Death and Taxes

[Kirwond]

Little warning before I start. This version of the main character will probably not agree with anyone else's version. If that bothers you, I'm sorry. Well, not that sorry.

Other than that, constructive criticism and advice is welcome (and encouraged). Many thanks to JC and MorningGlory for their help with this story! And for those folks who wanted more noirisms, more have been added.

     “The gods are pissing on the roof again.” Snick wiped dribbles of rain from the bar with the filthiest cloth I’d ever seen. He glared up at the leaky ceiling. “Bastards couldn’t hold it until I got the new shingles nailed on.”

     Thunder cracked like a whip across my eardrums. It was another beautiful evening in the City of Coin. So many coins and so many hands ready to take them. It was a town where thieves ruled the night and merchants could really make a killing. The perfect place for a guy like me.

     “Another one, Mister A?”

     “Yes.”

     Snick topped up my glass with a double measure of cheap Westgate whiskey. I held it up to the light, admiring its deep amber glow, and shot it back. It burned a hole straight down my gullet. That’s why I liked this place. The Crooked Crane served booze so strong, it made you feel alive.

     I’d spent many a night sitting at this counter, breathing in the air of smoke and desperation, knocking my drinks back one by one until I fell off the stool or found an expensive dame to take me home. That was exactly what I had in mind as I sat there that night, until she walked in.

     I saw her feet first, neatly encased in tiny black slippers with blue dragons embroidered on the toes. Wealthy dame, wearing the finest Athkatla had to offer. My eyes traveled up the sapphire silk skirts, the jewel-encrusted bodice, the sleek mink stole partially covered by a thick rain-spotted cloak. She pushed back her hood, revealing long golden fairy-princess curls and eyes as blue as the summer sky. Snick’s jaw hit the bar. He looked as if he’d just seen a goddess. He wasn’t far off.

     Of all the bars in all of Faerun, she had to walk into this one. Mirielle Coltrane, the Bhaalspawn mage with a heart of gold and the bank account to match. Some folks called her the Savior of the Sword Coast, and some called her the Destroyer of Saradush. Me, I called her, “Sis.”

     “Hello, Sis,” I said. “What brings you to this wretched dump?”

     She flashed me that winsome little-girl smile. “Can’t a girl come by to say hello to her big brother?”

     “No.” I turned back to my drink. “I haven’t seen you since the wedding. What’s it been, five years?”

     “I’ve been busy.”

     “So I heard. Business must be good if you don’t have time for your own flesh and blood.”

     She glanced at the door. “I don’t have time for chit-chat. I need to talk to you, and Imoen, too, if she’s around.”

     “Sit down, take a load off. She’ll turn up in an hour or two.”

     “I can’t wait that long.” She rested a soft hand on my arm. For a moment, I felt privileged. “Please, Sarevok, I think they’re after me.”

     Someone two tables away dropped a glass on the dusty floor, and Sis flinched. I’d never seen her flinch before, and we’d been through a lot worse than broken glass. I quit messing with her and began to pay attention. “Who?”

     A tear rolled down her porcelain cheek. “The ones who killed my husband.”

[Kirwond]

     Still wiping her baby blues, Sis shuffled after me. The barflies stared as we passed, probably wondering what a dame like her was doing with a guy like me. I thought about telling them, but they wouldn’t have believed me. Not without one hell of a free drink.

     I knocked on the rough plastered wall, three quick taps and a thud. We waited, but nothing happened. I knocked again, louder this time.

     A thin voice finally piped up from behind the wall. “You aren’t doing the secret knock, Sarry!”

     “Yes, I am.” I did it again, just to show her. “And don’t call me Sarry.”

     “It’s five taps and a thud! Like this!” The wall thudded as she knocked back.

     I was getting impatient, and fast. “Imoen! Open the damn door!”

     “Geez, ask nicely, will ya? I was just trying to help.”

     Dames. Shorthand for trouble. My other little sister was no exception to the rule. She was a good kid, with a lightning-fast tongue that never quite managed to conceal her tender heart. More often than not, that combination got her into trouble, and I was the one she’d call to bail her out. Still, she’d given me part of her soul, so I kept her on the payroll.

     The wall swung open, and I showed Sis into my office. Two battered pine desks, one large and one small, occupied most of the juiced-up crypt. We’d propped the empty sarcophagus up against the wall. It made a good filing cabinet with the wooden dividers Imoen had conjured up.

     “Quaint little place you have here,” said Sis, letting me take her cloak.

     I hung up her duds on the cloakrack and tossed my hat in the general direction of my desk. “It’s lavish, but I call it home.”

     “Mirielle!!!” A purple blur tackled Sis, sending her crashing to the floor. “Gee, it’s great to see ya! Where have you been, anyway?”

     “Imoen, I—“ Sis did a double take. “Did you dye your hair again?”

     “Only ‘cause I was bored. Like it?”

     I never understood how Imoen managed to hide in the shadows. With that purple hair, she stood out more than a balrog in a ballroom. Sis might have been wondering the same thing. If she was, she knew better than to say it. “It’s… interesting. Truly unique.”

