The God Catcher

SIX

The next morning, the sun broke through the clouds long enough to give the people of Waterdeep a little hope of a pleasant day. Puddles of rainwater still pooled in the low spots of the cobbles and the patches of missing pavers. A scrap of fog clung to the God Catcher's shoulder, but it was rapidly burning off. The handful of people coming and going across the street of the God Catcher still wore their stormcloaks, in case the clouds changed their minds.

Tennora had spent the early hours of the morning attempting to open the lock of her door with the set of rusty picks from the bottom of her mother's trunk, while Nestrix leaned over her shoulder.

"You're doing it wrong," she said, as Tennora managed to snap three of the picks off in the lock. "I thought you said you were a thief."

"No," Tennora said. "You said I was a thief. I'm about to say I'm not going to help you anymore if you don't sit down." She sighed and examined the lock. "This isn't working-the picks are all corroded. We need fresh ones."

There were probably plenty of people in Waterdeep who could tell Tennora where the best place to buy lockpicks was. She only knew one-Mardin.

And just because he could didn't mean he would. Not for the first time, Tennora thought about plunging into the seedier areas of Waterdeep herself and ferreting out the sort of shop that would sell her lockpicks. Whether that would be better or worse than the lecture she was risking from Mardin… She paced a little bit before the door-rehearsing what she was going to say, how she was going to say it.

Nestrix would not have made things easier-she was as like to threaten Mardin as anything. Even if she were silent as a tomb, her presence would make Mardin overreact. Tennora told her to wait in the apartment and handed her a new stack of books to read, before heading out to Mardin's hearth-house.

Mardin was sitting at a table in front of the hearth-house's fire, his ledgers spread open in front of him when Tennora came in. She shut the door gently behind her.

"How the trembling Hells do we go through so much bacon?" he muttered to himself.

"Mardin?"

He looked up, and a smile broke over his face. "Good morning, petal. Looking for a slake? I can have Han fry up something." He started to stand. "Or lessons? Had we planned on you practicing? Let me get-"

"No, no. Nothing like that." She sat in the seat opposite him.

His smile fell into a worried frown. "What is it? Your aunt giving you grief? That brightbird of yours get you into trouble?"

Tennora sighed. "Mardin, I don't have a lover. And no, I'm not 'in trouble,' whatever you mean by that."

"All right, all right. Just making sure your sails are straight. Just seemed like maybe you and that fellow passing notes…" He raised his eyebrows.

Tennora frowned. "What fellow?"

"Nice half-orc. Wore a cloak. In here the other night, asking if I knew where you lived." Mardin put his quill back in the inkpot. "Figured you'd broken his heart and he was looking to beg you to fix it up. I don't judge if it makes you happy, petal." He gave her a particularly avuncular look. "You could do a lot worse."

Tennora sighed. Mardin was trying to protect her, she knew. But how was nagging her about finding a beau any different than Aunt Aowena nagging her about paying attention to her friends' sons in hopes she'd wed one? And she hoped she could do better than a strange half-orc…

"Wait," she said. "On the fifth? After I left?"

"Yes. Said he was worried about you."

The one who'd given her the leaflet. The one who had warned her about Nestrix.

"That wasn't a love note. Have you seen him around since then?"

"Neither hide nor hair," Mardin said. "You want me to keep an eye out for him?"

"Please. And don't let him tell you he knows me."

Mardin's eyes twinkled darkly, reminding Tennora he'd once been a bit of a tough in his younger days. She wondered if she asked him just exactly how he'd known her mother, he would tell her tales not of escaping monsters in the wilds but of second-story jobs and outsmarting guards.

"What was it you wanted to talk about?" he said.

"I… I'm a little short of coin," she said. "I need-"

"How much do you need?"

"No," she said. "I don't want to borrow anything. I need to sell some things. Some of my mother's things."

Mardin frowned. "Don't know if I can help you get rid of fancy dresses. Maybe some jewels, but you should take those someplace up north. You'll get a better price."

"Not those sorts of things," Tennora said significantly. "I have a trunk of hers. An… old trunk. It's…" She cleared her throat to banish the lump forming in it, and looked away from Mardin. "That is, they're what you would call specialty items, and I think you know what that means."

Mardin leaned away from the table, his eyes suddenly wary. "Oh. That."

"Yes," she said tightly. "What is it in the box?"

"Her leathers. Her dagger. Lockpicks. Some jewelry. Gloves, boots."

