The Dream Spheres (32 page)

Before she could respond, the family steward blew into the room like a storm-tossed scarecrow. Arilyn had never seen the servant in such dishabille. His shirt was untucked, the sash and emblem that proclaimed his position was askew, and the strands of his sparse sandy hair stood up like bits of straw. A slight puffiness of his upper lip lent his mustache an asymmetry that, on any other man, might have been mistaken for a wry and roguish grin.

“Lord Gundwynd to see you, Sir, Madame,” he announced with stiff dignity and slurred diction.

“Not now, Yartsworth,” all those present said in rare and perfect unison.

“He is most insistent,” the steward observed, gingerly touching his fingertip to his swollen lip.

Cassandra took note of this, and her indignation rose to another stage. “Show him in.”

The small, gray man burst into the hall. Before he could sputter out a word, Lady Cassandra bore down on him like a prevailing wind.

“This is beyond the pale, Gundwynd! You might mistreat your own servants and suffer no ill for it, but do not presume to abuse any person in my employ.”

Lord Gundwynd fell back a step, some of the wind knocked from his sails, but quickly recovered his pique. “Your choice of words is telling,” he said coldly. “You have heard of my trouble, but then, who has not?”

“Thann had losses as well,” she pointed out.

“If only the loss ended with the ambush!” he exploded. “All the elves in my employ have left. Do you know how difficult it is to find riders for aerial steeds? As if that weren’t enough, there is the threat that all those of elven blood in the city—and beyond, for all I know—will refuse to use Gundwynd transport and will not buy or sell goods carried by my family. Elves are few enough, thank the gods, but this scandal could mean my ruin!”

“My sympathies,” Danilo said in flat, ironic tones. Arilyn noted that he shifted a step closer to her, wordlessly-and perhaps without thought or design— declaring his allegiance.

The lord whirled on him. “You will be sorry soon enough! I would not be surprised to hear that this whole affair is somehow your doing, you and that elf you keep company with. This one too, for all I know,” he added, looking wrathfully at Arilyn. “Well, the truth will come to light. I will bring suit against Thann and Ilzimmer.

A long moment of silence followed this pronouncement. Lord Rhammas turned so pale that Danilo feared he might faint.

Cassandra took a step toward her husband, as if her near presence might serve to bolster him. “Idle threats,

Gundwynd. You have too much to lose to take such action.”

“My family faces ruin, disgrace! If it comes to that, do you think I care who falls with me? I will know how this came about, mark me.”

Danilo saw a pattern emerging. According to Bronwyn, the Dreamspheres had left Mizzen’s shop the very day Gundwynd’s caravan returned to Waterdeep. She had reported to him the malfunction of her bag of sending, and the small crystal orb that had remained in the magic bag. Lilly, who had sold a ruby stolen from the caravan, had had a Dreamsphere in her possession when she died. It seemed certain to him that the answer to his sister’s death was entwined with this string of events. Without thinking of possible consequences, Danilo reached into the hiding place in his boot and took out the Dreamsphere Arilyn had found in Lilly’s room.

“Were there any such items among the lost cargo?”

Lord Gundwynd’s face turned a deep shade of puce, and his eyes slid guiltily toward the suddenly wary Cassandra. He puffed and hmmphed for a few moments, then admitted there had been.

“We had an agreement,” the noblewoman said coldly. “None of us would support the sale of these toys!”

“Arrangements for this delivery were made well before that agreement,” he argued. “This was between Mizzen Doar and Oth Eltorchul. Take it up with either of them.” His eyes narrowed into slits as he regarded the ball in Danilo’s hand. “Where did you get that?”

“In an alley behind the bazaar,” Danilo lied smoothly. “The thieves must be an efficient lot—the goods have already reached the streets.”

The merchant snorted in disbelief. “I knew it!” he exploded. “The Thann family are behind this-you lot, and the elf lord with you. So much for your agreement, my lady! I’ll see you all ruined before this is through.” He

sliced the air with one hand in a gesture of finality—or possibly execution—spun on his heel, and stalked out.

Cassandra took a long, calming breath and turned to her son. “Danilo, I am going to ask the same question Lord Gundwynd posed. Where did you get that infernal thing?”

