A quarter-hour later, the wizard Tarandor Delhame hurried through the door, sweeping the room with his eyes. Jack, of course, still wore Balathorp’s face, but he’d drawn his hat low over his face in a show of discretion. He signaled the wizard with a motion of his hand. Tarandor frowned, but he crossed the room and slid into the bench opposite Jack. “Are you the one who left me the note at the High House?” he asked.
“I am,” Jack replied, performing a good imitation of Balathorp’s deep and mellifluous tone. “I hope I did not cause you any great inconvenience, Master Tarandor.”
“If what your note claimed is true, then it is no inconvenience at all.” The wizard studied his face, evidently trying to place it. “You seem to have me at a disadvantage. Who are you?”
“A simple man of business. Some call me Fetterfist.”
Tarandor’s eyes narrowed. “The slaver,” he said flatly. “Your reputation precedes you.”
“We all do what we must to get by.”
“Why did you seek me out?”
“I heard that you are very interested in this Jack Ravenwild fellow. I can deliver him to you.”
The abjurer frowned. “My interest is hardly public knowledge. How did you learn that I was seeking him?”
Jack gave a small shrug. “I had a little conversation with the fire-mage Halamar at that taphouse he favors last night. You might say we have some mutual acquaintances. Now, I am sure you are a busy man, and I have many things to attend today as well, so allow me to get to the point: I have Ravenwild, and I’ll sell him to you for two thousand gold crowns.”
“Two thousand-” the abjurer spluttered. “Why, you don’t understand! He poses a dire threat to the safety of the entire city. I must take him into custody as a public service.”
Jack took a long sip from his beer. “Do I look as if I am interested in performing public services?” he asked. “You are not the only party interested in this fellow, you know. The drow would love to get their hands on him, too, and they’ll pay me that much or more.”
“No, don’t do that! The dark elves may not follow the necessary procedures, and I will never be free of this detestable duty.” Tarandor scowled, but after a moment he nodded. “Fine. Two thousand crowns, then. Where is he?”
Jack stood and hid a smile. That last bit about asking for money was pure inspiration of the moment; the idea that Tarandor would pay for the privilege of being duped was exquisite. He should have asked for more. “Meet me at ten bells tomorrow night at the icehouse on Black Visor Street,” he said. “I’ll have him all bundled up and ready for you. And don’t forget the coin. Now, are we agreed?”
“It would be better to hand him over immediately.”
“I have some arrangements to make first. But never you fear, Master Tarandor. I will keep him safe until we deliver him to you.”
The wizard sighed. Jack almost felt sorry for him; the fellow seemed very anxious about the fact that Jack was not imprisoned in the mythal stone at this very instant. “I agree,” he said. “I’ll be at the icehouse at ten bells. Be warned that I will be well protected by magic.”
“Of course,” Jack said, with an insincere smile. He inclined his head to the abjurer, and left the Kettle.
Once outside, Jack took a quick turn down the nearest alleyway, then used his spell of shadow-stepping to teleport himself several blocks away. He changed his appearance again with his disguise spell, taking on the semblance of an olive-skinned Chessentan freebooter with hair of curly black and a brightly checkered cape. “Tarandor might be tempted to employ spells of scrying,” he told himself. “It seems wise to make sure he does not find me if he does.”
Satisfied that he’d given any magical spies the slip, Jack threw himself into a whole host of special errands for the day. He visited various apothecaries across the city until he found one that carried the somewhat illicit essence that was at the top of his shopping list. He stopped by the icehouse and the warehouse of Mumfort and Company to arrange his use of the facilities the next night, which mostly involved making sure he could break in when he wanted to and that no night watchmen were going to be on hand. He bought several of the leading handbills from the criers hawking them on the streets, looking for any reports about the Sarkonagael or Maldridge’s destruction and whether he was wanted in connection with either; nothing was in the news about the book, but the fire at Maldridge was quite prominent. He went by Albrath’s counting house to confirm the payment of the Sarkonagael’s reward, and finally finished with a long and expensive visit to a dealer in magical reagents and spell components.