Mardin scratched the back of his neck. "Well then. That's different." He cleared his own throat. "Didn't know she held on to those things. I… Well, it's a surprise, isn't it? Or did you…?" "I didn't know," she said. She looked away again. "I don't want to sell all of it," she said. "But… a few things need to find a… specialty shop. Do you know where I should take them?"

"Bring them to me," Mardin said. "You won't know how to bargain with that sort. Your aunt wouldn't like it."

"I don't much care what Aunt Aowena likes or not at this stage."

"You'll get arrested if you're selling… certain goods. No."

"I'm not trying to fence anything," Tennora said. "Just the… tools."

"You'll never get much for them."

"Let me try," Tennora said. "After all, I can't borrow coin from people for the rest of my life. When it doesn't work, you can say you told me so and loan me the coin, but I want those things out of my house. I don't want to live with her lies."

The sounds of Han, the cook, working up the highsunfeast-pots banging, dishes clattering, fat sizzling-floated into the dining room as Mardin stared at Tennora, saying not a word.

"I know-" Tennora said.

"Listen to me, petal," Mardin said, his voice stern. "I know your mother kept these things from you, and you're fair angry right now. And that's how it's going to be-I won't take that from you. But you have to know she didn't tell you because she loved you. She was protecting you. And not just from those nosy gulls Mesial was stuck with. There's a damned good reason I'm retired, and a damned better reason your mother gave it up. You don't even want to think about heading into that world. Understand?"

"I wasn't intending to," Tennora said, subdued.

"Good. All right then"-Mardin put his spectacles back on and leaned over the desk-"the name of the best shop for you to go to is-"

"Wait. I thought you said I shouldn't even think about it." "I did," Mardin said. "I also know you're a bright and stubborn young lady. You want to know, you'll find a way. Better I give you the name of somebody you can trust." He tore the edge of one of his ledger pages and scribbled the name and address of the shop on it. He passed the slip to Tennora.

"You tell old Fladnor I sent you," he said, gesturing with the quill. "First thing you tell him when you walk in. Keep your hand on your coin purse. And don't go wandering around down in the Dock Ward."

She started out the door when he called to her again.

"Tennora."

She looked back over her shoulder at him, watching her with a worried expression.

"When you get tired of being angry, remember your mother was a person too, and we all make mistakes."

"I'm not angry," Tennora said, the lie tasting foul in her mouth.

"Petal," Mardin said. "Stop."

"I'm not," Tennora said with a smile that felt as if it would shatter at any moment. "You're right. We all make mistakes." She turned and headed out the door before he could break her resolve.

Of all the things that Nestrix hated about her new life, boredom was the very worst. Bored dragons had all manner of remedies at their disposal-hunting, flying, swimming, counting treasure, terrorizing caravans… And it took a good long time to get properly bored. Years even.

She shut the book Tennora had left her. Another tome that made spurious claims about the culture of dragons. At least it had understood that xorvintaal was a complicated game that humans couldn't hope to grasp-much closer to the truth. But gods above, who had taught the author about denning?

The open window let in the sun, the crisp air of midmorning, and the voices of people on the square below greeting one other and chattering like a flock of geese. Faraway bells were chiming the hours. Nestrix didn't understand the point of that-why let people know an hour had past? It was only an hour.

Even after so long, Nestrix felt as if all she did was ask questions.

Tennora had said not to leave, had said to wait for her to come back. The apartment felt cramped and unfriendly.

And waiting for Tennora, all Nestrix wanted was to go out into the fresh air.

Why should she listen to a half-grown dokaal anyway? What was Tennora going to do if Nestrix did go out? And why shouldn't she do what she wanted?

"You stand out," Tennora had said. "People will take notice of you, and you don't want that."

Nestrix had to agree-she didn't want people calling the Watch on her again. While it had been amusing to taunt the Watch captain, and even amusing to fight off the men and women he'd sent to subdue her, she had a plan now. She didn't have the frustration to channel away.

But she had better clothes now-Tennora's skirt and blouse and the other skirt that went over the top of the first. What had she called it?

"Apron," Nestrix said aloud, savoring the sound of the unfamiliar word.

She felt suddenly dizzy, as a series of images-more of the aprons, hanging from a string tied between a house and a scraggly palm, and a girl with dark hair running between them and the sun so bright and hot that she didn't want to leave the shade of the house-overlaid her thoughts. She gripped the arm of the chair, her pulse racing. Her mind unfolded the remembered scent of linen and the attar of roses.

