by Mark Acres
“Well,” Bagsby said, leaning forward himself and looking around carefully to make sure no one was listening, “I’m in the... Wait a minute. I don’t even know you.”
“I am Reynaldo Pendargon, son of Alfonso Pendargon, the richest wine merchant in Clairton,” Reynaldo said. “Both my father and I are well known, and our characters are unimpeachable. Ask anyone. And you, sir?”
“I am Leonardo Rondini, a dealer in rare specialty items who has fallen into the worst of luck,” Bagsby said, sighing. “Thieved and swindled, that’s what I’ve been.”
“Oh,” Reynaldo said, his interest growing cold.
“And yet,” Bagsby quickly added, lowering his voice to a whisper and shoving his own face up close to Reynaldo’s, “a mere four hundred crowns could net me a profit of over two thousand tonight.”
“How is that possible?” Reynaldo asked, skepticism in his voice.
“You know that cabal of thieves that operates not far from this very place, down that narrow filthy street just across this square?” Bagsby asked. “Oh, of course you do. Anyone in business here in Clairton is certainly onto them.”
“Well, of course we know about them,” Reynaldo said uncertainly.
“They bribed my guards!” Bagsby lamented. “I was transporting a priceless piece of rare jewelry from the far north to a customer here in Clairton. The wretches bribed my guards, who delivered the piece to them along with all my operating cash. My customer expected delivery tonight and is waiting to pay me four thousand crowns for the piece. My expenses are only two thousand, so the profit is two thousand clear.”
Reynaldo leaned forward again, his eyes involuntarily growing a little wide. “But how would four hundred crowns help? Why not just go to the magistrate, whom I know personally, I might add, and—”
“No, no, that’s no good,” Bagsby interrupted. “It would take too long. The thieves intend to sell the piece tonight. By the time the magistrate takes action, the piece will be long since gone. Besides, I want my profit, not revenge on these thieves, no matter how sweet that would be. The thing is, you see, they don’t know what they’ve really got. They’re willing to sell it back to me for only four hundred crowns. Of course, that would cut my profit down to sixteen hundred, but sixteen hundred crowns is better than nothing. It would still make the trip worthwhile.”
“Reynaldo! Come on! We need your money in the game!” Bertrand called.
Reynaldo hastily looked around the crowded hall, irritation on his face. “A moment, friends. I have important business.” He turned back to Bagsby and began to whisper. “You mean to say, if you had four hundred crowns, you could retrieve this piece, then collect four thousand for it this very night?”
“Why, yes,” Bagsby replied innocently.
“And your profit would then be sixteen hundred crowns?”
“Yes, yes, that’s right. Why? What difference could it possibly make now?”
“Well,” Reynaldo said, drawing himself upright in his chair. “I will tell you, sir. I will lend you the four hundred crowns in exchange for eight hundred after the transaction is completed.”
Bagsby let his mouth drop open. He hoped his pupils widened to register genuine shock. “You would lend me the funds?”
“In exchange for eight hundred, tonight, when the deal is done,” Reynaldo affirmed, his head bobbing up and down eagerly.
“Well,” Bagsby said thoughtfully, “I don’t know. I am not in the habit of borrowing from men I hardly know. And the cut in my profits is most severe.”
“A profit of eight hundred crowns is better than no profit at all. And I am not in the habit of lending to men I hardly know. The high return is fair, considering the risk I’m taking.”
“Yes, yes,” Bagsby quickly agreed. Anything to get the mark’s mind off his risk. “But I need to think about this. And there is time to consider. You surely don’t have such funds on your person.”
“I will meet you within the hour in that alley, and we shall confront this band of thieves together,” Reynaldo said eagerly.
“No, no, no!” Bagsby stood up in alarm. He glanced quickly around the room, catching himself, then sat down again and leaned to whisper to Reynaldo. “You cannot take such risk to your person. These thieves know they already have all that is mine; there is no profit for them in harming or holding me. But you, sir, that is another matter. Surely you don’t want to risk being kidnapped.”