Jack didn’t return to the tinsmith’s shop until four bells in the afternoon. He took one careful look around to make sure no one was watching the place, then let himself in, hurried up the steps to the upstairs rooms, and dumped out on the uneven table in the middle of the room the assorted reagents he’d bought. Quickly he organized the collection of jars, vials, and paper wrappings, making sure he knew what each one was. This would be a challenging piece of work, and accuracy was absolutely essential.
“Careful now, Jack,” he told himself. “Slow and steady, not a step out of place, not a word omitted.” Then he drew the folded pages of the Sarkonagael’s shadow-duplicate spell from his pocket, smoothed them on the table in front of him, and began to perform the ritual.
Steady rain pattered down around Jack and the Blue Wyverns as they pushed a borrowed cart through the dark streets of the Bitterstone neighborhood. The halfling Arlith went ahead of the small party, scouting for trouble, but they stuck to the alleyways as much as possible-Jack did not want to blunder into the city watch with the cart’s contents. He had an idea or two for how he might handle an unexpected encounter, but it would be much easier to avoid any such embarrassment altogether. Fortunately, the warehouse districts tended to be quiet and lightly trafficked after dark, and the weather further helped them to pass without notice.
Ulwhe’s Icehouse loomed up out of the fog and rain, and Jack allowed himself a sly grin. “Ah, here we are, my friends,” he said. “Bring the cart around to the alley side, and I’ll let us in.”
“Be quick about it,” Narm grumbled. “I’d like to get out of this damned rain.” Jack motioned for him to follow; the half-orc put his shoulder to the cart, while Kurzen leaned into the other side. They wheeled the cart around the corner of the building to the loading dock at the rear, while Jack went to a back window and pulled it open-he’d made sure to unlock it during his visit earlier in the day. He climbed inside and had the back door open in a moment.
“Bring our sleeping prince inside,” he told his comrades. Narm and Kurzen drew aside the old sailcloth covering the cart, revealing a bound and hooded figure underneath. The dwarf and the half-orc picked up the motionless captive by his feet and underarms and hurried into the icehouse. Halamar and Arlith followed after; with one last glance up and down the street, Jack closed the door. “This way.”
Jack led the way through the storage area as Narm and Kurzen lugged the unconscious man after him. The icehouse was full of layer after layer of great blocks of ice, separated by layers of straw. In midspring, the supply of blocks cut in the winter months hadn’t yet been drawn down or melted off by very much-the place was full almost to the rafters. Jack had picked out a spot in the building’s business office, a room not quite so damp or chilly as the ice storage area because it was separated by a thick door. He pointed to a clear spot, and his companions stretched out the motionless body on the wooden floor.
“So who do we have here?” asked Halamar. “Is Tarandor interested in him, too?”
“He will be,” Jack promised. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, it’s time to don my disguise. Our colleague may be here at any moment.” He brought to mind his tried and true spell of disguise, and wove a new appearance for himself-taller, paler, with long lank yellow hair and a strong jaw. In the space of a few moments he stood six inches taller; he took care to adjust his clothes to what he’d been wearing when he met Tarandor at the
Kettle.
“Now that is a handy trick,” Kurzen grunted. “If you can do that, why go to all this trouble? Give yourself a new semblance every few hours, and no one would ever find you when you don’t want to be found.”
“Because, friend Kurzen, I am fond of my own face and do not care to spend the rest of my days hiding it from sight,” Jack answered. “Halamar, if I may be so bold, perhaps you had better find a place to hide. If Tarandor sees you here, he will naturally wonder how and why you are involved.”
“As you wish,” the fire-mage replied. He chose a closet in the office, and ducked inside.
“Do you expect any trouble from this wizard?” Narm asked Jack.
“No, but it would be wise to be prepared, anyway. I doubt Tarandor will attempt to steal his prize rather than pay for it, but a show of vigilance on our part may be just the thing to dissuade him.”
