“Who are you?” said a voice behind the light. I could not see anything other that a blaze of whiteness, but the voice came from above the light source.
“Ter-” I said, my voice breaking, “Tertius Wands of Waterdeep. I’m looking for the one called Big Ugly.”
“Why do you seek him?” said the voice.
I shifted in my seat. I was the one supposed to be asking the tough questions. “Ugly, er, Mister Ugly has something in his possession that I am interested in.” I shut up at this point. In the mystoricals, the hero would always give away as much as he had to, but no more.
I was rewarded with another sound I had not heard before, a sound of soft whispers behind the light. Big Ugly had advisors, it seemed. The voice said aloud, “What is the item in question?”
“A box. Amber. About so big by so big,” I motioned with my hands and immediately the ogres on either side of me tensed. “Belongs to a woman. She wants it back. She’ll pay a finder’s fee for it. Very generous one, indeed.”
I pulled out a slip of paper, on which I had written Drusilla’s offer. It seemed high to me for even an heirloom, but people are funny that way about family possessions. One of the ogres snatched the paper out of my grasp and took it to behind the light.
More silence and whispering. Then the voice said, “Come again in two nights time. Now go.”
“Now wait just a moment,” I said, trying to rise as I spoke. Two large ogrish paws clamped down, one per shoulder, and I was lifted again from my perch. The light was doused again and I was suddenly moving quickly through the main room of the tavern as fast as ogres could run.
A gnome at the front door flung it open as our party approached it. The ogres stopped but I did not. They released their grips and I was flung out into the night air.
Or rather, flung through the night air and into the arms of Ampratines, who manifested himself while I was mere inches from the cobblestones.
“Unsuccessful?” he said simply, helping me to my feet.
“A small setback,” I responded, readjusting my tunic where the ogres had left small claw tears. “They as good as admitted they had it, and that I should come back in two days time. The lovely Drusilla should be pleased when I give her that news. At least its a start.”
“This is horrible,” said the lovely Drusilla when I gave her the news. She had been waiting for us at the Wyvern. She seemed a little nervous around Ampi, which was odd because the djinni normally had the ability to remain unobtrusive. “Two days is far too late.”
“I don’t see why,” I said simply, “It will probably take a few days for them to pull it out of whatever file drawer they’ve parked it away in.”
“Or to appraise the item and solicit competing bids,” said Ampi softly. Drusilla started at the sound of his voice. Then she nodded and put the kerchief to her soft lips again.
I looked up at the genie, “How do you figure that?”
“While I was outside watching the tavern, I noticed that a number of individuals entered by the front door. Elves, dwarves, and gnomes, with an occasional orc or two.”
“No humans,” I said, agreeing, “The Burrows does not cater to that clientele.”
“No halflings, either,” said the genie, “even though there were apparently halflings within the bar. I noticed that they used another entrance.”
“So they used a shorter door,” I said, then stopped. “No, then dwarves and gnomes would use that other door as well. Let’s say that this ‘other door’ was the employees entrance, correct?”
Drusilla looked from one of us to the other, totally out of the loop.
“I’m sorry, I don’t understand,” she squeaked. It was a very sweet squeak.
“Halflings run the Burrows, which makes sense,” I said. “Big Ugly is a shadowy figure whose face is unseen. Indeed, there was a lot of whispering going on while I talked to him. Therefore, Big Ugly is probably a halfling. Or a group of halflings.”
“Much like Miss Rodigar-Glenn of Waterdeep,” said Ampi. I generously ignored the dig.
“But if this Big Ugly is a halfling,” she said. “Why is that a problem?”
“Consider,” said the genie, “A halfling has something you want. You tell them you want it. What do they do?”
I thought for a moment, then leaned forward and put my head in my hands, “They’ll try to get as much as possible for it.”
“They know its valuable?” said Drusilla, her voice rising a half-octave as she said it.
“They know it is valuable to you,” said Ampi levelly, “That is all they need to know. The next day will be occupied with them sending out the word and soliciting other bids. Only if they do not get a better offer will they sell it to you in two days time.”
“Oh.” hiccupped Drusilla, “Oh, its going to be horrible. Daddy will find out I lost the box and that will be the end of everything.”
“Perhaps if you could tell us what is in the box…” began Ampratines, but just the thought of Daddy’s disappointment set the lovely Drusilla on a longer crying jag. I shot the genie a fell look and he merely nodded and retreated to the hallway. After about five minutes of assuring the girl that everything would be all right and promising to help her recover the box, I sent her out as well. The genie reappeared as she vanished down the hallway.
“If I might suggest-” he began.
“You may not,” I snapped, “I think you’ve worried that poor girl enough.”
“Sir, that poor girl is not being entirely honest with you,” said the djinni.
“Anything in particular?” I asked. Drusila had left her kerchief on the drawing table. I picked it up and it smelled of salt and honeysuckle.
“She has a nasty tendency to break down in tears whenever asked a direct question,” said the genie. “The smartest move in this particular situation would be to retire from the field in good order and leave her and her family to recover the amber box on their own. Perhaps we might suggest they hire a halfling or gnome to place a bid on her behalf.”