Then, as suddenly as it flared up, it receded and lay quiet in her mind, waiting for her to call on it.

Nestrix ignored it with a ferocity born of many such intrusions.

The first time the memories had erupted had been so long before, Nestrix couldn't recall when it was or where she'd been. Just that, out of nothing, she was recalling a man waving at her from the driver's seat of a wagon with a bright red cover.

They came and went, while she slept and sometimes while she was awake, as if some other person's thoughts poured into her ears and flooded her dreams. Sometimes she saw herself, blue-scaled and sharp-toothed. Sometimes she saw herself as a blonde-haired woman with a vulpine face and a gap in her teeth. Sometimes the woman was black-haired with an aquiline nose and eyes like a summer sky.

Sometimes the little dark-haired girl was there, tugging on Nestrix's wing or skirts and sometimes she was a blue wyrmling. Sometimes there was treasure. Sometimes there were people she felt she knew or places she could have sworn she'd been. The memories poured into her head without reason, without end.

She didn't want them.

And after the memory's intrusion, she didn't want to be in the apartment either. She still had no shoes. Tennora's feet were far smaller than Nestrix's, and nothing she offered would fit. Nestrix ran a hand over her heavily callused soles. She'd wrapped her feet in rags for so many years that she couldn't remember when the last bunch had rotted away and she hadn't bothered to replace them. Tennora's boots looked much sturdier.

After she'd changed, Nestrix's feet were always tender, always getting cut. Shoes would have helped-what poor work the gods had done when they created the dokaal! It would have been better to make the feet with the shoes a part of them-or rough from the start, as hers had become.

She wiggled her toes and thought about how much better they would look when they were claws again.

Still…

If she was going to do things right, it would be best if she looked like a human-and humans here wore shoes. They couldn't possibly cost very much-not if everyone needed shoes. And how amusing would it be to hang a pair of boots in her hoard and tell the story of how she had been a human for a time?

Nestrix stood, decision made. She remembered a busy cluster of tents and people not too far away, in the shade of several old and beautiful towers. The dokaal in those shops had been keen to sell her all manner of things-perfumes and attars, silks and brocades, oranges, clay bowls, pipeweed. One of them must sell boots. She strode out the door, weighing her coin purse. Not much-only a few score gold pieces and the rest silver. Remembering the beautiful piles of coins she'd once had, Nestrix sighed, tucked the pouch back under Tennora's blouse, and headed for the marketplace.

The shop had no sign except for the shape of a raven burned into the door, no number, and only a narrow, dirty window to display its wares. Tennora looked at the slip and back up at the building. It had to be the place.

Even though it was the middle of the day, there was something so dank, so oppressive about the street that Tennora couldn't help but think it was much later, late enough that she should be home and in bed.

She shook those thoughts away. She needed to do this.

For who? A little voice demanded. For a woman she hardly knew?

In a sense, yes, but the woman wasn't Nestrix. Because, as Tennora started to realize, standing in front of the dingy little shop that insisted it was number thirteen, Dust Alley, it had quite a lot more to do with her mother.

If Mardin knew this shop, her mother knew this shop. If Mardin knew the owner, the owner had probably known Liferna. The real Liferna.

As soon as she'd turned onto Snail Street and into the Dock Ward, she'd caught herself imagining going into the shop, seeing the old man behind the counter, and before she could even say what she wanted, hearing him gasp and declare, "You look exactly like your mother." It was silly, and it made her aunt and uncle's protests ring even louder in her mind.

But she wanted it more than she could have imagined when she'd realized this Fladnor might know Liferna after all.

"Looking to get yourself robbed?" a voice drawled.

Tennora spun around and saw she was being watched by two women dressed in bright, flounced skirts pocked with bows and bits of lace-and in low-cut blouses. They wore paint on their faces, their lush lips like opening roses, their eyes like coals. A pair of highcoin lasses loitering before a tenement, they seemed like they were her own age, but their eyes looked infinitely older.

Tennora put her hand on her coin purse to make certain it was still there, and the prostitutes laughed.

"Poor girl," the one in the red skirt said. "Poor dumb girl."

"Sovann's gonna have a full time with you," the other said.

"What is that supposed to mean?" Tennora said acidly.

The woman chuckled. "You'll have to find out for yourself. Just don't let your guard down. He's a tricky one."