They waited for a time, Arlith keeping watch from the office window and Kurzen stationing himself by the back door. Half an hour crept by, and Jack began to wonder if Tarandor had reconsidered the whole business. But finally, as the temple chimes throughout the city struck ten bells, Arlith gave a small signal and hopped down from her perch by the window. A knock came at the icehouse’s door. Jack straightened his tunic, tugged at his cuffs, and went to answer the door.
In the yellow lamplight of the street outside stood Tarandor, along with two of his apprentices-the bearded young man and the Calishite. “Ah, good evening, Master Tarandor,” Jack said warmly. “I commend you on your punctuality.”
The wizard gave him a brusque nod, and peered past Jack at the room beyond. “Who are they?” he asked, looking at Arlith, Narm, and Kurzen.
“Have no fear, Tarandor. They are simply my employees,” Jack answered. “And who do you have with you?”
“My apprentices,” the lean wizard replied. “Do you have him?”
“If by ‘him’ you mean Ravenwild, well, see for yourself.” Jack stepped out of the way and indicated the man on the floor with a sweep of his arm.
Tarandor glanced once more at the others waiting in the room, and strode inside with his apprentices crowding behind him. He frowned down at the bound figure at his feet. “Remove his hood. I need to be certain of his identity.”
Jack motioned to Narm. The big swordsman knelt by the figure on the floor and quickly undid the hood covering the face. The man unconscious on the floor was Jack’s twin, with the same dark hair, the same pointed chin, and the same neatly trimmed goatee. The rogue allowed himself a well-deserved smile of satisfaction; the Sarkonagael had not failed him. It was more than a little disconcerting to stare down at his own familiar features on another’s body, but he was a fine-looking fellow, after all-his simulacrum would have cause to be grateful for its good looks if it ever had reason to wake.
“Are you satisfied?” Jack asked.
The lean abjurer studied the unconscious man on the floor with a frown of concern. “You haven’t killed him, have you?” he asked.
“I understood that you wanted him alive,” Jack replied. “Ravenwild’s had a good strong whiff of yellow musk extract, that’s all. He might not stir from his slumber for a day or two.”
Tarandor knelt by the unconscious man, leaning forward to examine him. “I see that you gagged him, anyway.”
“He is said to be a sorcerer of some elusiveness.” Jack smiled with just the right combination of heartlessness and greed. “Ravenwild is known to employ a teleport spell that requires but a single word, so if I were you, I would exercise caution and keep him gagged all the way to your destination, whatever it might be. Don’t be taken in by any demonstration or struggles, no matter how energetic. A moment of compassion, and you may lose him all over again.”
“Have no fear on that score,” Tarandor replied. He straightened up and brushed off his hands, then motioned for his apprentices to come forward. “Begin your preparations,” he told them.
“First things first,” Jack said. “Do you have my coin?”
Tarandor produced a good-sized coinpurse with a frown of distaste, and set it on a table. Jack nodded to Arlith, who undid the drawstring and poured out a few dozen gleaming gold crowns. “Very good,” Jack said. “Ravenwild is yours, Master Tarandor.”
The younger wizards carefully set a familiar green bottle beside the unconscious man and set to work drawing a magic circle on the floor around him. The abjurer supervised their work, checking each mark and glyph they chalked on the floor. Jack took a surreptitious step backward, and then another; he did not care to take any chance that whatever magic Tarandor was planning might catch the wrong Jack Ravenwild.
“My information is not complete,” Jack observed, “but I understand that you mean to take him to the dark elf ruins below the city?”
The abjurer gave Jack a sharp glance. “You are better informed than I expected.”
Jack gave a low chuckle. “The wizard at the Smoke Wyrm was somewhat in his cups the other night.”
“I shall have to have a stern word with Master Halamar regarding the confidentiality of wizardly affairs.”
“The fault was not entirely his,” Jack replied. “I furnished him with a pint or two of Old Smoky when the conversation began to take an interesting turn. After all, it is my business to smell out this sort of … opportunity … when it comes along. In any event, if you mean to carry him down to Chumavhraele, I advise you to approach the dark elves directly and deal with them in a forthright manner. The drow are a pragmatic folk, and it is merely a matter of setting the price to purchase their cooperation.”
