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.The huge, empty ale mug at his elbow suggested Bronwyn’s next course of action.She tied a bit of thin, sturdy cord to the handle of a crate stacked overhead, then wriggled the crate forward a bit so that its position was less than secure.Then she took a place behind a nearby stack of crates and waited for the duergar to emerge.The way she figured it, the rental on his ale would expire shortly, and not even the filthy deep dwarves would permit him to end his lease in the cellar dining hall.Sure enough, before long she heard the creak of heavy iron boots on the rickety ladder.When the duergar passed her, intent upon reaching the alley door, Bronwyn sprang.She reached over his shoulder, seized his beard, and jerked it up and back, then laid her knife to his bared throat.With her free hand, she began to loop the end of the cord onto his belt.“That necklace you sold me,” she whispered.“Where did you get it?”The duergar started to wriggle, then thought the better of it.“Not telling,” he mumbled.“Not part of the deal.”“I’m adding it on, as payment for damages.Who sold it to you? “She gave the knife an encouraging little twitch to speed his answer.“A human,” the duergar said grudgingly.“Short beard, big grin.Runs to fat.Wears purple.”The picture was forming clearly enough in Bronwyn’s mind, but she wanted to be sure.“Does this human have a name?”“Calls himself Malchior.Now turn me loose, and go bother him.I got things to do,” the duergar complained.Bronwyn lowered her knife.She gave the duergar a kick that sent him sprawling—and that brought the crate and several below it tumbling down on him.She turned and fled.Before the other duergar could so much as investigate, she had put two alleys and a shop between them.As she made her way back to Curious Past, two conclu­sions tumbled through Bronwyn’s mind.First was the irrefutable fact that Malchior had set her up for no reason that she could fathom.And second was her growing convic­tion that the duergar had given her this information far too easily.* * * * *Early morning sunshine poured in through windows of fine leaded glass.An impeccably dressed servant unobtru­sively placed a breakfast tray on a nearby table.Dag inhaled, enjoying the complex scent of sausage pasties, fresh-baked bread, and even a pot of the Maztican coffee that was becoming so popular in the decadent southern lands.“Will that be all, my lord?”Dag Zoreth paused in the act of surveying his new domain and glanced at the elegant, dark-clad man who’d addressed him.Emerson was a gentleman’s gentleman: a polished, accomplished, and supremely capable servant who could probably run a small kingdom with great success and aplomb.The manservant was precisely the sort of amenity to which Dag intended to become accustomed.“One thing more, Emerson.Sir Gareth Cormaeril will be calling this morning.He expects to meet with Malchior.Do not disabuse him of this notion.In fact, should he pose any questions at all, evade them.”The manservant did not so much as blink at this odd litany.“Shall I announce him, sir, or send him in directly?”Dag’s lips thinned in a semblance of a smile.“By all means, send him in at once.This meeting is more than twenty years overdue.”Emerson responded with an admirable lack of curiosity and a quick, perfect bow.After the manservant had shut the elaborately carved door behind him, Dag settled down in a deeply cushioned chair and took a moment to let the sheer luxury of the room flow over him.Intricately patterned carpets from Calimport, many-paned windows accented with colored glass and framed with draperies of Shou silk, furniture carved from rare woods and softened with tapestry-covered pillows, shelf after shelf of beautifully bound books.The fireplace was tiled with lapis, and the chandelier that lit the room with scores of extrava­gant beeswax candles had the sheen of elven silver.Not a single item in the room was less than superlative, and nearly all were in shades of rich blue and deep crimson—the most difficult colors to achieve, and the most expensive.This was the library of the Osterim guest villa, a small but lavish manor that was part of the Rassalanter Hamlet in the countryside east of Waterdeep.A complex of manors, cottages, and stables, it was maintained by a wealthy mer­chant for his use and that of his guests.This was widely known.It was less known that Yamid Osterim was a cap­tain of the Zhentarim.His impeccable credentials as a mer­chant gave him access to secrets and trade routes; his cunning allowed him to pass along much of this information in such manner that never once had a hint of suspicion touched him.Malchior, Dag’s mentor and immediate superior, had enjoyed access to Osterim’s hospitality for many years.That privilege he had passed on to Dag, along with the services of the inestimable Emerson—and the control of Malchior’s paladin.In preparation for Sir Gareth’s visit, Dag had added his own unique touch to the room’s decor.The hearth blazed with magical fire—strange, unholy black and purple flames that cast an eerie purple light and sent macabre shadows dancing across the carpeted floor.It amused Dag to flaunt the colors and the power of Cyric, in unspoken mockery of Sir Gareth’s ability to bear such proximity to evil [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]