The City of Splendors_ A Waterdeep Novel - Ed Greenwood [113]
Korvaun shrugged. "Possibly, but I've come across a remarkable amount of property owned by the Serpent-and I don't think I've found half of it. That two out of all these collapsed is not quite the coincidence it might at first seem."
Starragar frowned. "What else?"
"Varandros Dyre is insisting to anyone who'll listen that the Lords are digging new tunnels to spy on citizens."
"Well, the Lords couldn't do that without hiring Dyre or rivals he'd know about," Roldo pointed out, "but the Serpent, now… if there's anyone in Waterdeep who warrants watching right now, 'tis him."
As the friends exchanged grim nods, Taeros said slowly, "The Lords may not be the only ones watching Elaith. Now that I think of it, Dyre's maidservant was at Craulnober's party the night Malark died, not to serve but gowned as a guest."
"You're certain?"
Taeros nodded. "I thought she looked familiar at the time but couldn't place her. Yes, I'm quite sure."
Korvaun ran a hand through his hair, sighing. "This is truly troubling. Is she watching Elaith Craulnober or watching for him?"
"The latter seems more likely," Starragar put in darkly, "but if we put a man to watching her, we'll know soon enough."
"'Twould be better to send a woman," Taeros mused, "A sellsword who can pose as a serving wench and go where Lark goes. Hiring blades is Hawkwinter business, so I'll see to it."
Korvaun frowned. "If Lark's working for Elaith Craulnober, anyone you send will be at risk."
"I'll make sure she's pretty," Taeros replied with a wink, "and if my father has any sword-wielding she-elves for hire, so much the better. If rumors tell truth, Elaith Craulnober collects more than real estate."
* * * * *
Varandros strode through South Ward, his heavy coin bag thumping at his hip. It would be lighter on the return trip, more's the pity.
The brawl in Dock Ward was costing him dearly. Four of his trustyhands had died in the fighting, all workers on the Redcloak Lane raising. The sorcerer who'd bought the building would be less than pleased by further delays, so men would have to be pulled from other jobs, and skilled hands came dear in these busy days, with every jack across the city rebuilding… and then there were the burial costs and widows' fees.
He couldn't recall exactly where on Telshambra's Street his man had lived, but the place wasn't hard to find. A small, somber group was gathered outside a narrow stone building, ale cups in hand.
Varandros made his way over. The mourners-many of them his men-moved aside to let him pass. He strode inside.
The small front room was almost filled by a trestle table draped in dark cloth. Rowder had been laid out on it in his best clothes, a chisel in his folded hands.
Dyre managed not to scowl. A needless extravagance; it was customary for great folk to be buried with some sign of their house or station, but he doubted practical Rowder would have appreciated the waste of a good tool.
He nodded to the woman behind the table, face composed but eyes rimmed with red. She bobbed a curtsey.
"We're honored you've come, Master Dyre. Please have a cup of my Rowder's funeral ale."
"I'll drink to him gladly, Mistress," Dyre said gruffly. "A fine man, a good worker. He'll be missed."
"Aye," she said softly. "That he will."
He put the bag in her hands. "This is his portion. If you've further needs, the guild will see to them. I'll make sure of it."
She nodded gratefully, eyes like empty holes, and Varandros found himself standing awkwardly with nothing more to say. He did as he'd promised, raising a cup of ale to Rowder's memory, and then turned and set out for home.
Children playing in the street fell silent when they saw his face, and got out of his way. One of them made a warding sign, but the stonemason said nothing. Something like dark fire burned behind his eyes.
* * * * *
He found his daughters in the kitchen around a trestle