“Gad, that is thoughtful of you,” Reynaldo said, sudden revelation and relief showing on his eager young face. “You’re right. I’ll bring the money here, and you will return here when the transaction is done.”
“Well...” Bagsby shook his head.
“Sir,” Reynaldo said, standing and extending his hand, “I insist. It is the least the business community of Clairton can do to extend its welcome to a fellow businessman and to show solidarity against these scoundrels who would rob us all blind.”
Bagsby reluctantly stood. He pursed his lips, looked at the floor, then swung his concerned gaze around the room. Finally he let his eyes meet Reynaldo’s and stared into them intently for several seconds. “All right,” he finally said, taking Reynaldo’s extended hand. “I guess I can trust you.”
“You won’t regret this,” Reynaldo said, stepping eagerly away toward the door. “Wait here. I’ll be back shortly.” The youth practically ran from the gambling house into the night, visions of a four-hundred-crown profit dancing in his head, his mind’s eye already picturing the new clothes that would surely win the heart of his beloved.
In the far dark corner of the hall, Shulana nodded her head. The council must have been right. For all his faults, this Bagsby would steal from anyone and could charm even the undead with his acting ability and his tongue. Her choice was finally made.
Shulana stood in the dark street outside the palatial city dwelling of the Viscount Marco D’ Alonzo. It was well past the middle of the night; the sun would dawn over the city in less than four hours, by human reckoning. The elf pondered her next move. The question was how to approach Bagsby.
Inside the mansion, Bagsby was sleeping soundly, having been befriended by the viscount after managing to carefully lose one hundred crowns to him in a dice game at one of the more exclusive gambling halls in Clairton. The Pendargon family would not think of contacting the viscount about a minor matter of swindling—the embarrassment would be too great. Nor were they of sufficient social standing to be guests at his splendid home. Bagsby, on the other hand, as the recently robbed son of the Count of Nordingham in the kingdom of Pantania, many hundreds of leagues distant, was more than welcome to spend the night. The Pendargons were wasting the time of their own retainers trying vainly to find the so-called Leonardo.
Shulana thought deeply on her problem. She could not tell Bagsby the truth; he would merely take her information and then use it for his own profit and the advantage of her enemy. She glanced up at the great mansion, where torchlight lit up the carefully sculpted front gardens by night, and where armed men patrolled the grounds at irregular intervals to foil the plans of thieves. What weakness did this Bagsby have that she could play on?
Greed, she thought: greed, a fondness for what the humans considered high living, and a total lack of any values other than the satisfaction of his own desires. Bagsby would do what she wanted as long as he thought he was serving himself. He would respond to the promise of wealth, if the promise were credible, or to the threat of losing what he had—which was very little, other than his wits and his life. And there was his vanity. She had learned that it was a mistake to underestimate the power of human vanity.
Shulana drew her cloak tightly around her and raised its cowl over her head. She resolved upon her course of action. Touching her cloak, she made a hasty gesture, muttering the words of an elven spell. Had anyone been watching, they would have seen her virtually disappear, as her cloak took on the colorat
ion of its immediate background.
Thus protected, Shulana walked boldly into the street and approached the front gardens of the mansion. A convenient fig tree extended its branches upward toward the second-story balcony; the climb was easy. From there, she opened the great glass doors onto the hall leading to the guest rooms. Even in the dark, her elven vision enabled her to quickly spot Bagsby’s chamber; it was the only one in use, and its door handle glowed with the recent heat of contact with a living being. The door was unlocked; the wealthy trusted their hirelings to protect them. She turned the knob and slipped inside quietly.
