Hand of Fire - Ed Greenwood [23]
He swallowed and took a careful step back from the young couple. That movement was enough to bring Shandril whirling around to face him again, eyes sharp – and Marlel raised his eyebrows and his fingers in unison, waggling all of his fingertips to show that they were idle and that he meant no harm.
Shandril let her face show that she believed him not for a moment. "And now, Sir Harper?" she asked him softly.
Marlel gave her his quick, crooked smile. "Well, now. This room is yours for the night – I've paid for it, no need to thank me, all who carry the little badge you saw are paragons of flowering honor – and you'll have to give three silvers to Pharaulee by highsun tomorrow if you need it for another night, and so on.
I should tell you a little trick we use: Take some of the soot from – back there – on a finger and run it around your eyes, and just here and here on your cheeks. Then wipe most of it away again, so it looks like shadow and not black face-paint, and gods above, but the shape of your face changes! Effective, if you don't want to be recognized straightaway, hmm? But I fear I must soon disappear on other business. Is there anything else you need me to do?"
"Yes," Shandril said in a voice that was little more than a whisper. "Tell us the truth."
Marlel raised his eyebrows, and refrained from smiling. "Ah. Well. That would be a grave mistake in style, here in Scornubel." He spread his hands, still unsmiling. "Anything else?"
Narm and Shandril exchanged glances. "Marlel,"
Narm said faintly, wincing at a hurt remaining in his head, "we're supposed to find and meet a man named Orthil Voldovan here."
The Harper nodded. "And join his next caravan to Waterdeep? You're just in time and had best get down to the taproom and find him right now. He leaves on the morrow." He waved at the doublebarred door.
Shandril looked at Narm, who winced again, then nodded. She turned her head and gave Marlel a commanding look.
That crooked smile touched his lips for a moment and went away again. "Leave nothing of value here," he said. "In Scornubel, without bars and bolts and guards whose loyalty you are certain of, locks are not to be trusted." He put a hand on the uppermost bar he'd so recently slammed down into place, and added, "Come with me now, and I'll point out Orthil to you."
Shandril nodded and came toward him. Narm followed, a little unsteadily.
In the darkness of the room next door, a watchful eye drew back cautiously from a spyhole nigh the floor, and its owner lay still on the soft fur he'd brought with him. When he heard the keys jingle in the lock and the soft, swift footfalls of the three moving along the passage to the front stair he stood up, stretched in the gloom, plucked up his fur, and cautiously opened his door. The passage was empty, and the man wrapped in the fur cloak slipped out into it and headed for the third stair. They were the two he'd been watching for, right enough, and he knew where they intended to go, now.
He hurried to deliver that news to those who'd promised to pay well for it. There'd be a slight delay while he picked up his own bodyguards – but without them, this was one meeting he probably wouldn't have survived. No messenger grows very old without knowing which clients are the dangerous ones. These were the very worst, which was why his bodyguards included several mages and over a dozen other men he hoped these clients didn't yet know about. The alleys of Scornubel had seen all-out battles before.
The broad stair Marlel took them down this time opened onto a landing overlooking the deafening, smoky din of the taproom. The Harper put a hand on Shandril's arm to bring her to a stop – then snatched it away as if he feared she'd burn him, and pointed.
"That's your man," he murmured into her ear, making sure her finger was pointing at the same