Марк Энтони - Crypt of the Shadowking

A row of teakwood prayer boxes lined one wall, each large enough for a person to kneel in while making a silent, private plea to the goddess. Ferret counted the boxes as they passed by. When he had counted to thirteen, he stopped. He opened the door and stepped into the small, dark space, gesturing for Caledan and Mari to follow. The Harper protested, claiming they couldn’t possibly all fit inside.

“You can wait outside if you like,” Caledan told her, stepping into the cramped space.

She swore under her breath, tossed her dark auburn hair, then stepped into the prayer box. Caledan shut the door. The only light came from a grate in the box’s roof. The three barely fit, and Caledan was forced to take shallow breaths. The Harper was pressed close against him, and for the first time he noticed how small she really was. Her head barely came to his shoulder, and her hands, each cupping an elbow of her crossed arms, seemed half the size of his own.

Ferret rapped three times on the wooden back of the prayer box, paused, then knocked twice more. Suddenly the wooden panel slid to one side, revealing a corridor beyond. The three stumbled into the larger space.

Caledan froze. A swordpoint glittered in the torchlight an inch from his chest. A man clad all in gray except for a silken violet mask held the hilt of the sword, watching him warily. Caledan looked to either side and saw that Mari and Ferret had been similarly greeted.

“Well, if it isn’t the famous Ferret,” one of the thieves said with an unpleasant smile. “The guildmaster is going to be pleased to see you, my friend.” Caledan looked questioningly at Ferret, but the thief only shrugged.

They were led down a long flight of stairs and then through a labyrinthine network of corridors and chambers that must have spread beneath the entire temple. Caledan had known the thieves of Iriaebor were organized, but he had no idea the guild had such an elaborate headquarters. Finally they were escorted into a lavishly decorated chamber. Many-hued silks hung from the walls, and the floor was strewn with thick rugs and embroidered cushions. On a heap of pillows in the chamber’s center reclined an enormous man. He was dressed in maroon and silver silk and held a goblet of wine in a fat, ring-covered hand.

“Guildmaster Bock,” Ferret said, nodding his head. The little man sounded calm, but Caledan knew he was nervous. His pointed nose was twitching furiously.

“My good Ferret, what a pleasant surprise,” the guildmaster said in a surprisingly rich, clear voice. “Do drink some wine with me.”

“Er, I don’t think we’re really all that thirsty,” Ferret said, eyeing the three goblets a servant carried on a tray.

“But I insist,” Bock intoned. Caledan felt the swordpoint poking into his side.

“Now that I think of it, though, I could use a drink,” Ferret said, grabbing a goblet and swilling down the contents. Reluctantly, Caledan and Mari did the same. The vintage was excellent, but Caledan detected a slight bitterness in the wine’s aftertaste. He set the goblet back on the servant’s tray and regarded the guildmaster.

“Which poison was in that, Bock?”

The guildmaster laughed. “Very good, Caledan Caldorien. Yes, I know who you are, and you as well, Harper Mari Al’maren. Neither of you are very inconspicuous, after all. And might I add, Ferret, that your taste in friends has gone downhill again. I thought your grandmother Jewel told me you had outgrown this disturbing practice of befriending Harpers.”

Ferret shrugged. “Old habits are hard to break.”

“You still haven’t answered my question,” Caledan said.

“Ah, yes, the poison,” Bock replied with a smile, displaying a row of surprisingly even, white teeth. “It’s sindari, a native herb of Thay. A very unusual substance. It shows absolutely no effects for an entire day, and then, without warning, the victim lapses into violent convulsions. I’m told they’re quite painful. However, they are also quite brief. Death comes within but a few minutes. But not to fear, Caldorien. It is a precaution only.” He waved a chubby hand, and the thieves sheathed their swords, retreating from the room.

“You see,” Bock went on, “I also have the antidote. You might call the sindari a bit of insurance for my safety, that’s all. Harm me, and you shall never have the antidote. Conduct yourself as civilized guests, and the antidote is yours.”

Caledan shook his head. He had to admit, it was a clever method of ensuring good behavior.

“We’re looking for a thief named Tembris,” Caledan explained, deciding to lay all their cards on the table. Deception at this juncture could easily prove fatal.

“Interesting,” Bock said. He stroked his numerous chins with a pudgy hand. “Let’s see what I can extrapolate from this,” he mused. “Tembris is one of the few thieves in the city who has done work for the Zhentarim, Lord Ravendas—though it was a mistake, to be sure. You yourself are a Harper no longer, Caldorien, but you come to me in the presence of one who is. Knowing there is little love lost between the Harpers and the Zhentarim, I can only assume you are working against Ravendas, trying to discover her weaknesses to see if she can be defeated. And what has Tembris to do with this?” A calculating expression crossed his face. “Ah, yes, perhaps the work he did for Ravendas may shed some light on what it is she seeks deep in the heart of the Tor.”

The guildmaster’s logic was flawless. Caledan flourished his road-worn cloak and bowed deeply.

“Did Ferret tell you I enjoyed flattery, Caldorien?” Bock snapped. Then he chuckled, a deep, bubbling sound. “If he did he was correct. Very well, Caldorien. You may see Tembris. He is here in this very guildhouse. However, you may be disappointed after you meet him.”

“Thank you,” Caledan said, but the guildmaster waved the remark away.

“Don’t thank me. I’m doing this purely out of my own interests. When a city falls on hard times, so do its thieves. It’s difficult to rob people who are destitute, you know. I would like nothing more than to see Ravendas ousted from the tower. However, if the Harpers and the Zhentarim manage to annihilate each other in the process, that would be so much the better.”

Bock clapped his hands twice. Moments later a servant arrived bearing three small vials—the antidote to the sindari. Caledan drank his down quickly, surprised at the trembling in his hand. It figured that the antidote would taste far worse than the poison. Mari’s face was pale as she glared at him. It was apparent she hadn’t enjoyed this little transaction with the thieves’ guild.

“Now, Ferret,” Bock said, “won’t you give up your poor taste in company and come work for me? I can always use a thief of your caliber.”

Ferret shook his head. “I’m flattered, Guildmaster Bock, but somebody has to keep on eye on the Harpers.”

Bock nodded. “Good lad. Give my greetings to your grandmother. And let me know if she’s reconsidered my proposal.” Ferret promised he would, and then the three followed a thief who led them out of the chamber and down a twisting corridor.

“What ‘proposal’ to your grandmother was Bock talking about?” Mari asked Ferret.

“A marriage proposal,” he replied. “Bock’s been asking her to marry him for the last twenty years.”

“But she keeps saying no?” Mari asked.

“No,” Ferret said with a sly expression. “She keeps saying maybe.”

Bock’s servant led them to a door at the end of a narrow corridor. “This is Tembris’s room,” she said as she opened the door.

They stepped into the small, dim chamber. The room was sparsely yet comfortably furnished. On a pallet in one corner sat a thin spider of a man dressed in a simple black tunic. His skin was wrinkled with age, his long hair iron gray. The old man turned his head when they entered the room. Where his eyes should have been there were only two deep, shadowed pits bordered by loose folds of skin. The old thief was blind.