The room was quite large—fully thirty feet across and almost square. A fine oak wardrobe, a marble washstand, a small, polished oak table and chair, a great mahogany bookcase filled with hand-copied and carefully bound volumes of works currently in vogue with humans, a great tapestry depicting one of the countless battles from the human-elven wars, and three fine paintings, presumably of relatives of the viscount, adorned the chamber. In the center stood the great canopied bed. The frame was made of solid polished cherry wood; the canopy was satin to match the bedclothes, and the whole enclosed with fine lace curtains. Fresh-cut flowers trembled in a finely turned clay vase next to the head of the bed.
Bagsby lay in the center of the bed on his back, his head raised by several soft pillows, snoring loudly. The satin sheets and a fine woolen blanket were pulled up tightly under his chin.
Shulana stood silently, surveying the scene, drinking in every detail. Only when she was satisfied that no weapons were visible and that therefore her only danger came from Bagsby himself, did she make her next move.
First, with a gesture and a touch to her cloak, she removed the chameleon spell from it. She did not want Bagsby to awaken, only to see what looked like a disembodied elven face looming over him! Then, once again her hand went to the pouch on her belt, and once again she removed a tiny vial. In the vial was pure melted snow. She opened the stopper, stuck in her little finger, and obtained one drop of the fluid. Then, softly whispering a magical incantation, she walked swiftly but silently to Bagsby’s bed, drew back the curtains, and touched the drop to his lips.
Bagsby sat bolt upright, his mouth wide open. His left arm raised the covers as he sat up; by the time he was fully up his right arm was already swinging, attempting to slash the figure leaning over him with the dagger in his hand. Shulana had expected this move—she had watched Bagsby for months—and the dagger slash slid harmlessly off her magical cloak.
“Be still, Bagsby,” she said in her most commanding voice, standing erect and glaring at him from beneath her cowl.
Bagsby’s lips moved and his mouth opened wide and shut several times, but no sound emerged from him.
“Call out all you want; it will do you no good. You are magically silenced. You can make no sound no matter what you do,” Shulana said sternly.
Bagsby scowled, glanced about wildly, and then hurled his dagger with all his might at the glass window of his room. The glass shattered noiselessly, and the dagger sailed out into the night. Bagsby watched in amazement as the shards of glass fell silently to the floor. He turned his head and looked at Shulana, his brow furrowed, his dark brown eyes wide, his mouth formed into a small “O.”
“You see that what I say is true,” Shulana said severely. “Now know this, Bagsby, thief, con man, and scoundrel. I mean you no harm. If you will not betray my presence, I will release you from silence so that we may talk. But you must guarantee that you will take no action against me. If you do, the penalties will be severe. You can see that I am a mage of some power. Do not think I come to this interview unprotected. What is your answer?”
Bagsby thought quickly even as the voice was speaking. His eyes were still adjusting to the dark; he had no idea who or even what this assailant might be. His immediate fear was an assassin sent by Nebuchar; he quickly dismissed that idea. If the intruder were an assassin, he would already be dead. In any event, his word was virtually meaningless, and his word to an intruder was certainly not binding. He had nothing to lose by agreeing and everything to gain. Bagsby nodded his assent to the intruder’s terms.
Shulana made a subtle gesture with one hand, and Bagsby found his power of speech returned.
“Who are you, and what do you want of me?” he asked. His eyes squinted, straining against the darkness to see the face that confronted him.
“My name is of no concern to you, thief. What is of concern is what I want,” Shulana said simply.
“Fine,” Bagsby said, shrugging. “Mind if I get up?” Without waiting for a reply he threw the blankets off his legs and swung his feet to the floor. He leaned over and dug through the pile of clothes by the side of the bed.
“No, I don’t mind if you rise. But if you’re searching for another dagger, it will be the last thing you ever find.”
Bagsby’s hand froze. He looked up at the face which was now becoming more clear as his eyes adjusted, and grinned broadly.
“Do you blame me for trying?” he asked, chuckling.
“No. I expected it. I hope you understand that it is pointless to resist me.”
“I understand for the moment. Now, about what you wanted.”
“Just this. To make you rich,” Shulana said. A cold shudder ran through her body as she spoke the words; it was totally against her nature to lie, even to a swine like this thief.
