Erin Evans - The Adversary

“Were you planning to bring any of this up?”

“Of course,” Dahl said. Then added, “When I was sure.”

Tam sighed and covered his face with one hand. “How long is this going to go on?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Dahl you’re not the first person to have a mission go sour,” Tam said. “You aren’t the first Harper to let a target slip by. You aren’t the first one to find dead bodies that shouldn’t have been there.”

“Nor will I be the last,” Dahl finished.

Tam gave him a stern look. “If you believed me, I wouldn’t have to repeat myself. I pulled you off the field to give you time to collect yourself, to use your skills inside the house.”

“And I’ve done that,” Dahl protested.

“By deciding not to tell me things you don’t think I want to hear.”

“I just told you,” Dahl said. “Do you want more? I think you need to see a barber, you’re wrong about Storm Silverhand’s Harpers-in this case, anyway-and I’m pretty sure your daughter’s thinking about running off with that Bedine fellow or murdering him, maybe you should talk to her. Shall I keep going?”

Tam shook his head and chuckled softly. “You’re impossible.”

Dahl studied Vescaras’s report, the blot of ink marring the runes that spelled farmstead. “You can always dismiss me.”

“That would be easier wouldn’t it? A pity, I dislike easy answers. Mira can take care of herself-which she’d be quick to remind me if I delved into her love life-so until she murders him or asks for my opinion I’ll stay mum. I’m right about putting untrained bystanders with their heads full of myths and stories into harm’s way, and you certainly don’t put other people’s safety in their hands-we have protocols for a reason.”

“It’s how they did it in the olden days,” Dahl said.

“Yes, well how did that suit them once Shade returned? Storm Silverhand can certainly let her networks run how she wants, only I don’t want my spies leaning on brethren who lack good sense and training. We ought to-”

“Forgive me, if you suggest you’re going to track Storm Silverhand down and explain what a terrible idea-”

“That was once,” Tam said, and he had the grace to look embarrassed. “I may be too old to blame wine as if I don’t know what it does to a man’s senses, but I’ll do it anyway.”

Dahl smiled. “I’ll not hold it against you.”

Tam regarded him. “Nera tells me that you’ve stacked up quite a lot of receipts in the taproom.”

Dahl made himself still. “It’s all paid for.”

“That’s not what I’m worried about. Anything troubling you?”

Dahl gave him an empty smile. “I’ve been a drunk, Tam. These days it’s just thirst.”

Tam nodded-as if he were waiting for Dahl to spill out everything he wasn’t saying. “War can make a man thirsty.”

Life can make a man thirsty, Dahl thought. “Yes,” he said. “Well.”

“How sure are you about the Dales?”

Not sure, he thought. Not sure enough. “Fairly,” Dahl said. “Brin seemed sure that Harrowdale was out of the worst of it at least. The elves won’t let Sembia break through, and Sembia seems to have better things to do. Their armies should keep well out of the northern countryside for awhile yet, and we should have fair warning before that changes.” He hoped. Gods above, he hoped.

He’d tried to get his mother to leave the farm. He’d tried to convince his brothers there were good reasons to come to Waterdeep before Sembia turned north. But without divulging his allegiances to the secretive Harpers, why would they believe him? Who was he but the runaway brother who had the gall to throw away the life he was offered for another, only to fail at it? Who was he but the son who’d left their father baffled and disappointed when he’d come home to admit he was just a secretary in Waterdeep? And then armies filled the heartlands, making Harrowdale an island of relative safety in a sea of war.

“I know you just took a break,” Tam said. “But I’m giving you another one. Let Khochen keep you company. She’s in town the rest of the tenday. We’ll come back to her reports when you’ve sorted yourself. Is Lady Hedare in?” Dahl nodded, too embarrassed at the dispensation to speak. “Send her up, get that done with.” Tam ran his fingers through his silvery hair. “You’re probably right about the barber. Find me some time, would you?”

“Of course,” Dahl said, like a good secretary would, and shut the door behind him.

In the parlor that marked the barrier between the inn’s public areas and the Harpers’ private floors, Khochen was waiting for him on a battered settee, tuning a lute. “If I apologize,” she said, “will you at least admit that did you a little good?”

“What good?” Dahl demanded. “I told Tam something he surely already knew and Vescaras something he refused to believe. Then I got singled out like an errant schoolboy and gods above only know what Vescaras is telling people about me now.”

“Nothing most likely,” Khochen said. “He’s not much of a gossip.”

But Vescaras was thinking about it. Adding it to the list of things that proved Dahl wasn’t cut out for the Harper life anymore, right below bad temper, can’t handle shock , and botched mission, let people die.

And possibly drunk now that Nera was telling everyone he ordered an ale too often, he thought grimly.

“Yet you got him to tell you why he hates me?” Dahl said. “He must be a little bit of a gossip.”

“No,” Khochen said, with a smile that was only for herself. “I’m just that good.”

Dahl sighed. “Are you going to tell me or not?”

Khochen set down the lute and leaned on her armrest. “It seems,” she said, all drama, “many months ago, someone may have gone to a revel, had a bit to drink, and snubbed a certain someone else’s sister.”

“What? Jadzia Ammakyl thinks I snubbed her? I hardly spoke to her.”

“That’s what ‘snubbed’ means,” Khochen said. “At least, she would have liked you to talk more, and she apparently made an invitation for you to come back the next day.”

“To look at her library. Which I wouldn’t bother with. It’s a pokey little-” He colored at Khochen’s smirk. “We only talked for a few minutes. About books.”

“Girl has to make an inroad where she can.”

And lovely Jadzia Ammakyl had absolutely no need to make inroads with a scruffy farmer’s son, Dahl felt sure. “You’re wrong. Vescaras is wrong.”

“Vescaras is right ,” Khochen said, “although he’s mad as the wizard under the mountain to still be carrying that around. Jadzia’s forgiven and forgotten, so far as I can tell. Swarmed with suitors.”

“Of course she is,” Dahl said. “She’s rich as Waukeen’s handmaid.”

Khochen clucked her tongue and rose to stand beside him. “I have another guess,” she said. “I think you did notice. Why else would you pick the right sister-he’s got four, hasn’t he? You noticed and you choked because you are utterly convinced no one of quality is interested in you.”

“Why are you always picking at my love life like you can stir it up into something interesting?” Dahl demanded.

Khochen’s wicked grin fell away and she regarded Dahl with utter seriousness. “Because it’s the safest thing I can tease you about.”

Dahl pointedly turned toward the taproom, knowing Khochen would follow but knowing it would give him a minute to compose himself. Gods, he needed a drink. One drink.

Khochen caught up to him. “Where you got the idea that anyone in Waterdeep gives two cracked nibs about where you grew up or what god left you behind or how you’ve erred-”