Prince of Lies - James Lowder [88]
As Midnight turned, Kelemvor switched faces. "Here I be, my love," he answered, his words slurred drunkenly and dripping with stupidity.
"Do you have the tablets?" Midnight asked. "We must get them to Mount Waterdeep and return them to Lord Ao."
"Well, why would we want to do that?" Kelemvor replied, scratching his head. He dropped out of sight then returned with two nondescript squares meant to represent the sacred artifacts. "They'd make nice tables or even a good couple of chairs." He tried to sit on them.
Midnight hit him soundly with her wand. "Dolt. When we give these back to Lord Ao, he'll make us gods." The puppets froze and trembled in surprise at this news, just long enough for the audience to have their fill of shouting and hissing. "And then we can give all the people we like lots of power."
"Like the Zhentish?" Kelemvor asked foolishly.
The crowd cheered, but Midnight silenced them. "Of course not. We like the dalesmen, especially that handsome Lord Mourngrym. If we get to the mountain first, well become gods and help them take over the world!"
The chorus of boos was silenced by the appearance of a handsome, hawk-nosed Cyric – puppet at the edge of the stage. "This will not do!" he shouted to the audience, brandishing his rose-hued sword above the heads of the children huddled close to watch the play.
As Midnight and Kelemvor trudged along toward Waterdeep, Cyric crept behind them, keeping to the fringes of the stage. The two occasionally paused on their mock quest to beat each other or embrace frantically. Then Cyric would sneak in, getting closer and closer to stealing the Tablets of Fate. Something different caused the thief to be captured each time – and each time he tricked the foolish duo into letting him go.
The old prig's good at his job. I'll say that much for him," came a whispered voice at Vrakk's ear.
"Go 'way," the orc rumbled, not bothering to look at Ivlisar.
The body snatcher snorted in mock outrage. "Fine way to treat a chum, this is. Just because I haven't seen you in a tenday… Well, that can't be helped now, can it? Circumstances beyond our control and all that."
Vrakk tried to look casual as he walked around the periphery of the audience, but the elf stuck to his side. The orc didn't need to see Ivlisar to know he'd been drinking; the body snatcher's breath sent the stench of cheap gin into the air with each syllable.
"It took me days to find you."
"Wasted time," Vrakk grumbled.
"I'm leaving the city."
"So?"
Ivlisar stepped in front of the orc, his shoulders squared in something akin to military fashion. His rail-thin frame was hidden beneath a triple layer of overcoats, with a gray cloak wrapped around his shoulders. He moved almost as stiffly as the puppets battling violently across the stage, though his face was very much animated by shock and anger.
"Don't you care about my connections?" the elf asked, flushing red to the tips of his pointed ears. "You need me, you know."
Nervously Vrakk scanned the crowd. No priest nearby, though the grimacing novitiate who'd insulted him earlier was watching the puppet show close to the stage. "We find another merchant. Bye."
"This place isn't safe for dwarves or elves anymore," Ivlisar rambled. "Just ask poor Hodur. And the church has no love of orcs. Why, I'm betting it'll soon be heresy to be born anything other than human. And those inquisitors – I hear Cyric's teaching 'em to read minds." He'd lost control now, the pent up fear making his voice much louder than discretion would have advised. "Then you won't have to say anything against the church. You'll only need to-"
The orc slapped a hand over Ivlisar's thin-lipped mouth. "Shut up," he hissed. Some of the adults nearby had turned to look at the body snatcher, their attention drawn from the puppet show by his ranting.
"Stupid drunk," Vrakk shouted, shoving the elf to the cobbles. "Go sleep it off."
"Heresy!" someone cried.
Vrakk looked up, ready to be confronted with the