Elfshadow - Elaine Cunningham [83]
Elaith laid the papers down on the table. Interesting, he mused. There was a connection here, an important one that nonetheless eluded him. As he was wont to do when thinking, the elf toyed with a small ornamental dagger, twirling it idly between dexterous fingers. He did not miss the effect this action had upon the fence.
Jannaxil's eyes followed the jeweled dagger's path, watching each flash and twist with an expression of horrified fascination. Yet the fence's hands rested calmly on the table, pudgy fingers spread wide as if ready to reach for profit, despite the risk.
Greed. Elaith liked that in a human. Jannaxil, one of Waterdeep's best fences, had that quality in abundance. Squat and shrewd, the fat little man could deal with the worst the Dock Ward had to offer, yet he could discuss rare tomes with the most learned sages of several kingdoms. Elaith considered the man a valued contact and did business with him frequently. The elf intended to pay the asking price, but he saw no reason why he should not first amuse himself a bit.
"Very valuable," Jannaxil repeated, this time with less conviction.
"To whom?" the elf asked. "The Assassin's Guild?"
Jannaxil blanched and pointed to the papers on the table.
"That is a communication to Zhentil Keep. Those don't come from Waterdeep every day," he sputtered.
"A curiosity," Elaith allowed. The dagger's circling slowed.
"A bargain. They're worth much more than ten silver," Jannaxil insisted, scenting a potential sale.
The dagger resumed its dance. "I don't see why."
"Well, there's probably a reward for the papers."
"Who would offer such a reward?"
"The Lords of Waterdeep might like to know that someone from the city is billing the Black Network for the services of a 'Zhentarim enforcer,' " suggested the fence. He invoked the powerful but mysterious council who ruled the city, hoping to strengthen and legitimize his selling price. After all, there wasn't a broad market for stolen papers of this sort.
"The Lords of Waterdeep?" Elaith broke into geuine laughter. "Will you tell them about this or shall I?"
The human colored a dull red. Unnerved and embarrassed, he muttered, "All right, then, take the papers. You've got more use for the Zhentarim than I do."
As soon as the words left his mouth, Jannaxil realized his error. Too late. Without faltering or missing a spin, the circling dagger flashed toward him. A scream echoed through the empty shop.
Elaith was known for his utter disdain of the evil rulers of Zhentil Keep and the members of the dark network that used the black-walled city for one of its prime bases. To the elf this was less a matter of conscience than of style: the Zhentish and the Zhentarim had neither. Despite the insult and the hurled dagger, Elaith's smile never wavered.
"I will take those papers. Thank you for your generous offer." With leisurely movements, the elf moved the sheaf safely away from the bloodstain that was beginning to spread across the table. He tucked the papers inside his cloak and rose to leave. Then, almost as an afterthought, he reached for the hilt of his weapon.
The dagger stood upright, deeply embedded in the wood, and it pinned Jannaxil's left hand firmly to the table.
Elaith curled his fingers around the grip and leaned toward the fence's terrified eyes. Sweat poured down Jannaxil's face as he stared up at Elaith, every bit as mesmerized as if the elf were truly the serpent for whom he was named.
The moon elf slid a gold