     “Thanks!” Imoen helped Sis back onto her feet. “So, haven’t seen you for a long time! What’cha been up to, huh? You don’t write, you don’t call me on my scrying ball… I bet you’ve been busy, huh?” Imoen leered and perched herself on the corner of my desk. “Same old Miri. It’s a wonder you haven’t worn your little Kelseykins out by now… uh… hey, what’s wrong?”

     “Ixnay on the Elsey-kay,” I muttered.

     “It’s okay, Sarevok,” Sis choked out, her eyes bright. “She doesn’t know.”

     Imoen cocked her head to one side. “Know what?”

     “Kelsey’s dead.” I rummaged around in my desk for a fine Chultan cigar.

     Imoen’s hand flew to her mouth. She looked like someone had whacked her with a blackjack. “Dead?”

     Sis collapsed into the chair that I pulled out for her. “It happened two days ago,” she said. “We were in the workshop with the latest batch of Kelsey’s Beauty Oil. The shops had ordered a big shipment, at least eighty crates, so I packed while Kelsey concocted.” Her lips thinned. “Kelsey never wanted to pack. He always wanted to spend his time playing with his flasks, just like a boy playing with a potionmaking set.”

     I clipped the end of the cigar and lit it. Sis had always been fond of the boring details. I wished she would hurry up and get to the point.

     “Well, we finally finished up around midnight. Kelsey told me he’d be right up, so I went to bed. I never thought that would be the last time I’d see him.” Her eyes began to leak. “I came down to label the boxes after breakfast, and he was just lying there on the floor, and I shook him, but he was….”

     Sis began to cry again in huge, wracking sobs. Imoen ran all over the room, looking for handkerchiefs and water. I sat in my chair and propped my boots on my desk, puffing big rings of smoke at the ceiling. I’d been through this before. When Sis got the vapors, all a man could do was wait it out.

     After a few minutes, she wound down enough to speak. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be like this.”

     I looked over and immediately wished I hadn’t. Some dames could cry without getting all red and puffy. Sis was not one of them.

     “Take your time, Miri.” Imoen wrapped her sister up in a big hug. “We’re here for you.”

     “Have the guards taken a whack at the crime scene?” I asked.

     Sis sniffled and dabbed at her eyes. “Oh, yes, they've been all over the house. They're bringing a detective tomorrow. Inspector Trade, I think he's called. The guards said he’s going to do some sort of spell on the room and the… the….”

     “Body?”

     “Sarevok!”

     “Don’t shout, Immy, I’m not offended. I suppose I should get used to saying it. It was just such a shock.” Sis blew her nose and looked appealingly at me. “He’s always been the strong one, encouraging me and protecting me, and to see him like that… oh, I’m so frightened!”

     She may have been scared, but I knew she was no china doll. Even on her whiniest days, Sis was a survivor. Assassins, mad wizards, and other Bhaalspawn had done their best to take her down, but she’d always come out on top. Hell, she’d even managed to kill me. Twice. A dame like her shouldn’t have much to worry about.

     Imoen’s expression told me she was thinking the same thing, but she was too fond of her sister to come out and say it. “It’s okay, Miri. You can count on us. I need to finish some files and pay a few calls, but Sarry will stay over until you feel more like yourself again. Deal?”

     I nearly dropped my cigar. “Excuse me?”

     On another night, Sis might have declined. But tonight, she was all over Imoen’s offer like flies on an orc. “Oh, Imoen! That’s so kind of you… of both of you!”

     They thought I would play the soft-hearted sap? No, thanks. “Sorry, Sis. I have plans.”

     Imoen shot a glare my way. If looks could kill, I’d be dead several times over. “Sarevok! Be nice!”

     “I’m not nice. I’m vicious. It’s part of my charm.”

     “Please, Sarevok? It’ll only be for a night, just until my friend comes. I don’t want to stay in my home alone….”

     Sis turned those baby blues on me, and I shut my mouth, defeated before I could begin to fight. I knew that look. It was meant to make me roll over and wave my paws in the air. This was one dame who always got her way, and she was going to get it again tonight. After all, Kelsey and I had gone through some tough times together. It didn’t matter what I thought of him, or his wife. I’d adventured with him. Now that he’d kicked the bucket, if I wanted any peace, I had to make Sis happy.

     ”Fine.” I stubbed out my cigar and grabbed my hat. “Let’s go.”

[Kirwond]

     “Hello, my love.”

     That soft voice set off firecrackers up my spine. “Tamoko?” No. I’d had my nightcap. She shouldn’t be here.

     “Have you missed me?” She glided into my arms. Every curve burned like cold fire, awakening memories that were better left forgotten.

     “This isn’t happening,” I said, more to myself than to her. “You aren’t real.”

     Those rouged lips parted in a feral smile. “Am I not?”

     “I hate to point out the obvious, but you’re dead, doll.”

     “You always were a smart one.”

     She brushed my cheek with an icy finger. I could smell her perfume, orange blossoms and musk, hanging around her like a shroud.

     “Why do you fear me, Sarevok?”

     She’d always been able to see more than she should. That was why I fell in love with her. That was also why she’d ended up dead. “I’m not afraid of anybody,” I told her, but she wasn’t buying it.