"I don't intend to," Tennora said. She drew herself up very straight, turned on her heel, and headed into the shop she'd been eyeing.

Inside, shelves lined every wall of the shop, stretching all the way to the ceiling. The beams were at least three times Tennora's height above her. The shelves dripped with all manner of wares: glossy weapons, books, glass bottles, yellow candles, gloves, and paper-wrapped sweets. Her gaze traveled down to the counter.

And to the four young men and a woman who were watching her traverse the shop. Their eyes were not friendly, least of all the young man standing behind the counter, sipping from a mug. He-like all of them-wore simple, form-fitting clothes and had an air about him that made Tennora think he would be perfectly at home crouching on a rooftop somewhere. He regarded her with a lazy interest, as if he hadn't decided whether she was worth his attention.

Calm, she told herself. Stay calm. Aowena could cow a clerk; well, then so could Tennora. If Liferna could buy lockpicks, then so would she.

"Well met. I'm looking for Fladnor," she said. "Mardin Eftnacost sent me."

The young man behind the counter looked her up and down, his focus on her sharpening even if his manner still seemed easy. "Fladnor's retired," he said after a moment. "And I don't know your Mardin."

She looked him over in return, the way her aunt would a shop-girl. "Well, then you will have to do."

The young man raised an eyebrow. "Indeed?" His cronies sniggered. One rat-faced man leered at her. Tennora felt her cheeks flushing.

"I expect you're Sovann, then," she said. "I was warned about you. Do you suppose we could do this civilly?"

Sovann smiled. "Should have listened, duchess. Go home. I've got nothing to sell you."

"I need lockpicks." She unrolled the package that contained her mother's set. "These are rusting. I've already broken several."

Sovann frowned at the set. "Lockpicks," he said thoughtfully. "No, I don't think I've ever heard of such a thing. How about you, Gargo?"

"Never in my life," the rat-faced man said with a look of mock astonishment.

"Hmm. Lucira? You?"

A slim brunette lounging against the wall shook her head. "Not I."

"Well, I don't know what to tell you," Sovann said, all innocence. "Can't sell you something I never heard of."

"Clever. I've never heard an ass talk, let alone spin lies," Tennora said-as soon as it was out of her mouth she felt her cheeks flame red. He was not a man she should be insulting. Indeed, Sovann's eyes had narrowed, though his smile didn't budge. She felt an apology float to her lips, but she kept her mouth shut and her eyes hard.

"They sound illegal," he said. "Wouldn't want to call the Watch on a pretty thing like you. You'd better head home."

"You wouldn't dare."

"Try me."

Tennora crossed her arms over her chest. "All right. Go ahead. I'll tell them it's part of my research, looking into magically improving locks. What will you say about your wares?"

Sovann smiled. "We have an understanding, the local Watch captain and I."

Tennora leaned on the counter's table, growing angrier than she could ever remember being. She narrowed her eyes right back at him. "And how much will that understanding cost you if I start shouting once they get here? They'll take one look at me and-"

Tennora stiffened. Her belt had just become almost imperceptibly lighter. She turned to find one of the young men walking quickly toward the door, her coin purse in hand.

All that anger erupted inside her. She was through being laughed at.

She grabbed the mug sitting on the counter and hurled it at the thief.

It hit him squarely on the base of his skull and shattered, throwing shards of clay everywhere and sending a splash of tea down his neck. He stumbled, tripped on the staircase, and came down hard on his stomach-just in time for Tennora to plant a boot on his wrist and wrench her coin purse away from him.

"I have the coin," she said, feeling as ferocious as if dragonfear were burning through her. "Now sell me the stlarning lockpicks!"

Silence reigned for an interminable moment.

Sovann's stiff smile eased into a grin of genuine amusement. Without taking his bright brown eyes off hers, he reached beneath the counter and pulled out a bundle of dark cloth. He unrolled it, revealing a row of sharp wires, pins, and hooks, shining in the sunlight as lovely and as precious as her aunt's good silver in the hands of a master.

"Now," Sovann said, "just where were you thinking of breaking into, duchess?"

"Who said I'm breaking into anywhere?" Tennora said archly. "This is for my research, remember?"

"Indeed. What sort of locks are you planning on… testing?"

Tennora put on her most pleasant face. "Why don't you show me what you have, and I'll tell you what I want?"

