orc clad in a shirt of scale armor crowed and leaned forward to rake in its winnings. A lizard man on the opposite side of the table hissed, threw down its cards, grabbed the hooked short sword that lay naked beside its dwindling stakes, and sprang up from its chair. Its lashing tail tripped a garishly painted whore and sent her staggering.

The orc jumped up, and crossing its arms, it reached to draw the daggers it carried sheathed on either hip. Other orcs and lizard men scrambled toward the scene of the confrontation, while those with no interest in choosing a side scurried to distance themselves from it. A human shouted that he'd give two to one on the scaly folk.

Then a massive form, tall as an ogre but even burlier, as well as less human in its proportions, emerged from a shadowy alcove. Armored in yellow-brown chitin, its feelers quivering, it employed its elongated arms with their long, thick claws to knuckle-walk like an ape. It gnashed its huge mandibles once. Everyone jumped at the sharp rasp, turned, then froze when they saw what had made the sound. After a moment, the orcs and lizard men lowered their weapons.

Miri shook her head. She'd seen many strange things in her career as a scout, but few stranger than an umber hulk maintaining order in a tavern. If she could believe her training, the immense subterranean creatures possessed their own kind of intelligence, but not of a sort that disposed them to cooperate with humans or even goblin-kin.

"Amazing," she said as the umber hulk, evidently satisfied that it had cowed the would-be brawlers, turned away.

"The yuan-ti said the owner of the Talondance was a wizard," Sefris replied. "It didn't mention her magic was powerful enough to enslave a brute like that."

"Maybe there's another explanation."

"Possibly."

"Feeling reluctant?" Miri asked.

"No, merely pointing out that we'll need to keep our wits about us."

"Believe it or not, I've been trying to do that right along, even if you couldn't tell it from the way I blundered into the slavers' trap." Miri smiled crookedly, nodded at a female gnoll standing behind a bar, and said, "Let's talk to that one."

As they wended their way through the crowd, a sweaty, musky, half-animal stench, compounded of the individual stinks of unwashed specimens of twenty different races, assailed Miri's nostrils. Its thumb on the scale, a hobgoblin weighed out measures of mordayn powder for eager-in some cases frantic-addicts. Prostitutes pulled down their bodices or lifted their skirts, exposing expanses of pimply, pasty flesh to entice their customers. A potential buyer peered into a slave's ears, and a foppishly dressed, nervous-looking young man dickered with a pair of ruffians, trying to negotiate his uncle's murder.

It was all sordid and repulsive almost beyond belief, and Miri glanced at Sefris to see how she was tolerating it. Somewhat to her surprise, the monastic wore her usual half smile, as if the scene didn't trouble her in the slightest. Evidently the Broken Ones achieved some genuine serenity through their martial exercises and meditations.

"What you want?" snarled the gnoll, a bit of slaver dripping from its canine muzzle. It could speak the common tongue employed by a good many civilized and even barbaric folk across the continent of Faerun, but not very well.

"We need to speak to Naneetha Dalaeve," Miri said as she laid a silver piece on the bar.

The gnoll failed to pick up the coin.

"Don't know nobody named that," it said. "What you drink?"

"She owns this place," Miri said.

The yuan-ti she and Sefris had interrogated had told them as much, and since the snake-man had feared for its life at the time, she was inclined to believe it.

"Don't know her," the gnoll repeated. "Buy drinks, or get out."

Miri sensed it would do no good to increase the size of the bribe.

"Two jacks of ale," she said.

The shaggy, long-legged gnoll fetched them, one hoped without drooling into them during the process, and the two humans stepped away from the bar.

"What now?" Sefris asked.

"See that doorway in the rear wall?" Miri replied. "It stands to reason that if the owner isn't out here, she's in the back somewhere. The problem will be reaching her. I've already had enough excitement for one day. I'd just as soon pass on fighting an umber hulk and half the goblin-kin in Oeble."

"Suppose I distract everyone?" the monastic asked. "Would you be comfortable bracing a wizard by yourself?"

"Yes," Miri said, "but what are you planning? I don't want you putting yourself in danger."

Sefris's enigmatic smile widened ever so slightly as she said, "Don't worry. Everybody in Oeble loves knife-play, so I'll simply teach them a thing or two about the sport. Wait until everyone is looking my way, then make your move."

The monastic slipped through the throng toward the spot where an orc, a goblin, and a lizard man stood throwing daggers at a human silhouette crudely daubed on the wall. The otherwise black target had its eyes, throat, and heart picked out in red, presumably for bull's-eyes. Some of the Dance's patrons sat just to the sides of the mark, but they didn't look nervous because of it. Either they trusted the competitors' accuracy, or they were too drunk or reckless by nature to mind the blades hurtling past scant inches from their bodies.