     “Then why do you try so hard to keep me away?”

     “What the hell are you talking about?” She knew. Dammit, she knew.

     “Of course I do. I know how many drinks you put away each night. I can see the empty bottles in your bed.” She leaned forward so that all I could see were those sad, ancient eyes. “If only you had been able to think clearly, Sarevok. You could have loved me. We could have been so happy together.”

     It always came back to that same sob story, and I always came off as the biggest bastard who’d ever lived. Things would have been different if I’d won the battle with Sis over our father’s abandoned throne. I would have been a god, and messing with cosmic power would have left little time for dames like Tamoko. Of course, she’d never understood the jackpot I was after. All she knew was that I was headed somewhere she couldn’t follow. So she’d tried to change me, tried to hang on. Even in death, she was still trying.

     “Forget it, doll.” I looked away. “It’s too late for what could have been.”

     “Yes.” She wound her arms around me, soft and slow. Her clever hands stroked the back of my neck. “Too late.”

     Her body exploded into flames. I shouted and tried to shove her off me, but she only clung tighter. Our skins sizzled and we screamed together, a desperate cry that reached the heights of rage and the depths of despair.

     I jerked my eyes open. My heart pounded like a thousand insane drummers. The noise came again, loud and shrill. I groaned and rolled over the empty whiskey bottle, reaching for the amulet on the nightstand. Flipping it open with one hand, I brought it to my lips. “Anchev,” I muttered.

     “Good morning, Sarry!” Imoen’s voice chirped in my ear. “How’s Miri?”

     I propped myself up against a pillow, scowling as the damned bottle poked me right in the small of the back. “Probably crying again.”

     Her sigh was heavy in my ear. “Would it kill you to check on her?”

     “She’s a big Bhaalspawn. She can take care of herself. Any word on the Jansen case?”

     “No, but there’s been another gnome slaying. A copycat, I think, not one of Vaelag’s boys. This one caught a crossbow bolt right in the very top of his head. I think he was trying to duck.”

     “Perhaps he was trying for a head-butt.”

     “You’re sick.”

     “I try.”

     “Oh, and your accountant stopped by. He wants to talk to you about your taxes. Something about filling out another form.”

     That poky old Lloyd! This was the last thing I needed. “Oh, for the love of Bhaal! Can’t you deal with this?”

     “Only if I get a raise. A big one.”

     “I’ll think about it.” Fat chance she was getting anything out of me, not after the taxman took it all. “When are you going to get here? I can’t stand crying at breakfast. It gives me indigestion.”

     “Give me an hour, maybe two. And, hey, save me some bacon, will ya?” The amulet clicked and she was gone.

     I thought about going back to sleep, but decided not to push my luck. I might dream about her again. I fished out the bottle and placed it under the nightstand, where the pesky maids would leave it alone. If a full bottle of whiskey couldn’t keep Tamoko out of my head, what would? Two bottles might do it, but it was too early to think about that. Even I had my limits.

     The maid came in with a steaming bowl. She set it down on the dresser, slopping some liquid over the chipped rim. “Your hot water, my lord,” she said, her voice as drab as her face.

     “Thanks.” I reached out and pulled back the curtain. The sun was just peeking over the horizon. “I’m guessing Sis isn’t awake yet.”

     “Lady Mirielle has already risen. She is downstairs in the library with her guest.”

     “Guest?”

     The maid winced. “Oh, I shouldn’t have said that. The mistress doesn’t like me to talk about her private affairs…”

     Most folks wouldn’t have noticed her hand open. If I hadn’t been ready for it, I might have missed it myself. I felt around on the nightstand for a gold piece and flipped it into her palm. She started talking even before her fingers closed around it.

     “…of course, there’s no harm in your knowing. You’re family, after all. She’s downstairs with Sir Delryn.”

     Business in Amn was such a joy. I thanked her with another coin before sending her on her way. Delryn, eh? I’d never met the guy, but he was famous around town. One of those hoity-toity Radiant Heart knights, I’d heard, with a stick so far up his ass that you could almost see it coming out of his nose. Imoen liked him, but then again, she liked anyone who talked like a romance novel.

     After a quick shave, I headed downstairs. I could hear voices ahead as I padfooted down the hall.

     “My Lady, this is highly irregular.”

     “I know, Anomen, but trust me. I know what I’m doing.”

     “But if you would only allow me to…”

     “No!”

     I poked my nose around the doorframe. Sis stood in the center of the room, her curls just catching the first rays of morning light. She wore a filmy blue gown that clung in all the right places. There was a black ribbon fastened around her white neck, which I guessed meant that she was in mourning.

     She was chatting with a guy who looked like he spent as much time in front of a mirror as he did on the battlefield. Despite the early hour, he was tricked out in brightly polished plate. A large silver medallion in the shape of a hand spilled over his armor. I only needed to squint a little to make out the engravings typical of Helm’s symbol.

     “I’m sorry, Anomen,” said Sis, “but a number of priests have already tried and failed to raise him. I’m afraid my Kelsey is lost to me.” Her rosebud lips quivered.