“It was in Lilly’s possession,” Danilo said bluntly. “In light of Oth’s death, it is reasonable to assume that the Dreamspheres at least in part led to Lilly’s fate.”

The noblewoman turned white. “Have you any idea— any at all!—of what you have done?”

“I know that I had a sister, that she was in danger and in need of my aid. I know that I failed her. Now she is dead, and I intend to know why.”

“Sentimental nonsense.” Her angry blue eyes settled on the watchful half-elf. “Can you talk no sense into him?” Arilyn merely shrugged.

Cassandra hissed a sigh. “Let me paint the picture. Many caravans are waylaid. Pirates, bandits-these are hazards of the trade. This theft was unusual, but we could have quietly worked the matter through to its conclusion. For whatever reason, rumors are turning it into a parlor guessing game, in which all those involved are suspect. By presenting that … thing … while Gundwynd was ranting about the ambush, you gave him fuel for his fire. What do you suppose he will conclude when he learns what you’ve brought to the family villa? Do you think the pieces will not be put together? By your actions, you made it appear that Rhammas’s little bastard was involved in this theft!”

“That was hardly my intent,” Danilo began.

“Intentions seldom matter. Impressions, on the other hand, matter a great deal. This may well put the Thann family in an untenable position. Once this new scandal comes to light—and it will, for you’ve made sure of it!—no one will believe that the girl acted without the complicity of the legitimate clan.”

“How can any reasonable person draw that conclusion?” protested Lord Rhammas. “I did not even know the girl existed until after the attack! From our scant acquaintance, I would venture to say that she could not possibly have had a hand in that sordid affair.”

“Oh, and I’m sure all Waterdeep will accept your word as if Ao Himself had finally spoken,” the noblewoman retorted. Her angry gaze traveled from her husband to her son. “You are a pair of children, blinded to the larger issues by a worthless trollop!”

“That is remarkably callous, even for you,” Danilo said with equal heat.

“Think what you like, but obey me in this. The matter dies with the girl. You and Arilyn have already stirred up more trouble than the pair of you can possibly charm, buy, fight, or spellcast your way free of”

Danilo studied his mother for a long moment. “Forgive me, my lady, but I must observe that your words could be construed as a threat.”

“Could they now?” Her thin smile was as sharp as a dagger. “I am gratified to hear you say so. Evidence at last that you are not such a fool as today’s events would suggest!”

“But—”

“Enough,” she said in cold command. She suddenly changed tactics. “Would you be content if we acknowledged the girl as family and buried her in the Thann tomb?”

This concession startled Danilo, and his anger softened somewhat. “Thank you, but in all honesty, that will not end the matter.”

“Possibly not,” murmured Cassandra, “but we will do what we can.”

Arilyn rode out directly from the Thann villa, leaving Danilo to battle Lady Cassandra over the details of

Lilly’s final arrangements. She tracked Isabeau to the orchard farm and confirmed from the farmers the tale that Hector had passed to Danilo.

Isabeau had left soon after her rescuers deposited her in the safe house—but not before she had managed to insult the farmers who risked their home and their safety for the Harpers’ charge. As Arilyn picked up the trail of Isabeau’s horse, she wondered where the woman was bound and what sort of reception she expected to get.

It would seem that Lady Isabeau’s ambitions were lifting faster than a courtesan’s skirts. Just a few moons past, when they’d found her on the road north of Baldur’s Gate, she was happy enough to have left the remote gnome settlement that had given her shelter all her life. Waterdeep delighted her, as did the modest wealth that had awaited her there-most of it the legacy of her mother, who had been forced to leave the city without gathering her possessions. Now it seemed Isabeau was no longer content with her transformation from serving wench to lady of station and substance. She had progressed from thief to murderer.

This Arilyn firmly believed, regardless of the facts of Oth’s death. Whether or not Isabeau was responsible for the Eltorchul mage’s fate, she had left Lilly to hers. To Arilyn’s way of thinking, that made Isabeau as guilty as if she herself had cut the girl’s throat.

Nor was the woman any more merciful to the animals under her control. Isabeau had pushed her borrowed horse at a high pace, with callous disregard for the creature’s safety. The moon had been full the night before, and each of the seven gleaming shards that followed the silver orb through the sky had been as bright as will o’wisps, but no amount of light, not even the brightness of highsun, could justify running a horse full-out on such rough terrain.