Sefris pushed back her cowl. The rogues, goblin-kin, and scaly folk had already marked her as an outsider, but beholding her shaved head, they realized she was a more exotic visitor than they'd initially thought.

"Pitiful," she said. She wasn't shouting, not in any obvious way, but even so, her voice carried across the tavern back to where Miri was standing.

The orc turned. It was missing its left ear, and perhaps as some obscure form of compensation, it wore several jangling golden hoops pierced into the right.

"Are you talking to us?" it asked.

"I'm afraid so," Sefris replied. "All my life, I've heard how deftly folk in Oeble handle knives. I thought when I finally saw it I'd marvel. But the three of you throw like blind, arthritic old grannies."

The orc bristled. Considering that neither it nor its fellow players had missed the painted figure, it was entitled.

"Can you do better?" the humanoid grunted.

"Of course," said Sefris. "Anyone could."

Her movements a fluid blur, she snatched her chakrams from her pockets and threw them one after the other. Miri was impressed. She'd trained hard to learn to nock, draw, and loose her arrows rapidly, but she would have been hard-pressed to send a pair of them flying as fast as that.

The razor-edged rings thunked into the target's torso.

The one-eared orc spat. "That's not as good as my throwing. Last round, I hit both the eyes."

"I needed to warm up," Sefris replied. "I'm ready to play now."

"We already have a game going on," the goblin said.

The small, bandy-legged creature wore a royal-blue velvet cape that was both bloodstained and considerably too large for it. Presumably it had stolen the garment off a corpse.

"Begin a new one," Sefris said. "Unless you're afraid to play against someone who knows how to throw a knife."

"Why should we start over?" asked the orc. "We throw for gold. Have you got any?"

"Not much," Sefris said.

"Then stop wasting our time, before we decide to use you for a target."

"What I do have," the monastic continued, "is myself. If I lose, I'll do the winner's bidding until sunrise. Anything he asks."

The offer shocked Miri and likewise silenced the crowd for a heartbeat or two. Then the onlookers started to laugh and babble.

"You say 'anything,' " said the orc. "It's liable to be just about anything. Anything nasty."

"What do I care about warm-blood females?" growled the lizard man.

"You could rent her out," said the one-eared orc. "The place is full of folk who'd relish a go at a fresh, clean human woman, even if she is bald. Not that you're going to win. I am."

"I take it my wager is acceptable," Sefris said.

"Yes," said the orc, leering. "There's just one thing. You challenged us to a knife-throwing contest, so you'll have to use knives, not those rings."

It pulled a pair of daggers from its boots, tossed them into the air, caught them by the blades, and proffered them hilts first

If Sefris felt dismay at the substitution, she didn't let it show.

She examined the knives, and then said, "These will do. What are the rules?"

"You throw two times every round," said the orc. "Hit the black, and it's a point. Hit the red, and it's five. Miss the red three turns in a row, and you're out. First one to three hundred wins."

Sefris nodded and asked, "Who starts?"

"Maidens first," the orc said with a grin.

Miri saw that the whole tavern was watching the bout, which meant it was time to sneak away. But she couldn't, not just then. She couldn't bring herself to abandon Sefris until she felt confident that the monastic had at least a reasonable chance of holding her own against the other players.

Sefris threw the daggers as quickly as she'd cast the chakrams. One pierced the target's heart, and the other, its throat She was equally accurate the following round.

Of course, even if she was victorious, it wouldn't necessarily mean she was out of danger. The losers might resent the humiliation and decide to molest her anyway. But for the moment at least, she was safe. The spectators perceived she had such a good chance that some of them were betting on her, and everyone wanted to see how the contest would turn out

Miri would do her best to return before the end, so that whatever happened, Sefris would have a comrade to help her escape harm. For surely, wager or no, the monastic had no intention of submitting herself to the brutality of a gang of ruffians and goblin-kin, nor as far as Miri was concerned, did honor require that she should.

The ranger skulked along the wall until she reached the doorway, then slipped through. On the other side was a corridor with chambers opening off to either side. Storerooms held beer barrels and racks of wine. Blocks of ice, an expensive commodity in the Border Kingdoms with their warm climate and lack of mountains, cooled the larder. Rather to Miri's relief, none of the red-and-white hanging carcasses was human, the menu she'd noticed earlier notwithstanding. Inside the steamy kitchen, a fat cook in a stained apron screamed curses and beat a cringing goblin assistant about the head with a ladle.

And that was it. The hallway didn't seem to go anywhere else. Yet the yuan-ti had sworn that the reclusive Naneetha Dalaeve lived somewhere on the premises.

If so, Miri had to find the mage's personal quarters quickly, before someone else stepped into the corridor and spotted her. Knowing that spellcasters sometimes used illusions to hide that which they wished to remain private, she peered closely at the sections of wall around her, and when that failed to yield results, she ran her hands over the brick.