     He took her in his arms and let her weep all over his shoulder. Contrition was written plainly on Anomen’s features as he looked down at her bent head, along with something else. The man had it bad. Yeah, she was a walking sauna, and he was ready to sit down on her bench. It was a shame. Sis was way out of his league.

     “Miri, if I had only known this would end in such tragedy, I would have--” His eyes flicked towards the door, and he shoved Sis away as though she’d burned him. He was pretty quick for such a big guy. “Did you want something?” he growled.

     I stepped into the room. “Didn’t mean to interrupt. Morning, Sis.”

     “Good morning.” Sis dabbed at her puffy eyes with one of those lacy handkerchiefs she liked. “Anomen, I don’t believe you’ve met my brother. Sarevok, this is Sir Anomen Delryn.”

     “Charmed,” he said, making it clear that he wasn’t. He extended a wide, square hand with some impressive calluses. This guy wore fancy duds, but he kept his mace arm in great shape.

     “Likewise.” We shook on it, making it into a not-so-friendly contest. I won, of course, but not by much.

     The maid came in and led the way to the breakfast table. Nobody seemed to want to talk, so I tucked into my food. Anomen took off his shiny gauntlets, toyed with some bacon, and pretended he wasn’t staring at Sis. As for Sis, she pushed away her plate, choosing instead to drink large quantities of water. Knowing her, she was restoring her reservoir of tears.

     Imoen came in when we were halfway through with the meal. Anomen jumped to his feet when he saw her. He looked like he’d just been told a painful joke and hadn’t decided whether to laugh or cry. “Purple?” he asked. “Why is your hair purple?”

     “I got bored! Wait till next week. I’m thinking of going blue.” She winked and punched him in the arm. “Still got that armor polish fetish, I see.”

     The stiff didn’t even crack a smile. “It is hardly a fetish, Lady Imoen. It is called proper grooming.”

     “Whatever you say, Ano. Whatever you say.”

     Anomen grumbled as Imoen sat down and heaped her plate with everything in reach. I could’ve told him she’d twit him on his armor, but Sis always said not to speak with my mouth full.

     “So, what’s new, big boy? You’re not exactly the easiest guy to keep in touch with.”

     “I do apologize, Lady Imoen, if I have given any offense by my unavailability. I have recently returned from a campaign in the south to mop up the remnants of the Sythillisian forces.” He smirked at Imoen, who rolled her eyes. “If I may be pardoned for saying so, ‘twas quite a simple affair after the enemies we faced together in the service of Lady Mirielle.”

     “Yeah, I get it,” I said, spearing a piece of ham on my knife. “Not much left to scare you after you’ve battled your way through the forces of the Abyss. Maybe you’d know that if you went to Tethyr with Sis like I did.”

     Sis shifted in her seat. “Don’t, Sarevok. Anomen had other business to take care of.”

     “Sure, Sis. I’ll lay off. No hard feelings, huh?”

     Anomen’s gaze rested on Sis for a second before skittering away. “Erm… yes… well, as I said, I returned only recently. I have been in residence at the Order for the past week.”

     “The Order?” asked Imoen, surprised. “What about your family estate? That’s a nicer place to sleep than a barracks.”

     “I sold the house to the Jysstevs a few years ago, after Father died. I could not bear to live there. Memories of Moira haunted every corridor.” Anomen bowed his head over his plate.

     I looked at Imoen, but she shot me a “tell you later” look and said, “Gee, I’m sorry, Ano. I’m really sticking my foot in it.”

     “It is all right, Lady Imoen. You did not know.”

     We finished our grub in strained silence.

[Kirwond]

     The maid slipped in just as I crunched the last of my toast. She curtsied and said, “Lady Mirielle, Inspector Trade is here to see you.”

     Sis smoothed back her curls. “Show him into the parlor, Jane. We shall be there in a moment.”

     Anomen pushed his chair back from the table, looking a tad green around the gills. “I should leave, my Lady. I would not wish to be in the way.”

     “Oh, Anomen, please stay,” said Sis. “I’d feel so much better if you were around.”

     She looked at him with those eyes, and he folded like a card table. We followed Sis into the parlor. Two men rose from the pink leather couch. One of them, with a shock of black hair and a face like a collapsed lung, I’d met before. That would be Inspector Trade. A stand-up guy, if a bit wet behind the ears.

     “Lady Mirielle,” he said, “it’s a real honor to meet you. My sister was in Imnesvale during the Shadow Wolf attacks, and I’ll always be grateful that you put a stop to them before she got hurt.”

     He slobbered over her hand like an otyugh in heat, which she seemed to enjoy. Dames really went for that stuff.

     “Why, thank you, Inspector,” she said, batting her eyelashes his way. “It was nothing, really.”

     “Please, call me Les.”

     I watched Sis as they talked. She looked better this morning, only a little puffy around the eyes, even with the recent flood of tears. Trade certainly seemed to think so. He was one step away from kissing her dainty feet. Sis always had a way with people. She could twist a guy around her little finger in minutes. I ought to know.  I was one of those guys.

     Sis was the reason why I was standing here today. When she’d ruined my plans to take over our father’s throne, I’d been dumped down into the Abyss along with all the other failed Bhaalspawn, part of one cosmic reject pile—or so I’d thought. Then she’d started to discover the powers in her blood, and, being the curious minx that she was, she messed around with them. Because she had no idea what she was doing, she brought me back to life.