“Well then, welcome, friend. Leave the riches as you leave the room, won’t you?” Bagsby retorted.
“You must work for this wealth,” Shulana said briskly. “I want you to steal something.”
“A contract job?”
“Precisely.”
“What is the item you want stolen?” Bagsby asked. He could see the face now, and he carefully controlled his own face so as not to betray his deep shock and surprise. At first he thought perhaps his eyes were mistaken, but as he gazed at the face, there could be no doubt. The high cheekbones, the narrow, pointed nose, the short cropped dark hair, the narrow elongated eyes, and the deliberate attempt to hide the ears, all these could mean only one thing. The intruder was an elf. Whether male or female Bagsby could not yet tell, but there was no doubting the species. Bagsby had only seen two elves before in his life, and one of them was dead at the time.
“Yes, I am an elf. A female, to answer your real question,” Shulana said casually.
Bagsby cursed silently. He had been trying to control his reaction. Maybe the old tales were true. Bagsby had heard many stories from old thieves about how elves could read a human’s thoughts by the expression on the face, even when the human was deliberately dissembling. How the elves could do this, when they understood so little about humans, was a mystery. Bagsby decided that a temporary surrender was the best approach.
“So, I see there is no point in trying to deceive you,” he acknowledged. “What is the item you want stolen? At what risk to me and of what value to you?”
“I want you to steal the Golden Eggs of Parona,” Shulana stated bluntly. His reaction was exactly what she had expected. Bagsby burst into laughter.
“Oh, my! Oh, my!” he exclaimed between belly laughs. “For a moment I thought you were serious. Who sent you? Who are you? What manner of prank is this? Did old Sixfingers send you?” Bagsby stood and pulled on his breeches. He caught his tunic on his big toe and kicked it up into his hands. “Come on, now, you’ve had your fun. Tell me. Who sent you?”
“No one sent me,” Shulana replied honestly. “I came of my own accord on my own initiative. This idea is entirely my own.”
“Come on now,” Bagsby said, pulling on his tunic. “Enough is enough. You’d better get out of here before the servants hear our chatter.”
“I came to hire you for a job, and I intend to see that you do it,” Shulana said.
“What job?” Bagsby snapped. He was getting worried now. It wouldn’t do at all for the viscount to hear of h
im entertaining an elf under the viscount’s own roof. Bagsby had great plans for his newfound friendship with the young noble.
“I told you. I want you to steal the Golden Eggs of Parona,” Shulana replied patiently. She had known Bagsby would not believe her at first. It was one of the things that made dealing with humans so difficult; they were so suspicious, because they were so untrustworthy. Although in this case, she reminded herself, Bagsby’s suspicions were entirely justified.
“I see,” Bagsby said, bustling about the room now as he finished dressing. “By the way, my other dagger’s there on the floor,” he added, pointing to the weapon. The elf did not glance down at the place he indicated; she already knew where the dagger was, Bagsby concluded. “So,” he continued, “let me get this straight. An elf, who refuses to tell me her name, breaks into my room in the dead of night and wishes to hire me to steal the most closely guarded and famous treasure in the world. Is that about right?”
“Yes,” Shulana replied.
“And why,” Bagsby asked, “should I not call out right now and summon the servants and the guards and have you put out of here and out of my life?”
“Because if you do,” Shulana answered, “I will help Nebuchar’s assassins find you. I have followed you for the last several months. I can tell you every word that passed between you and Nebuchar. I can tell you how you squandered the fortune you obtained from him. I can tell you how much you stole from those louts in the first tavern you visited tonight. I know how you duped young Pendargon out of four hundred crowns. And I know how you plan to use the viscount to gratify your own greed. Have me thrown out and I will stick to you like glue until Nebuchar has his way with you.”
“I see,” Bagsby said. “And if I do steal this treasure for you, which is patently impossible, what reward is there for me?”
“Name your price.”