At first that didn't work, either, but then roughness smoothed beneath her fingers. Once her sense of touch defeated the phantasm, her vision pierced it a moment later, and she was looking at an oak door.

She tried the brass handle, and found the panel was unlocked. She slipped warily through into a suite dimly illuminated by the soft greenish light of everlasting candles. The sitting room was lavishly furnished in a frilly, lacy style that set her teeth on edge. It looked like the habitation of a nobleman's pampered daughter, not the lair of a wizard who ran a tavern catering to dastards of every stripe. The books on the shelves were of a piece with the rest of the decor. Instead of tomes of arcane lore, they were ballads and romances, tales of knights slaying dragons for the love of princesses both beautiful and pure.

A small dog yapped, and in response, a feminine voice laughed. Miri followed the sound through the apartment. She crept past one room that manifestly was a wizard's conjuration chamber, with a rather slim grimoire reposing on a lectern, sigils of protection inscribed on the walls, and the memory of bitter incense hanging in the air, then came to the source of the noise. Beyond another doorway, a blond woman in a shimmering blue silk dressing gown tossed a rawhide chew toy for a little fox-red terrier, which bounded after the plaything and fetched it back to her. The dog's mistress sat with her back to the door.

"Mistress Dalaeve," Miri said.

The terrier rounded on her and barked. The blond woman gave a start then, without turning around, swept her hands through what was clearly a cabalistic gesture.

"No spells!" Miri nocked an arrow and drew the fletching back to her ear. "I'm not here to hurt you, but-"

She broke off the threat because Naneetha obviously had no intention of heeding her. Her hands kept moving.

Such stubbornness posed a dilemma. If Miri was prudent, she'd loose the arrow before the wizard could complete the magic. But she wouldn't be able to question Naneetha if she killed her, and common sense told her it was difficult for any marksman, even a wizard, to target a foe while looking in the opposite direction. So she hesitated a heartbeat, and the blond woman pressed her hands to her own face.

As far as Miri could see, nothing happened as a result.

Naneetha uncovered her features and said, "Quiet, Saeval!"

The terrier yipped a final time, then subsided. The wizard turned, revealing a flawlessly beautiful heart-shaped countenance worthy of a heroine in one of the sagas on which she evidently doted.

"Who are you," the woman asked, "and what do you want?"

Miri released the tension on her bow and pointed the arrow at the floor, but kept it on the string.

"My name is Miri Buckman. I'm a guide of the Red Hart Guild. I apologize for bursting in on you this way, but my business is urgent, and your staff didn't want to let me in to see you."

"I like my privacy."

"I won't intrude on it any longer than necessary. I just need you to answer a few questions. A robber stole a strongbox from the courtyard of the Paera-"

"I know. Everyone does. You must be the ranger who lost the prize."

Miri sighed and said, "What everyone doesn't know is the name of the thief, or at least, no one's been willing to tell me. But I've learned he's a friend of yours. He and his three accomplices drank here often."

"As I'm sure you've seen, the Dance is a busy place. Many rogues squander their loot here."

"But sometimes you invited this particular scoundrel, who's young, lean, fit, and wears a goatee, to wander back to your suite and visit you."

"You're mistaken."

"I don't believe you," Miri said, "and I promise, I'll pay for information."

"The Dance brings in all the coin I need," Naneetha said. "Now, please go."

"I'm sorry, it isn't that easy."

"Let's be clear, then," the woman asked. "Are you threatening to shoot me if I refuse to betray a friend?"

Even as frustrated as she was, Miri didn't have the stomach for such callous retribution, but she didn't have to admit as much.

"Why shouldn't I kill you?" she asked. "You provide a haven for the worst kinds of vermin to conduct their business and pursue depraved amusements. That makes you as bad as they are."

"It must be nice out in the wilderness, where everything's so simple… good or evil, gold or dung. In Oeble, we live as best we can."

"If your goal is to live, give me the robber's name."

"No," Naneetha said. "I don't have many friends. It's hard to make them when you spend your days in a cellar, and Saeval and my books aren't enough to hold the loneliness at bay. The few companions I do have brighten my days with the stories of their adventures, and the lad you seek has told me some splendid ones."

Miri wondered if Naneetha was an invalid or such a notorious fugitive that she dared not show her face in the city above, for she seemed to be saying she felt unable ever to leave the confines of the Talondance.

"Whatever lies the wretch feeds you," Miri said, "he's a common thief, not a hero out of your storybooks."

The wizard shrugged.

"Look," Miri persisted, "it's nice you have someone to keep you company, but a good many people will suffer if I don't recover the lockbox."

"Why?"

"I'm not at liberty to say, but you have my word that it's the truth."