“In other words, I must pay to take possession of this wretched sorcerer, and then pay to be rid of him?” Tarandor said with a sour expression.
“Far be it from me to meddle in the affairs of wizards,” Jack replied.
“We are ready, master,” one of the apprentices said. They were finished with the arcane diagram surrounding the man on the floor; the bottle with its great black stopper waited nearby. Jack noticed that the green bottle was now encircled with a fishnet-like covering of fine silver chain, and the stopper was covered with potent silver glyphs; evidently Tarandor meant to ensure that no one would teleport out of it this time.
Tarandor briefly inspected the circle, and nodded in approval. “Stand back and remain still, if you please,” he said to Jack and the other Blue Wyverns. Jack obliged by taking several steps back. The abjurer murmured a lengthy spell under his breath, weaving his hands in sweeping motions as he spoke, until he finished the last syllables of the spell. There was a shower of greenish-silver sparks that whirled around the unconscious duplicate on the floor. Jack caught a glimpse of some impossible movement, and then the magic circle on the floor was empty, while the bottle smoked and rocked back and forth. One of the apprentices stooped quickly and jammed the stopper in the bottle with a very final thunk.
“Astonishing,” Jack observed. “I would have simply carried him down to the Underdark while bound and drugged.”
“There are arcane hazards at work here that must be reckoned with,” Tarandor replied. The abjurer checked on the bottle, where Jack thought he could see a tiny black-clad form lying bound and gagged on the fine white sand, and then motioned for his apprentices to secure the case. “Our business here is done,” he said to Jack. “This was an exceptional meeting, but it is now concluded, and I have no desire to continue our association. Do not contact me again.”
“I shall abide by your wishes,” Jack replied. He gave a formal bow as Tarandor and his apprentices filed out of the room.
Arlith saw them to the door and watched for a long moment. “They’re gone,” she finally announced.
Narm and Kurzen sighed in relief. Halamar emerged from the closet where he had been hiding. “Do you think the dark elves will let him anywhere near their mythal?” the sorcerer asked.
“I have no idea,” said Jack. “If they do, then Tarandor will inter my double in the stone. If they choose not to, I expect they’ll kill my double in some gru
esome fashion. Either way, Tarandor’s business in Raven’s Bluff is concluded, and he’ll be on his way back to Iriaebor where he’ll never trouble me again.”
“The drow might kill him or take him prisoner instead,” Kurzen pointed out.
“A chance I’m willing to take,” said Jack. “Speaking of which, our work for the night is only half-done. We should be on our way.” He scooped up Tarandor’s bag of gold and slipped it into his shirt, leaving the mysterious chalked circle on the floor of the office. No doubt Ulwhe and his employees would be quite mystified in the morning, but that was hardly Jack’s concern. They reclaimed the cart on which they’d carried Jack’s simulacrum to the icehouse, and set off through the rainy streets again.
Mumfort and Company was only a couple of streets over from the icehouse. No one was abroad on such a dismal night, and they saw no one as they made their way through the darkened warehouses. As before, they left the cart by the building’s back door, and let themselves inside. They spread out to search the place and make certain no unpleasant surprises were waiting for them before gathering again in the room where Jack had been trapped by the symbol.
“Do your plans for Fetterfist remain unchanged?” asked Halamar.
“More or less,” Jack replied. “I am open to suggestions, if you have any. Otherwise it’s merely a matter of finding good places to hide, and waiting.”
The small party took the next half-hour or so to study the warehouse layout, reposition a few crates and kegs in useful places, and consider any number of contingencies that might arise. Then they settled in to wait, posting Arlith as a lookout again by the front door and Halamar by the rear entrance. Jack found himself worrying over whether Balathorp would show, and wondered what he would do next if the slaver arrived an hour or two late, or simply didn’t appear at all. But it turned out that his fears were ungrounded; Arlith stirred at her watchpost almost a quarter-hour before the stroke of twelve bells.
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