Realms of the Arcane - Brian M. Thomsen [97]
I shook my head, "Fake artifact? Then the doppleganger had the real Tripartite Orb hidden elsewhere?"
"The Raven was probably unaware of the fake as well, since he went to such efforts to recruit you as his pawn. And Demarest, if she had the true globes, would have let the Raven take the fake, convincing him it was the real one. Neither had time to build a replica."
"Then who built the replica?" I said. "Not Uncle Maskar."
"Your granduncle's concern was legitimate as well, I suspect," said the djinni.
"Then if not the thieves, and not Maskar… " I took a long sip on my ale bottle. "Uncle Maskar never had the real Tripartite Orb, did he?"
"I don't think so," said the genie. "After all, how do you test an item for magic that supposedly refuses all magic?"
I let a smile crawl onto my face, the first in the past twelve hours. "So old Granduncle Maskar was horn-swoggled in the first place." I chuckled at the thought. "I would love to see the look on his face when he gets my letter explaining that!"
Ampratines made a solemn, low cough. That kind of cough he always makes when he disagrees completely, but cannot bring himself to say something outright. I cast my companion the eye, and he looked up, into the middle distance.
"If your granduncle never had the device," he said solemnly, "that means he would have to now get the device. And who better to get the device than someone who has already gotten the fake one?"
I let that sink into my ale-stained brain. "So the best thing is to not be here at all when he gets the word, eh?"
"Quite."
"Ah, well," I said with a sigh, draining the last of the ale and setting the dead soldier next to the others, "so much for an expatriate life in Scornubel. I think we need to move farther south, farther away from Waterdeep."
"I thought you'd think so," said Ampratines, with a smooth flourish producing our bags, "so I already took the liberty of purchasing the coach tickets. We leave in an hour."
Epilogue
Wes Nicholson
Wes found his attention drawn yet again to the thin tome that had scared him earlier.
"The gods must be playing with me," he thought. "But the story about Jeffrey disappearing just might have some truth in it. How pleased the abbot would be with me if I solved the mystery."
He was torn between running from the room and wanting to finish Jeffrey's story. His hand shaking, he reached for the book and continued to read.
Jeffrey had gone to the north corner reading room and been at a loss to know where to start cleaning. The room was such a mess. Gathering a mop and bucket, he had lathered up the floor and then used a long-handled broom to sweep the cobwebs from the ceiling.
"Whew!" thought Wes. "This isn't me at all. I didn't mop the floor, and I haven't done the cobwebs yet." He felt a little guilty at this last thought and quickly returned to the story.
Jeffrey was tired after all the cleaning, so he had taken a short break. He leaned against a solid bookshelf and leapt back with a start as it moved.
"Whoa!" yelped Wes, and he pushed the tome away again. "This is too similar. How can this be happening?"
This time, it took several minutes before Wes felt ready to pick the book up again. Despite the cool room, he was sweating profusely.
He read that Jeffrey wanted to hide away from the monks for a while, even though he knew they would be angry when he eventually returned. The room was lit from an unseen source and filled with shelves, many of which had books or scrolls on them. A small table with a hard-backed chair was the only other furniture in the room.
Jeffrey