"Well, you have mine that I'd sooner push a hundred strangers into the Abyss than betray one friend." Naneetha lifted her hands, making a show of poising them for further conjuration, and added, "Now, are we going to fight?"

No, Miri thought bitterly, we aren't.

Naneetha had called her bluff, and that was that. It felt in keeping with the fundamental perversity of Oeble that the first even vaguely honorable person she'd met in the Underways had proved just as unwilling to help her as all the black-hearted scoundrels she'd questioned hitherto.

She was pondering how to make a dignified exit when the dog yapped.

"I see you found her," Sefris said.

Miri glanced over her shoulder. The monastic appeared unscathed and unruffled as usual.

"Thank Mielikki-and Ilmater-that you're all right," Miri said.

"It was no great matter. I won the contest, the orc and goblin took exception to it, and I had to knock each of them senseless. That started a brawl even the umber hulks-it turns out there are two-had some difficulty quelling. In the confusion, I slipped back here to join you."

Once again, Miri was impressed. Logic suggested that when the fight had broken out, Sefris must have been at the very center of it. She'd surely needed almost preternatural powers of stealth and evasion to extricate herself from the fray.

"And what of you?" the monastic continued. "Are you finding the answers you seek?"

"No," Naneetha said, "she isn't. She was just leaving, and I ask you to do the same."

"You don't seem to realize the situation has changed," Sefris said. In the blink of an eye, a chakram appeared in her hand. "The scout and I are both adept at combat. Perhaps your magic could fend off her or me alone, but not the two of us together, and after we've subdued you, we'll make sure you can't give us any more trouble. I never yet met a mage who was much of a threat with broken fingers."

"Nor I a warrior, once she was burned from head to toe," Naneetha replied.

Miri would have sworn the doorway wasn't wide enough to accommodate two women without them squeezing and jostling one another, but Sefris twisted through in one sudden movement, without even brushing her. Once inside the room, she had a clear shot with the chakram, and when she lifted it, the ranger realized she hadn't been bluffing.

Miri snatched frantically and grabbed Sefris's arm.

"No!" she cried.

Her eyes cold, unreadable, Sefris stared at her.

"She knows," he monastic said. "The yuan-ti said so."

"Still…"

Sefris took a breath and let it out slowly.

"As you wish," she said. "It's your errand. I just came along to help as best I can."

"I take it you're leaving," Naneetha said.

"Yes," Miri said. She started to turn away, then yielded to the urge to make one more try. "It's your own people, your own city, that will benefit if I recover the box."

"Such vagaries mean nothing," the wizard said.

At the same time, Sefris murmured something under her breath then sprang past Miri and dashed back down the hall. The ranger turned just in time to see her comrade vanish into the conjuration chamber.

"What's she doing?" Naneetha asked, sounding rattled for the first time.

"I don't know," Miri said.

Sefris strode back into view with the mage's open grimoire. One hand clutched the vellum pages, ready to tear.

"Tell us what we need to know," the monastic said, "or I'll destroy this."

"Is that supposed to frighten me?" Naneetha asked. "I can buy a new spellbook, or scribe one myself if need be."

"Yes," Sefris said, "but in the meantime, you won't have access to your magic. You won't be able to cover your face with a mask of illusion. Everyone will see your scars."

Naneetha stared, swallowed, then said, "I have no idea what you mean."

"Of course you do," Sefris replied. "Is this the page with the disguise spell?" The monastic ripped a leaf in half, crumpled the loose portion, and dropped it to the floor. "Or is it the next?"

"Stop it, or I swear I'll burn you!"

"While I'm holding the grimoire? I doubt it."

She tore a second page.

"Please," the wizard begged, all the defiance running out of her at once, "you're a woman, too. Don't make me be ugly. My friends won't come to see me anymore."

"Then the choice should be easy," Sefris said. "Betray one companion, or lose them all."

It took Naneetha several seconds to force the words out, "His name is Aeron sar Randal."

Miri felt a pang of excitement, undercut by a muddled shame at the manner in which Sefris had extracted the information.

"Where does he live?" the ranger asked.

"I don't know. I don't think many people do. A lot of thieves are wary of letting folk know where they sleep."

"Well, fortunately," Miri said, "the town's not huge. Did this Aeron talk to you about the plot to steal the strongbox?"

"A little. The Red Axes hired him to do it."

"The Red Axes?"

"The biggest gang in Oeble."

"Then by now," said Miri glumly, "he's delivered the coffer to them."

Naneetha hesitated for an instant as if trying to decide whether to risk a lie.

"No," the wizard said. "For some reason, he didn't hand it over, and now they're looking for him, too."

For once, the ranger thought, maybe the Oeblaun propensity for double-dealing would work in her favor.

"Then we have to find him first," said Miri.