Elminster's Daughter - Ed Greenwood [12]
Yes, this smelled different than Waterdeep, somehow. More dead things in the water but fewer taints of spilled strange cargoes from afar.
Revels meant servants, or guards, or people peering in at the fun from around the edges-or all three. She'd have to be very careful as she went on from here.
Why, gods bless me, how unusual for a thief…
* * * * *
"So which noble family are you part of?" the masked merchant half-shouted through the chattering din, wine sloshing in the warhelm-sized metal goblet he clutched in both hands.
The cold-eyed warrior in worn and much-patched leather armor eyed him sourly and replied, "None of them. The benevolent Obarskyrs have exiled many more folk than our precious nobles. Most of us lowborn were hurled out by personal proclamation- because they couldn't get us with their blades or nooses before we scampered."
"Oh?" the tipsy merchant leaned forward to peer at the warrior more closely. "So what'd you do?"
"Wounded Duke Bhereu for dallying with my sister. Cut him good and proper and gave him a limp that lasted through two seasons of high-coin healers. Id've had his life, too, if he hadn't had a dozen bodyguards within shout. Cursed Obarskyrs can't even go out rutting without help!"
Elminster swayed around the warrior's elbow and edged past in the press of bodies.
"Ho for the conspiracy!" someone bellowed across the crowd- again. Several other someones took up the cry, as they had done on several previous occasions. "The Rightful Conspiracy!"
"A new king, a new hope!" someone else bawled.
"Aye! Let Cormyr rise again!"
Elminster felt like rolling his eyes. How many centuries had he heard these same cries, now? 'Twas as if the Forest Kingdom had a set script all would-be rebels and traitors came and consulted, perhaps under the watchful eyes of the scribes and Master Scroll-keeper at the Royal Court.
"And why are you here?" the warrior asked. Elminster stiffened then turned slowly, his face cold and haughty-to discover that the question had been directed at the merchant and not the tall, scarred noble sidling past.
"Money," the red-faced merchant replied promptly, punctuating this emphatic declaration with a belch. "They want some of mine now to buy blades and hireswords in Westgate and such but promise me contracts and trade-hires enough to make it back ten times over, once their king's on the throne. Haven't said who that'll be yet, 'course"-he belched again-"but I don' really care." He waved a dismissive hand, his goblet spilling a line of wine drops floorward, and added, "All the same anyway, they are. 'S'just that we'll be on the take with the new one, 'stead of shut outside the gates, lookin' in at all the lovely coins and whisper-deals."
The warrior caught Elminster's eye and snapped, "What're you listening to, high'n'mighty?"
"Overloose tongues," Elminster grunted, "if the War Wizards are listening or there're any Highknights lurking amongst us. I'm a little uneasy that this-" He waved at the merriment all around. "-might be a way to gather us all together so we can be slaughtered without them having to take the trouble to chase us all down."
The warrior nodded grimly. "Such thoughts have crossed my mind, too. You're noble, right?"
"Noble by birth, nameless by nature," Elminster told him with a smile. "Call me: Nameless Cormaeril."
The warrior grinned. "Aha! Some of your kin are here." He waved his hand at the thickest part of the crowd. "Over yonder, somewhere."
The merchant swayed toward Elminster. "W-well met, grand sir. I'm Imbur Waendlar, I am, and am… am… delighted to make your acquaintance. Should you ever have need of-ahem-coffins, or strongchests, or splendid greatchests to grace the finest of chambers, I'm your man. Best work and best price in all Suzail, wares to fit the needs of one so noble as yourself! Why, let me-"
Elminster and the warrior exchanged winks and grins. "Drunk as a bear drowning in honey," the duke-whittling warrior muttered, "but still manages his pitch. Gods bless stubborn merchants."
Master Waendlar blinked