Sovann's smile spread. "I'll give it to you, duchess. I can't tell whether you're canny as an archdevil or just a flibbertigibbet." He looked up at the remaining toughs loitering on the stairs. "Gents! Luce! Out! The lady'd like to peruse my wares. Take Knull out for a quaff and keep him awake." Two of the men helped the third up from the floor, and with the woman-Lucira-in the lead, they left the shop.

Tennora raised an eyebrow. Sovann winked at her. He waited for the last of the loiterers to exit before speaking.

"What sort of locks do you expect to be… researching?"

"A variety," she answered swiftly.

"Well then, suppose you give me an idea of your… skills."

Tennora lifted her chin in her haughtiest impression of her grandmother. "I have a certain natural knack," she said, "but those old picks aren't making anything easy on me."

Sovann seemed to weigh this.

"Where'd the old set come from?" Sovann asked, picking up one of the curved wires. He looked along its shaft. "These are antiques." "They were my mother's."

"A pretty North Ward girl like you…" He shook his head, then paused, giving her a curious look. "Your mother's not Liferna Uskevren, is she?"

Tennora jerked back, startled. "How did you know that?"

He tilted his head. "Lockpicks aren't exactly collectibles of the well-to-do. And you… are well-to-do, even if you're dressed like a scholar." He looked her up and down. "Liferna's your mam. Huh."

"She was. She died five years ago. Did you know her?"

"Never," he said. "Before my time. My old man told stories about his days rubbing shoulders with the best thieves in Waterdeep. He was mighty impressed with Liferna. The Shadow Wind they called her-can't catch what you can't see."

"How melodramatic."

"A touch." He grinned again. "'Course, nothing to say your mother ever was a thief, slippery as she was. The Watch called her the Oyster, since all they ever figured out was that she liked pearls. My old man says she laughed hard about that one." He wet his lips. "I have to tell you, after all those stories I was a little sweet on the idea of the Shadow Wind-clever, blonde, ruthless."

"Thank you," Tennora said, uncertain of what she should say. "I suppose."

"What can I say? I was a strange boy," he said with a cheeky smile. He pulled from beneath the counter a lock mounted into a board. "So you can try them out," he explained.

Tennora's heart raced. "I'd… much rather see you do it," she said. "I'd hate if I damaged your wares accidentally." He eyed her again, until Tennora was certain he was going to throw her out for being in the wrong shop. But she held her placid expression and kept her thoughts to herself.

"All right," he said again. "You're going to run into two main varieties around the city: warders and tumblers. A warder just needs a good skeleton key. There's one in here-just slide it in and go. Tumblers are the tricky ones."

"Of course," Tennora said.

"First," he said, choosing a long thin wedge from the set, "the turning tool." He slid it into the keyhole and held it slightly to one side.

"Then we'll start with this little hooked pick." He plucked it from the set and eased it into the keyhole, angling it upward. He looked up, and Tennora realized she had leaned in very close to watch. "Tell me the truth," he said softly. "How many times you done this?"

"Three," Tennora said. "One for each broken pick."

Sovann closed his eyes and sighed. He straightened and set the pick back with its fellows.

"No," Tennora said. "You said you'd sell me the-"

"I'm selling them to you, duchess," Sovann said. "I'm just not about to do it in a way that's going to get you into more trouble than either of us needs. Do you even know what you're doing?"

"Lifting the pins," Tennora said hotly.

"Which one first?"

Tennora racked her brain, trying to remember what had worked, but it had happened by pure luck. "The foremost," she said finally.

Sovann shook his head and sighed. "Your mam's probably turning sour in her crypt. All right-for your research-you're looking for what we call the binder. See, the grooves for the tumblers never do line up perfectly with each other. If you give it just a little twist with the turning tool, there will always be at least one pin that's rubbing on the groove just a little crooked, such that if you lift this one right, it'll get itself stuck. Here"-he held out the pick-"give it a try."

Tennora eased the pick into the keyhole, running the tip along the top of the keyhole. Starting at the front, she felt out each of the small pins that hung down into the key's path and lifted them gently into their channels. The third one stuck.

"Good," Sovann said. "Every time you find the binder, you can twist a bit more and the pressure changes to a different pin. Do it lightly though, or you'll lock it all up. So find the next binder."

She did, until all six pins were snugly in their grooves. She twisted the turning tool one last time and the lock opened.

"I did it," she said, elated. It was as good as getting a spell right the first try.

Sovann jiggled the lock. "Not too bad. Truth be told, I figured you'd shove those pins up too far and get them stuck. Happens to fumblehands."