I waved the genie’s suggestions down. “Objections duly noted and ignored,” I said. “No mystorical hero would abandon a woman in need.”
Ampi sighed, one of those great genie sighs that threatened to suck all the air out of the room. “As you wish,” he said at last, “What will you be doing next?”
“I’m thinking about keeping a watch on the place,” I said. “See who goes in and out. Then we’ll know who we’re bidding against. Yes, that’s it.”
We returned once more to the Burrows, after I had changed clothes. This time I chose sturdy leather trousers and a dark shirt. I abandoned the cape for a dark cloak and an oversized black hat with a huge brim to mask my features.
We found a bench across the street from the Burrows, and set up shop there. Ampi took first watch while I retreated under my oversized hat to catch a few winks.
The few winks turned into a full night’s sleep, during which nothing much happened. When I awoke the morning sun was making its best attempt to pierce the smoky haze of the Lower City, and Ampi was still standing beside the bench.
“Anything?” I said.
“A lot of non-humans,” said Ampi briefly, as if I had picked up a conversational thread abandoned only a few moments before. “Mostly drinkers and revelers. A lot of haiflings through the side door. Three wizards, all of whom were elves. A half-orc barbarian. A couple human merchants, who were turned away at the door. A priest of Gond with three gnomes. Only the gnomes were admitted, then left a few minutes later. A dwarf dressed up as a pasha of Calimshan. A dark elf that might have been a priestess of Loviatar. I could not be sure. All stayed a few moments, then left.”
“Interesting,” I said, “Conclusions?”
“They are the rival bidders solicited by Big Ugly,” said the genie. “The word is being. spread and these are early buyers. They are being shown the merchandise, then they leave. Some will undoubtedly be back.”
“No humans,” I noted.
“No humans,” agreed Ampi.
“Right then,” I said. “We keep an eye on the place at least until noon. Then we meet the fair Drusila for lunch and figure out what she wants to bid for her heirloom.”
Ampratines was silent at the suggestion, so I prompted, “Yes?”
“With your permission,” said the genie, “I would like to investigate in another direction. I know a marid, another genie, in contact with a local sage named Prespos, and I would like to seek that sage’s advice as to this situation. Discretely, of course.”
I thought about the request for a moment, then nodded. Ampi faded from view immediately, and I sat down again on the bench, waiting for the world to unfold before me.
Morning in the Lower City is a clamorous affair, and the first of the coster caravans were already clattering through the streets. The last of the night wagons were long gone at this hour, replaced by cargo haulers and teamsters, sprinkled with carts of the hand-, dog-, and pony- varieties. And of course all manner of luggers, toters, handlers, and haulers and various day laborers. I thought from my perch I would be able to observe without being observed.
I was wrong. After about half an hour a shadow moved alongside my left. I did not turn my head toward it, but instead dipped my head forward, trying to keep as much of the broad-brimmed hat between me and the new arrival as possible. For all I knew it could be one of the city guard, seeking to roust a malingerer from the main thoroughfares. Or worse yet, a particularly strong ogre. The Burrows was closed at this hour, and there was no sign of life either from the front door or the haifling door to the side. Perhaps, I thought at the time, it would be best to move back to the Wyvern for an early start at lunch.
The shadow’s owner, in a wheezing, nasal voice, said, “So, you’ve seen anything interesting?”
Despite myself, I raised my head slightly, and was rewarded with a nasal laugh that sounded like migrating geese. My cheeks reddening with embarrassment, I looked at the individual addressing me.
He wasn’t much to look at. A neat set of leggings and a nondescript tunic, topped with a vest of moderately valuable brocade. A trim, balding head. His eyes, however, were overlarge, made almost monstrous when viewed through his thick spectacles. The latter were like sheets of block crystal and continually slid down his nose. When he talked they would slide further down, necessitating he push them back with a finger. He seemed human, but at best would reach up to my shoulder.
“I said,” repeated the little man with the thick lenses. “See anything interesting?”
“Sorry,” I tried. “Not from around here.”
“Indeed you aren’t,” said the short man. “Otherwise you’d know that while that outfit was suitable for nighttime surveillance, you stick out like a sore thumb with the light of day.”
I scowled at him. In the mystoricals this would have the effect of melting him where he stood, and forcing him to leave me alone. Instead the short human smiled.
“You were watching the Burrows,” he said. “I was watching you. Oh, and your tall companion as well, but he’s gone. Word has already gone out that the place will be closed for tonight. Private business with Big Ugly. And I think we both know what that means.”
I tried scowling again, but the short human remained unmeltable. “Who are you?” I said at last.
“Ah,” he said, as if rewarded with my attention, “a response. The first step to a conversation, and from that a lasting relationship. Its always so horrible when no one wants to talk to you.”
“Who…?“ I began again, but the man waved me silent.
“I heard you the first time,” he said with a smile. “I was just enjoying the moment. Call me a collector. A hunter of rare and unique items. Let’s say that it has reached my ears that there is a certain item, such as an amber box, that is currently in the possession of the owner of that establishment. And let’s say that the owner does not like to deal with individuals such as I.”