     Sure, she’d fried me with a lightning bolt the first time she saw my new body, but the second time, I made her an offer she couldn’t refuse. With my blade at her side, no one stood against us. Fire giants, dragons, and even our father’s last minions fell before our combined might. For this I was paid well in gold, gems, and nifty new weapons. Yes, she'd been my enemy, but it was so good to be alive again that I didn't give a crap. Plus, I’d always been a sucker for a pretty face. I’d never understood why Sis hadn’t taken Bhaal’s power and become a god, like I’d planned to do, but I guessed it had something to do with Kelsey.

     The other guy, a bony shrimp with a salt and pepper beard, finally got sick of the chatter. “Can we get on with this?” he snapped. “I’m a busy man. I don’t have all day to waste here.” He stalked out of the room without waiting for an answer.

     Trade went bright tomato red. “Sorry about Moore,” he muttered. “I know he’s a bit touchy, but he’s a good man in a crunch. He came with the highest recommendations from the Cowled Wizards.”

     “Don’t worry about it,” said Sis with a dazzling smile. “I suppose we should hurry. I don’t want to waste your valuable time.”

     We followed her downstairs into what looked like a basement laboratory. A heavy oak table stood in the center of the large room, every square inch covered with flasks, tubes, and other equipment. Moore was already there, checking out the shelves. They were lined with rows of heavy glass jars, all filled with squiggles. I opened a jar and took a whiff of its contents. Eye of newt and hair of dog. I sure hoped Kelsey’s stuff worked. I’d hate to think dames across Athkatla were rubbing this stuff on their faces for nothing.

     “I found Kelsey there, to the left of the table.” Sis hugged herself and shivered.

     Moore ran his eyes over the floor. “The guards moved the body already, Les?”

     “I asked them to move Kelsey to the temple,” said Sis. “The priests tried to raise him, but failed.”

     “They captured images in the scrying ball,” said Trade, “if you really need them.”

     “Hmph. Very well. Do you have the personal item, Lady Mirielle?”

     “Yes.”

     She handed him a simple gold ring. Moore closed his eyes and began muttering mystical mumbo-jumbo.

     While he was busy, I took another look around the room. Something wasn't right, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. It didn’t help that Imoen was tugging on my shirt.

     “Listen to him, Sarry! I could do that spell in two seconds. He wouldn’t need to whisper half that long if he were any good!”

     Moore opened one eye and glared at Imoen. I ignored her and kept looking at the floor, then the walls, then all that delicate equipment on the table. It clicked. The place was too damn clean.

     Most crime scenes show some sign of struggle, but this room was as neat as a shot of whiskey. Kelsey may have been a skinny sorcerer, but he was no pushover. He could fry an orc with a single thought, and he knew a lot of spells, each one nastier than the next. Even if the maid had poked her pointy nose in here, scorch marks were murder to remove.

     There was a surge of light, and Moore released Kelsey’s ring. It hung in the air, floating on a cloud of silver sparkles, and then it began to spin, faster and faster. Imoen had just enough time to mutter, “If I’d done it, the sparkles would be much cooler. And pink.” before an image formed in the air above the spinning ring. It fuzzed a bit before resolving.

     In the image, a crossbow bolt struck Kelsey in the chest. He flung out an arm and staggered back, the surprised look freezing on his face as two more bolts pinned him to the floor. He twitched a little and died.

     Sis squealed like a pig on the chopping block. Anomen rushed to her side and covered her eyes with his hands. “Have you no feelings, man?” he bellowed.

     ”Terribly sorry,” said Moore. “One moment, I’ll have this fixed. Let me just…” He waved his hand. Kelsey sprang to his feet, bolts flying backward and wounds smoothing into unbroken skin.

     Trade sighed. “Just go back to the beginning, will you?”

     Moore grumbled, but swept his little finger sharply to the left and down. The image blacked out, and then the lights came up on a different scene. In this one, Sis stood next to Kelsey, packing tiny flasks into a large wooden crate. It looked like part of that shipment she’d mentioned. There were six other crates stacked against the opposite wall.

     Running a hand through his carrot-colored crew cut, Kelsey said something to Sis. She wiped her brow and poured him a glass of water from a large jug. He said something else and motioned to a table. She smiled, walked over to the table, and set down his drink.

     “No sound,” Imoen muttered. “Amateur work.”

     Sis kissed Kelsey on the cheek and said something before breezing up the stairs and out of the image. Kelsey nodded, a hapless “yes, dear” look pasted on his skinny mug. He turned away and picked up his glass, draining it in long, thirsty gulps. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve and went back to packing.

     Nothing exciting happened, so I let my eyes take another walk around the room. Trade was watching the picture so intently that I thought his eyes would bug out of his head. Anomen had an arm around Sis, who had recovered enough to quit crying. Her mouth was open in a dainty pink “O” as she watched.

     Imoen gasped. I turned back in time to see a man appear in the room behind Kelsey. He blipped into existence without any of the fireworks and fancy puffs of smoke that mages tend to use. Very slick. I liked his style.