Tennora felt a warm rush of pride. She'd noticed the edge that divided the pins from their resting places-she'd avoided getting them stuck all on her own.

"How much are they?"

"For you? Thirty gold." "I'll give you fifteen. I may not be an expert at locks," she added, seeing Sovann's raised eyebrow, "but I know those aren't worth thirty."

Sovann clasped his hands to his heart. "You wound me, duchess. Twenty-five."

"Twenty-two, since you gave me the lesson." His eyes twinkled. "Very well. For you."

She counted the coins out of her purse-and she said a little prayer of thanks to the goddess of merchants that he'd come down.

Sovann swept the coins into his hand and added them to the store's cash box. He wrapped the picks neatly in brown paper. As he came around the front of the counter to hand them to her, he nodded at her belt. "That dagger's your mother's too?"

"How can you tell?"

"It's not yours. You're wearing it crooked." He reached down and slid the sheath around to the front of her hip. "There," he said, straightening, "now you can grab it when you need to." He stood disconcertingly close to her.

He was not handsome like Cassian. His nose was crooked off to the left. His chin was rough, and a scar left a bare stripe across his jaw. There was a gap in his teeth just behind one canine. He was not handsome.

But when he looked at her with those dark eyes and smiled that wolfish smile, something behind Tennora's knees went soft.

And something in her tongue went sharp.

"Perhaps I should start practicing right now," she said.

"Perhaps." He chuckled. "But I have something I think you'll like better." He stepped back, and Tennora blew out a breath.

He climbed up the ladder and took down a silk pouch from one of the higher shelves-deepnight blue and embroidered all over with hair-thin lines of gold thread. Sovann unlaced the bindings and opened it to display five silvery disks with points curving away from the center like the petals of a flower.

"Carvestars," he said, sliding one out of its bindings.

"Little daggers?"

Sovann smiled. "Can be."

He cocked his arm back and threw the carvestar across the room. It sank into the post of the door with a resounding thunk.

"But they're better thrown," he finished. "And since you've shown such terrific aim, I thought you might like to try them out."

A shiver ran up Tennora's spine. She reached out and laid tentative fingers on one of the carvestars. The metal was polished and smooth as water. She picked it up, gingerly avoiding the razor-sharp edge and considering for a moment her reflection in it.

She looked tired, with dark smudges under her eyes. But her eyes themselves danced. I want this, she thought.

Which was silly. She knew spells. If she ever had a cause to throw a carvestar, she'd do just as well throwing a fireball. Better even-one did not have to aim a fireball particularly, as long as it didn't burst in her face.

"How do you throw them?" she heard herself ask.

"Here," Sovann said, coming around the counter. "Hold it flat against your palm like… that. And point your finger along here. Now pinch this with your thumb." He sidled around behind her and set one hand on her hip. Tennora blushed. "Good. Now pull your arm back-farther." He held her wrist in one hand and smoothly pulled it back over her shoulder. "There, now, throw!"

She flung the carvestar overhand. It spun across the room to lodge itself above the front door-several feet above the front door. Tennora cringed.

"Not bad," Sovann said, and Tennora realized his other hand was on her hip now too. "For a first try," he added, giving her a little squeeze. "You'll get the hang of them." "Yes," she said. "Well…" She stepped away, blushing furiously. What a fit her aunt would have! Corning down to a place like this, buying lockpicks, throwing weapons, and letting a complete stranger put his hands on her person.

But how she wanted those stars.

"How much?" she asked Sovann, who had climbed the nearby shelves and was leaning out to pluck the carvestar like the last apple on a tree.

"For you?" he said. He yanked the carvestar free and leaped down. "Consider it a gift."

"No," Tennora said. "No, no, no. I can't let you do that." She reached for her coin purse. Sovann grabbed her hand in his and held it to his lips, startling Tennora.

"Please, duchess," he said, turning her hand over and setting the carvestar in her palm. "Let me do this for you. For the new Shadow Wind."

"Oh," Tennora said, blushing again. "No, don't call me that."

Sovann winked. "Well, we'll have to wait and see what they call you in the chapbooks, won't we?" He opened the door for her with a little bow, and held out the rest of the carvestars in their case. "Won't doubt it's something to make those young boys dream. Come again sometime."

"I may," Tennora said, smiling back.