He meant human. Ampi had mentioned that several humans had been turned away. They were not welcome. I waved for him to continue.
“As a collector,” he said, “I would be more than eager to lay my hands on that box and its contents. And I thought that you might be willing to help me.”
“I'm not…“ I started, but then paused. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Hmmmm, yes,” said the little collector, “I don’t think you do, at that. I assumed that you were working for some accumulator of curios or an enterprising hedge mage. But I think you’re involved deeper. You want the amber box as well, for what it is.”
“Only to return it to its true owner,” I said hotly.
“Ah!” the small man spread his hands wide. “And here I am before you, the true owner.”
“No, you’re not,” I exclaimed, feeling my face burn from more than embarrassment. “The true owner never mentioned you. I don’t think she ever would.”
The collector put a finger to his lips and hummed. “A ‘she,’ is it? Well, I can think of one ‘she’ in particular, and your answer is, while she was an owner, she is not the true owner. The rightful owner. The legal owner. She traded it away, long ago. You understand that?”
I said nothing, and the small man continued, “Its good to know she’s in the hunt, at least. Do me a favor, young man. You look like a reasonable individual. And when this is all over and done with you might find an offer I have to be very appealing. But for the moment…”
He fished around inside his tunic for a moment, then pulled out a thin black wand. “I suspect you’ll want to get in for the bidding tonight, without being noticed, and without the price being driven up for your human appearance. This will let you get past the bouncers. Here, take it. I offer it free and without strings.”
Despite myself, I reached out and took the wand. It had an oily touch to it, and almost seemed to want to squirm out of my grasp.
The collector smiled, “There, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” and touched his forehead by way of salutation, turned smartly on his heels, and headed off. I watched him until he disappeared from sight. Then, regarding the cold, empty building of the Burrows, I walked two blocks over, hailed a carriage, and returned to the Wyvern.
Drusilla did not show up for lunch as promised, which added to my consternation. I wanted to ask her who the little man was and exactly what the box was all about. As it was, the luncheon hour arrived and passed without so much as a note from her. After spending most of the previous evening on a cold bench, I was in no mood to wait any longer than I had to. I was halfway through the shellfish course-Prawns du Chionthar-when there was the slightest waft of air over my left shoulder. Long experience told me who had arrived and I did not even look up from my crustacean.
“She has not shown up,” I said simply.
“I did not think she would,” said Ampi calmly. “The idea that a simple acquisition would turn into an auction has probably upset her. She is probably making other plans to acquire the box even as we speak.”
I frowned at my prawn. I didn’t want to believe that Drusilla would abandon me so easily. “Perhaps she is in trouble herself. Waylaid by bandits or short collectors or something.”
Ampi drifted slowly into my line of sight. His face was drawn with concern. Say whatever else you want about genies, when they are concerned you know they are concerned. Still, he would not voice them until I asked. “How was your research?”
The djinni nodded slightly and said, “Productive, but I fear expensive. The sage Prespos could teach the dao something about hard negotiations. What I discovered was of interest, however.”
“And that is?”
“The Vermeers were an Iriaebor household,” said the djinni. “But their forte was more magic than money. They were a household of spellcasters.”
I nearly choked on my shellfish. “Like the Wands?” I managed, suddenly having visions of the patriarch of the Vermeer clan showing up in my bedroom late in the evening.
“Similar, but not exact,” said the genie. “The biggest di
fference being that the last of the line died out almost a hundred years ago. If the girl Drusilla is a member of that clan…”
“‘Daddy’ must be very ancient indeed.”
“You do not seem surprised.”
“Hardly,” said I. “If one thing these mystoricals prepare you for it’s that the heroine rarely tells the truth the first time out. Indeed, most of the heroes ignore whatever the heroine says until after the third attempt on his life. Most likely some far flung fragment of the family trying to regain its insignia and ancestral lands. Or perhaps Vermeer was a name she pulled out of an old book, as a cover.”
My logic was irrefutable, for Ampratines remained silent, if only for a moment, before resuming the argument “If you say so, sir. However, in the light of this, I would recommend we reconsider the situation and our employment with the mysterious lady.”
I shook my head and motioned with a prawn claw, “No. In the stories, whenever a hero gives his word, he lives by it. It doesn’t matter if the heroine is not what she says she is. Often, she’s better.”
“I cannot dissuade you?” said the djinni.
“Not a whit.” I pulled out the black wand, “What do you make of this?”
The genie took the thin black rod from my hand. He had a look on his face akin to revulsion. “Unpleasant material. Not from around here, as you would say.” He held it up to a light, then handed it back. “It is a spell rod. Arcane device, sometimes used in the south. You break it to release the spell within. The runes say that the spell can alter your appearance. The illusion would last until you were struck or choose to drop the charade. Where did you get it?”
“Someone with a mutual interest,” I replied, “Someone who thinks I should get into the auction tonight. And yes, there will be an auction tonight.”
The genie’s face creased with concern again. “Someone?”
“A collector, who argues a separate claim on the box,” I said, holding up the claw again. “I know, I should not trust him either, but I think the first order of business is to get a hold of the box. Then we can sort everything out.”
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