     The man’s equipment was professional grade. He had a black leather breastplate, plain dark breeches, and a common-make crossbow, nothing you couldn’t get at the Adventurer’s Mart. A dark hood covered his hair and most of his face. There was a gold ring wrapped around his left pinky, but everyone and his brother wore those in Amn.

     He looked to me like a hired killer, just a cut above the street trash that infested Athkatla’s docks. It would make perfect sense. After our rampant do-gooding in Tethyr, there would be no end to evil organizations wanting Sis or Kelsey dead. There was only one thing that didn’t add up. The man was going the wrong way.

     At first, I thought Moore had screwed up the spell, but no, the man really was sneaking away from Kelsey. He didn’t stop until he reached one of the stacked crates, where he shifted his crossbow to his left hand and moved his fingers in tiny circles. It looked like a spell to me.

     “Imoen, check those crates,” I ordered, not taking my eyes off the image. “Find out what that man was doing.”

     “Sure thing, boss.” Imoen sauntered to the crates and began to jimmy one open.

     By now, the man in the image had finished his handwaving. A soft golden glow seeped into the crates. You could almost hear the man thinking, “One down, five to go.” He backed off and began to get the hell out of there, but Kelsey raised his head. Perhaps he had sensed the use of magic, or perhaps the man wasn’t as silent as he seemed.

     Like I said, Kelsey was no pushover. So he did just what I expected. He turned around and confronted the guy. They exchanged words, none of which we could hear, and then they fought. Luckily for Sis, Moore paused the image just before the man fired his crossbow.

     “Got everything?”

     “Yes,” said Moore.

     “Then let it go. We can review it later.” Trade scratched the sparse stubble that passed for his beard. “Funny that Kelsey didn’t manage to cast a--”

     “Wait!”

     We all turned to look at Sis, who extended a trembling hand. “That insignia,” she said in a strange, choked voice.

     Insignia? I turned back and squinted. Sis was right. The crossbow had pushed the man’s sleeve just far enough back to reveal a black leather bracer. If I looked hard enough, I could make out some sort of design. It rang an alarm in my head. I had seen it before, not too long ago.

     Anomen peered over my shoulder. I could feel his bristle of outrage. “Farrahd!” he roared. “Yusef Farrahd!”

[Kirwond]

     “You’ve got sharp eyes, Lady Mirielle.” Trade laughed and slapped his hand on his thigh. “Hot damn, things are looking up. We can tap Farrahd for questioning in an hour, tops. And to think I was planning to spend the rest of the day staring at that image. Now we can… what’s that look for, Moore? Isn’t Sir Delryn’s identification correct?”

     “Yes.” The way Moore said the word, you could almost hear the unspoken “But…” hanging in the air.

     “Yes, Moore?”

     “How can we be sure that this murderer has any connection to Yusef Farrahd? The man sells beauty supplies and love potions to the gentry, and you know they’d scatter like the brainless chickens they are at the faintest hint of scandal. What in the world could induce him to take out a contract on Kelsey Coltrane?” 

     “Hey, Inspector!”

     Our heads swiveled to face Imoen, who was still poking around in that crate.

     “Found something?” I asked.

     “Hell, yeah. Come take a look at these potions, Inspector. You might want to hold your nose. It smells like something curled up and died in here.”

     From the look on Trade’s mug as he poked among the bottles, Imoen’s description was an understatement. “Pfaugh!” he said. “You weren’t kidding, miss. Crate stinks worse than the south end of a northbound ogre.” He raised his voice. “The potions are duds, Moore. Curdled, like bottles of spoiled milk.”

     “My shipment!” Sis wailed. “Heavens above, what am I going to say to Lady Ophal? She paid in advance for this batch!”

     “Calm yourself, my Lady,” said Anomen. “She shall understand, given the circumstances.”

     Moore frowned, lines etching themselves deep into his tanned face. “The blackguard’s spell caused this calamity, then?”

     “Gotta be,” I said. “Farrahd’s not above tampering with a shipment or two. And since he competes directly with the Coltranes in the beauty biz….”

     Sis nodded, calmer now. Her eyes had frozen into two icy marbles. “Yes, Sarevok, that does make sense.”

     While the rest of us heaved sighs of relief and congratulated each other on a job well done, Moore’s gimlet eyes focused on Anomen. I wondered what the mage was thinking. As it happened, I didn’t have to wait long to find out.

     “I seem to remember a case involving your family and the Farrahds,” he said. “It was a number of years back, I believe.”

     “Yes,” said Anomen. He grit his teeth, his expression that of a man lost in his own personal hell. “Yusef Farrahd’s father, Saerk, murdered my younger sister, Moira, along with two of the family servants.”

     “That’s right. I remember now. This Saerk died soon afterwards, did he not?”

     “Yes, not long after the Magistrate confiscated his business and holdings.” Anomen’s lips thinned. “He could bribe his way out of prison, but he could not keep Helm’s vengeance from falling upon his guilty head.”

     “It was a rather sudden death, as I recall.” Trade scratched his head. “Sickness, maybe, or a sudden fit.”

     “A sudden fit caused by a knife in the heart, eh, Sir Delryn?”