The street looked sunnier, and Tennora walked down it with a certain swagger. She had the lockpicks and the lovely carvestars. And though she certainly wasn't interested in the shopkeeper, there was something exhilarating about the way he made her feel sharp and clever, about the easy way she'd managed to flirt with him. She would go back, she was certain of it. And when she did, she'd be able to say she'd pulled off Aundra's heist, no longer mired in guilt over the thought of it.

It wasn't until she'd come to the end of the block that Tennora realized she was missing her purse once more, that it hadn't been there since Sovann rested his hands on her hips.

"Godstlarning hrast it!" she shouted, earning a look of sad knowing from the pair of highcoin lasses.

Nazra Mrays held her son's hand as they strolled through the marketplace. Antoum kept glancing back over his shoulder at Jorik and another bodyguard who followed.

"Mama? Aren't I going to be late for lessons?"

Nazra smiled and squeezed his hand. "I'm certain Master Halnian will not mind." It wasn't as if she would be able to go walking with her son forever. Another year or two and he wouldn't want to hold her hand, but a girl's. She smiled at that and squeezed his hand again. If that old tailcoat-clinger minded, he wouldn't say a word. Not to Nazra.

"Master Halnian asked me if you liked the wards," Antoum said.

"Did he?" Nazra held back a derisive snort-as if she couldn't see through that play. "Did you tell him I like them just fine?"

"Yes," Antoum said. "He said you should tell him if they need adjusting. Sometimes spells need adjusting."

Nazra smiled. "I think I should tell him I have my own wizard to do such things. What do you think, dear heart? I'll just let you do all the spellcasting. Are you up to it?"

Antoum laughed. "No! Not yet. But I can make a light, and it lasts almost as long as Master Halnian's! And I can warm up my chocolate! I did it yesterday."

"Yes, you showed me," Nazra said. "And I remain terribly impressed."

A wind rushed up and blew a few strands of hair free of her hood. She tucked her graying curls behind her tapered ears. The storms that blew through Waterdeep chasing summer's end were tedious indeed. They would last perhaps a tenday, but made going about her business such a chore. At least the lords had gotten the cellarers' and plumbers' guild to regulate the runoff, and there were fewer drowned gardens than there had been in decades past.

"Buckle your cloak, dear," she said as another gust blew Antoum's cape back like a pair of wings.

"Ah, here we are." She pushed open the door of the cobbler's. A spell in the door made a chorus of chirping songbirds sing out into the shop. A narrow man whose clothes draped him as if they were hung from the knobs of his shoulders came out into the front room.

"Nazra!" the cobbler cried, throwing up his hands. "How marvelous! How glim!" He embraced Nazra. "Tell me what you want. I live to serve."

Nazra's mouth twisted into an amused smile and she fought not to laugh. Such delirious shows of gratitude weren't uncommon; she owned the building the cobbler rented from as well as a few others here and there in the Trades Ward.

"Dear Dellicot," she said. "We are here because my growing boy has a need for some new boots. And no ordinary boots-the best for my Antoum."

Antoum rolled his eyes. Nazra winked at him.

Dellicot patted one of a trio of needlepoint chairs. "Well, settle down here, young master, and we'll see how big you've grown!" He spread a piece of parchment on the floor while Antoum took off his shoes and set his bare feet on the sheet. Jorik slipped into a corner by the door.

The chirping rang through the shop again, and a dark-haired woman with no shoes on stepped into the shop. Dellicot's eyes flicked over her, no doubt sizing up her importance and how many coins she was likely to carry. The result could not have been positive, Nazra thought, wondering at the lack of shoes on the woman's feet and the awkward height of her hemline.

"Well met," Dellicot said after a moment. "You'll have to pardon me. I have a client just now. It might be best to come back later."

The woman stared at the shop without answering. She was uncomfortably tall, exacerbated by a sinewy musculature that made her look rangy as a wolf. When she'd finished examining the walls, she looked down at the cobbler with such blue-eyed frustration that Nazra instinctively stepped in front of Antoum.

"I want boots," she said. "So what do I pay you?"

"You'll have to wait, goodwoman," Dellicot said tersely. "I'm measuring Young Master Mrays."

The woman wrinkled her nose. "How long will that take?"

"A quarter hour," Dellicot said. "After the measurements, we must choose the proper hide and cut. Which, to answer your first question, will make the decision of how many coins it costs."

The woman stood for a moment, shifting from one foot to the other, as if trying to make up her mind, then dropped into the chair beside Nazra. Nazra smoothed her skirts behind her legs and sat as well.

