Steven Schend: Blackstaff Tower

Renaer shrugged and said, "Last time I opened this door, the hinges shrieked. Someone's oiled them. Shall we?"

"You're not worried about us fouling your floors here, milord?" she asked.

"Drop the tone, Laraelra," Renaer said. "The walk here cleaned your boots."

The trio stepped into an echoing entry hall, its stone floors and high ceiling dominated by a sweeping grand staircase that hugged the walls of the room as it led upstairs. Overhead loomed a three-stories-high atrium, a glass skylight shining light down to the ground floor. Tiles covered that floor in a continuing pattern of stars, moons, and random pairs of eyes. Two doors bracketed an open archway opposite the front door and beneath the stairs. Additional doors flanked the front wall of the house. All doors were closed, and aside from their footsteps, no sound could be heard.

Meloon let out a low whistle then said, "Why the eyes and moons and stars everywhere?"

Laraelra said, "Roarke House was built by Volam Roarke, an exceedingly devout worshiper of Selune, right?" She smiled with Renaer's answering nod, and continued. "He financed the restoration of the House of the Moon after the Spellplague collapsed it."

Renaer nodded and said, "The Roarkes had even reached the nobility about seventy-five years ago, but their family fortunes dried up over the years since. By the time they lost their noble status and other riches forty years ago, my grandfather bought their holdings in the city. Last I'd heard, the Roarke clan owned only two inns along the High Road between Leilon and Neverwinter. This place has had about half a dozen long-term tenants over the years. It's only been the past four years that it's been a summer rental. Most of the folk who rented it out never even knew about the sub-cellars."

Renaer walked to the door on the left. "This door leads to the cellars. Now, tell me more about what you saw-no, heard down below. It seems like we'll need to update the maps for the sub-cellars. Wonder if the Rook's Hold was part of what you saw down there?"

"The Rook?" Meloon asked.

"A thief of some repute more than a century ago," Renaer explained. "His hideout was in the subterranean crypts after which Skulls Street outside was named. It sounds like the tunnels and crypts may have collapsed and merged a while back. I never knew they extended beneath this house. They've always been blocked off, or so I was told."

Laraelra chuckled. "Renaer, the amount of things beneath the streets that the city chooses to ignore or not know about would stagger your imagination."

The three of them entered a small stairwell that spiraled down into darkness. Renaer grabbed a torch out of a wall sconce and lit it.

"And I thought I heard you complaining at the last Wands feast that you wanted nothing to do with your father's guild," Renaer said. He took the lead on the stairs, the smoke from his torch rising and stinging Laraelra's eyes. "Why were you poking around beneath the streets this morning?"

Laraelra cleared her throat and lowered her voice. "Someone has to stand up to the bigots in the guild. The dwarves deserve equal pay and equal treatment, and some of my father's foremen will hardly bother with that. Parkleth, one of the worst of them, would have left a friend of mine to drown this morning as a lesson for the dwarves to stay out of sewer work. We only uncovered your house's secrets by accident."

"My-" Renaer stopped dead and glared up at Laraelra. "That's it. We're done here. That's the last insult you get at my expense, when I've been naught but accommodating."

Laraelra's face felt hot as she realized what she'd said, and she slumped her shoulders. "I'm sorry. Truly, Renaer, before the gods, I apologize. I'm tired, angry, and I spend too much time around my father, who's all too eager to blame everything on nobles or the ruling class."

Renaer resumed their descent to the cellars, and Laraelra knew she had to watch her tongue around the young Lord Neverember. His clipped tone told her he was still angry as Renaer said, "I'm neither of those things, really."

"Yes you are, whether you admit it to yourself or not," Laraelra said. "Even without noble title, you're one of the richest land-holders in this city. When you add your father's holdings to yours, only House Nandar and a handful of others own more properties. Even if you don't acknowledge or use it, that gives you power over a lot of people, Renaer. Now, can we finish what we started here?"

"Not even my father would put up with an accusation of being party to torture," Renaer said. "The only reason I'll continue is to prove this has nothing to do with me and mine." Renaer continued down into the main cellars.

Meloon put his hand on Laraelra's shoulder and whispered, "Maybe it's not my place to say, milady, but I don't think he knows what's going on any more than we do."

"Then we're all in for an education, aren't we?" she whispered in return as both of them joined Renaer in the vast cellar. To the right of the stairwell lay cords of firewood carefully stacked from floor nearly to ceiling. Open and empty earthenware jars rested on shelves to the left, while hooks dangling from the ceiling were empty of the usual smoked meats that might hang there. Across the room was an archway leading farther into the cellar. The trio moved into the next room, where stacked furniture and chests completely filled the right-hand side of the chamber. The long left-hand wall was covered with wine racks, though only a few bottles remained on the shelves.

"Now," Renaer said, "if someone were living here right now, those shelves back there and the wine cellar would be far better stocked, wouldn't they?"

Laraelra waved her hands and said, "Fine. We believe you. Now will you show us where these secret sub-cellars are so we can prove that we weren't lying?"

Renaer approached the wine racks and counted the rows. He reached out, grasped one section of the racks, and pulled. The rack slid out easily and then turned on a hidden hinge to expose a section of the wall behind it. He stepped forward, chuckled lightly, and pressed a small stone on the wall.

Nothing happened.

"Well?" Laraelra asked.

"This should have opened!" Renaer said. "The door leading to another stairwell should be right there!"

Meloon motioned for Renaer to move. He rushed forward and slammed his shoulder into the wall. "Ow! If there's a door there, it's well-braced or locked."

"Or held by a spell," Laraelra said.

In the house above them, shouts filled the air.

"Someone's in here!"

"They've gone down into the cellars! Come with me!"

Renaer shoved the wine rack back into place, and then held Meloon from drawing his axe". He whispered at Laraelra, "Time later to talk on-all this. Do you know any spells to help here?"

"Only if you're spoiling for a fight, and they'll only stop someone temporarily," she said. "Nothing that will get us out of here without notice."

"No need," Renaer said, as the three of them rushed back into the front cellar chamber. "I'll explain."

"I hope so, young lord, for you have much to answer for." The white-haired man leaned on a duskwood staff, its presence as much as the speaker's own notoriety identifying him as Samark "Blackstaff" Dhanzscul. The premier mage of Waterdeep, the Blackstaff glowered at them while the crystal atop his staff pulsed a bright purple.

"Indeed they do, friend," said the other man descending the stairs. Bald with a tightly trimmed gray mustache, the man exiting the stairs walked with confidence and strength belying his scarecrow frame. His fingers steepled in front of his face and his prominent eyebrows, the ornate rings on every digit of his hands reminded her of his full name-Khondar "Ten-Rings" Naomal, the Guildmaster of the Watchful Order of Magists and Protectors.