As Arilyn followed the trail, the road widened, and the forest gave way to fields. She rode past a few tidy

cottages, through an orchard dense with late fruit, to the gates of an imposing country estate.

Whose lands these were, Arilyn could not say. Many of the merchant lords of Waterdeep had farms or stables or country manors in the northlands. One thing was certain: The owner possessed a rather dark streak of whimsy.

The manor and the wall around it had been fashioned from gray stone, a ghostly color that seemed to merge with the mist of coming twilight. Gargoyles, most of them winged cats with vampiric sneers, stood guard on the ramparts and towers. Arilyn did not bother to stop by the gatehouse to seek admission, even though the guards seemed more interested in their dice game than in their post. When a group of peasants came to the gate pulling a cart laden with late-summer produce, Arilyn left her horse in the shadows of the orchards and took a long, thin rope from her saddle.

She slipped around to the rear wall and tossed her rope. The first try fell short. With the second she snared one of the gargoyles. She gave the rope a tug to ensure it would hold, then quickly climbed the wall. Using a spreading elm for cover, she draped the rope down the inside of the wall and slid to the ground.

While the estate’s cooks were haggling with the peasants over the price of carrots and cabbage and the guards’ attention was absorbed by the cooks, Arilyn crept into the building through the kitchen entrance to await the coming of night. It proved to be a good choice, for the heavy tapestries and drapes intended to keep out the chill also provided ample places to hide.

When all was dark and silent, Arilyn slipped into the halls. Her passage went unchallenged, for the servants demonstrated the lax concern for their responsibilities that often marked those who labored under an absent tyrant’s rule. She checked each bedchamber for occupants. Most were empty—the noble family was not in residence.

Most of the chamber doors were open. At the end of a long hall, near a balcony overlooking the garden, one door was firmly shut. Arilyn tried the door and found it locked. She took a bit of thin paper from her pack and slid it under the door handle to catch the key, then inserted a pick into the lock. To her chagrin, the key had been removed from the lock. Picking it would take several minutes more. The task felt familiar to her fingers, and she overcame the lock in short order. Carefully she eased open the door.

Moonlight poured in through the round window placed high on one wall, lingering on the sleeping woman and the abundant dark locks strewn about the pillow. It was without doubt Isabeau Thione. Before confronting the woman, Arilyn took a few moments to take stock of her surroundings.

The chamber was luxurious, but macabre. The bed was enormous, and it was covered with a heavy coverlet of blood-red velvet. Drapes of similar fabric shrouded the tall bed frame and the windows. A statue of a man with the head of a cat stood vigil in the corner, and winged cat gargoyles leered down at her from their perches on pillars and shelves scattered about the room. Other than the sleeping Isabeau, the only sign of life in the room was the gray tabby curled up at the foot of the bed. The cat raised his head and regarded Arilyn with a somnolent stare, then yawned hugely and went back to sleep.

Arilyn quickly scanned the room for hidden doors and found none. She parted one of the velvet curtains and discovered another balcony beyond. She affixed a length of rope to the railing in case a quick exit was in order, then turned to her quarry.

The half-elf pounced onto the bed and seized Isabeau’s wrists, pinning them up over her head. The tabby cat yowled and disappeared under the bed, and the woman came awake with a startled, inelegant snort.

“Call out, and I’ll break your fingers,” Arilyn said softly.

It was a potent threat, for hands were a thief’s most valuable tools. A dancer would sooner lose the use of her legs or an artist his eyes.

Isabeau went very still. “What are you doing here?”

“I was about to ask you that.” Arilyn cast a quick glance around the room. “What is this place? It’s got more cats than Cormyr.”

“This is the Eltorchul estate,” the woman said haughtily. “I am here by invitation.”

“Who did the inviting?”

“Lord Oth, of course. He and I are … dear friends.”

Arilyn considered the possible layers of deception that formed this boast. Oth obviously had not invited her, but was this claim meant to cloak a darker deed? She decided to go on attack, for people often stumbled over themselves in an effort to explain and justify their claims. “You’re a liar,” she accused.