For a long while, no one spoke. The woman sat studying Antoum and Dellicot and the measuring process, and Nazra sat studying the woman. There was something strange, something unsettling about her, but Nazra couldn't place it. Her eyes flicked up to Jorik's. He was watching too.

The woman looked up at Nazra. "He is your… son?" She said the word as if it were unfamiliar, as if another word wanted to take its place.

"That is what the midwife tells me," Nazra said lightly. "His name is Antoum."

"How old is he?"

"Eight years since this summer." Nazra smiled. "They get so big so quickly."

The woman nodded and swallowed hard. "It's strange," she said after a breath, "how pleasant it is to see someone with something we do not have. Cannot have. My offspring… are dead," she added. "But I am glad to see yours is healthy."

Nazra's heart twisted. "I'm very sorry."

The woman regarded her, forlorn and somehow lost-again, as if something else were meant to take the place of their conversation. "It is an old loss. But you're kind." She fell into a sullen silence.

"Have you been in Waterdeep long?" Nazra asked.

"No," the woman said. "Only a few days."

"Business or pleasure?"

"Business." She looked away, off at the street beyond the store windows. "Important business. I will not be here long."

"All finished," Dellicot announced. "A growing lad indeed. It's a wonder your toes all fit inside, young master. Let us try… these." Dellicot's eyes scanned the shelves of boots, samples of different sizes, and plucked a few pairs from the lower rack.

"We'll need two pairs," Nazra said, trying to shake the strange woman from her thoughts. "One for everyday, one for outings. Good leather. Antoum, you may choose a dye for the fancy pair."

"Enchantments?" Dellicot asked.

"Not necessary. He's going to outgrow them in a few months anyway." Nazra gave her son a sly smile. "Unless you want something to help you dance better, dear heart."

"Mama!" Antoum groaned.

Nazra smiled. "Well dear, if you keep begging off your lessons, you might use a little help impressing the girls at your parties."

The strange woman snorted. All three looked up at her.

Under their gaze, she seemed to draw back like a threatened snake, and once more Nazra was glad to be between the woman and Antoum.

"Do you not like dancing either, goodwoman?" Nazra said lightly.

The woman squirmed in her seat. "Not that sort. But I do not think that is a good basis of finding a… a companion." She looked at Antoum. "I think you would find a girl you like better if you showed her your spells, little man. Then she'd know you were clever-and most times, clever is better than being a good dancer."

A shiver ran its icy feet up Nazra's back. She narrowed her eyes. "How did you know he studied magic?"

But instead of looking startled or embarrassed again, the woman got a faraway look.

"I have my wand," Antoum interrupted, holding it up as if this were the most obvious thing in the world. He looked up at the woman. "I'm supposed to be at lessons now. We're playing truant."

Nazra laughed. "Here is your lesson for today, my lad. Do not tattle on your mother." Antoum snickered into his hand. "Choose your color, Antoum, and we'll be off to your lessons in a song." She looked back at the woman, who watched Antoum forlornly. Whatever the woman's story was-poor, mad, friendless, lost-it was by the grace of the gods that they were not all in her place. The idea shook Nazra's calm core enough that she wanted more than anything to make it stop. She pulled the cobbler aside.

"Dellicot," Nazra said gently. "Give her some boots. Some of your samples. I'll pay for them. Add them to the bill."

"Are you sure?" Dellicot asked. "Far be it from me, but-"

"Please."

He glanced over her shoulder to where the woman stood. "All right."

"Thank you. Antoum," she called as she walked toward the door, "let's be off."

Still tying one boot he hopped toward her and the door, but he stopped to look up at the strange woman. "I hope you like Waterdeep," he said shyly.

The woman regarded him for a long, awkward moment before a small, uneven smile brightened her face. "Many thanks," she said. "Go learn your magic, wyrmling."

"Antoum," Nazra said. He nodded once at the woman and scurried out the door ahead of her. Once more she made eye contact with the strange woman, and a chill went through her.

"Saer," Jorik said under his breath. "Nazra, are you all right?"

Her eyes snapped up to her bodyguard's. "Yes. Fine." She walked back out into the street and took Antoum's hand in her own. Not for the first time she noticed how much larger his little hand had gotten, and how fragile those bones still were, safe in her palm.

"Mama?" Antoum said, as they walked down Mendever Street toward the House of Wonder. "That woman was different, wasn't she?"

"Not so different," Nazra said.