     Anomen’s head snapped up. His hands shook more than a Black Lotus addict gone cold turkey. “I beg your pardon!”

     “Moore!” Trade shook his head. “The Magistrate is well-satisfied that neither Sir Delryn nor any of his family had anything to do with Lord Farrahd’s death. Let it rest.”
 
     Moore looked away. I’d seen a more pleasant puss on an orc.

     “Hey, uh, not that this hasn’t been fun and all, but shouldn’t you folks go after Farrahd?” asked Imoen.

     Sis blinked. “What about the assassin?”

     Trade shook his head. “I’d be surprised if this one wasn’t floating in the canals within the tenday. Farrahd would be stupid to let him live.”

     “The Farrahds were always fond of taking the initiative,” said Moore. “There’s always a chance that this one did his own killing.”

     “Maybe, though most men in his position don’t like to dirty their hands. Either way, I’d be very interested to find out what he has to say.” Trade shook hands all around. “Thanks for allowing us to invade your lovely home, Lady Mirielle. And, again, I’m terribly sorry for your loss.”

     “Thank you, Inspector,” said Sis. She put on a small, brave smile. “I just know you will bring my Kelsey’s murderer to justice.”

     I had a bad feeling about Farrahd, but nothing to back it up. So, I kept my trap shut. Trade and Moore left, and so did Anomen.

     This evening passed with fewer waterworks than the first. Sis went upstairs to get some shut-eye, and Imoen and I hung around in the parlor. I sat myself down in a fuzzy pink armchair and propped my feet up on the gleaming coffee table. I’d have smoked if I hadn’t been sure that Sis would chew me out. Imoen slipped off her boots and left them in a sloppy pile on the hearthrug. She stretched out on the sofa and wriggled her toes.

     “Miri sure has a nice place, huh, Sarry. Someday, I want to have a house just like this one.”

     “It’d be wasted on you. You’d decorate it all in pink.”

     “Well… yeah! I could have a pink bedroom, and a pink kitchen, and a little pink latrine… with sparkles! And unicorns! And then I’d dye my hair pink to match! Wouldn’t that be great?”

     I shuddered, but she wasn’t looking at me. She was staring at the bookshelves, her gaze focused far away from the parlor. I thought she might be lost in her hideous dream house, but her next words proved me wrong.

     “It’s so sad that Mister Farrahd was involved. His father was a real piece of work, but Yusef didn’t seem too bad when we met him. Or, at least, he didn’t seem like the type to murder someone.”

     “Don’t be an idiot. Everyone’s the type. Especially Farrahd.”

     He’d come by the office a couple months ago with a simple request: he thought his wife was having a little on the side and wanted her tailed. Imoen had taken care of this one with a quick spell, catching the broad having a roll in the hay with an elven pretty boy. We’d delivered the goods, sharp-focused shots floated in a high-quality crystal ball, but it had taken me forever to collect our payment. The guy was so tight with a gold piece you’d think they weren’t minting them anymore.

      “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

      “Word on the street’s that he’s been having a little business trouble. Coltrane potions sell out, but his potions stay on the shelves. I can see him wanting to even the score. And if things got out of hand, well, I’m sure he’d be crying all the way to the bank.”

     “I guess. He didn’t have much to start out with, since the Council took away his father’s properties as punishment for Ano’s sister.” She made a face. “He’s got something squirreled away, though, if he can hire someone good enough to take out Kelsey. Don’t you think it was strange how Kelseykins didn’t even put up a fight?”

     “Yeah, it was strange.” I thought back to Moore’s spell. The battle had been short.  Wham, bam, dead sorcerer. “You think he tried to cast something?”

     Imoen chewed on a hank of hair. “No,” she said after a long time. “I’d have to look at that image again to be sure, though. Kelsey never used traditional methods.”

     “Traditional methods? You mean that stupid fingerwaving you do?”

     She stuck her tongue out at me. “The only way I could tell he was doing something was that little line he used to get between his eyebrows.” She yawned. “Sorry, I can’t think anymore. I’m feeling a little sleepy.”

     “Then go to bed. Do I need to tell you everything?”

     She smiled and smacked her lips on my cheek. “Good night, big bro.”

     I reached up and wiped off the wet smooch prints. “Good night.”

     A moment after she’d picked up her boots and left the room, I remembered what I’d wanted to ask her about. Anomen. Moore had a real chip on his shoulder about Anomen’s past. Most folks had forgotten about that old feud between the Delryns and the Farrahds. It might have been ancient history, but there was something there that left me with a sinking feeling, like getting caught off your guard when the tax inspector asked to see your business ledger. Never piss off the taxman. You might find yourself falling from the top of the world and, believe me, you can't see your house from there.

     A soft voice interrupted my rambling thoughts. “Sarevok? Are you all right?”

     I looked up. Sis stood in the doorway, the lamplight making a golden halo of her hair. She was cinching a plush white robe around her body. I almost wished she wouldn't. It was one hell of a body.

     “I’m fine, Sis. I thought you were taking a trip to the shuteye buffet.”

     “I was having trouble falling asleep, so I came downstairs for a book.” She glided in and picked up a dog-eared copy of Ledger Entries for Beginners.

     “I can see how that would put you to sleep.”

     She came over and sat down on the padded arm of my chair. “Come on, Sarevok,” she purred in my ear. Her perfume enveloped me in roses and musk. “Tell your little sister what’s wrong.”

     “Nothing’s wrong. Just trying to remember something, that’s all.”

     She pouted and stroked my arm. I could see she wouldn’t let it go, so I kept talking.

     “What’s the story with Anomen? That Moore guy was all over him with that business about his sister.”

     Sis frowned. Now she was the one who didn’t want to talk. “Oh. That. Imoen didn’t tell you?”

     “She spilled a little, but for the most part, she just told me to quit bothering her.”

     “I can understand why. If it were me, I wouldn’t want to relive those memories either. This happened right after we’d rescued her from that vampire, Bodhi. We’d only just restored her soul, and she was not yet herself.”

     Her gorgeous eyes held my full attention. I felt like she was about to tell me a bedtime story, only this one wouldn’t put me to sleep.

     “Anomen was very upset when he found out about Saerk Farrahd’s role in Moira’s death.” She sighed, seeming to sag with the weight of the memory. “He couldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep, couldn’t think about anything but avenging his sister.”

     Imoen’s half-finished tales came flooding back, only this time they made sense. “He went over to pop the guy?”

     “Almost. We caught up with him before he could do more than hold his mace over Saerk’s greasy head, but it was close. Too close.”

     “You didn’t let him finish the job? Why the hell not? The guy seems like a nasty little wart. If it’d been me, I would’ve slit his throat for a copper.”

     “I know, Sarevok, but Anomen’s not like you.” She shook her curls at me. “I couldn’t let him throw away everything he had achieved on one senseless act of revenge. He would have lost his standing in the Order, Helm’s powers, and everything that he valued.”

     I guessed I could see her point. Anomen seemed like a goody-two-shoes, much like the rest of her crew. “Point’s moot, anyway. Saerk died in the end.”

     “Yes, along with his daughter, Surayah. Good riddance. ” Sis opened her blue eyes wide at my grunt of surprise. “I can’t say any of us were sorry when we heard about their deaths. We aren’t perfect, you know.”

     “Yeah, I know.”

     It sounded like there was still some bad blood between the Coltranes and Farrahd. Murder had seemed a bit rough for a few jars of cosmetics, but teamed with a long-standing grudge and a family’s financial ruin, it added up to one nasty brew.

     “I think I’ll pay a visit to Trade tomorrow,” I said. “I want to make sure they catch this guy before he can do anything else to you.”

     “Thank you, Sarevok,” she said with a tremulous little smile. “I’m so lucky to have you looking out for me.”

     “Anytime, doll.”

     “I should probably get some sleep. And so should you.” She straightened my collar, slipping back into sisterly mode.

     “I don’t need sleep. I need a drink.”

     “A drink? But you’ve had plenty tonight.”

     “Not nearly enough.”

     Sis drummed her fingers on her knee. I figured she was about to tell me off. As it turned out, I was right.

     “Please, Sarevok. Don’t you think you’re drinking a bit too much?”

     She'd always liked to meddle. Now she’d been the local hero for so long that she couldn't leave well enough alone. I gave her a taste of the old poker face. “No.”

     Her golden brows drew together. “How much wine did you have with dinner? Two bottles? Three?”

     “Don’t nag, sweetheart. It’s bad for your longevity.”

     She gave me a look that would have melted an iron golem’s heart. “I’m just trying to help, Sarevok. I don’t want to see anything happen to you.”

     “Don’t worry about me, Sis. You just take care of yourself.”

     I walked her up to her room before heading to mine. I had a hot date. With a bottle.

[Kirwond]

     One moment, I lay stretched out in my too-soft bed, staring at the gilded, cherub-infested ceiling. In the next, I found myself strolling through a land that had seen better times. The moon hung overhead like a giant, malevolent eye. There were no trees, no green, only a few patches of broken gray stumps clinging in desperation to the parched ground. Only the wind showed signs of life. It whipped grit at me with unrelenting fury. Pebbles rang on my armor with dissonant chimes.

     It was my old armor that I wore. The black spiked mail clutched me in a cold, comforting embrace. I had my favorite greatsword slung over my back as well, the one with which I’d nearly conquered the Sword Coast. I didn’t have to draw it to see, I just knew it in that disconcerting way of dreams. Panic gripped my chest at the thought that I was dreaming again. There had to be some reason I’d come to this hellhole, and maybe it had nothing to do with her.

     So I kept going, sweeping my eyes from side to side. Nothing moved under the harsh moonlight except for wind and rock. Loneliness gnawed at me with dull teeth. I felt like I was the only one left in the world.

     A streak of ivory caught my eye. I kept walking, keeping my eyes peeled for the source, and in due time, I found it. A row of skeletons nestled face down in the ground, arms extended towards me, looking for all the world like they were kowtowing. It gave me the creeps. The wind roared, blowing up gigantic choking clouds. I shut my eyes and coughed, but the wind was gone as suddenly as it had appeared. When I opened my eyes again, the land was covered with skeletons as far as I could see. All face down, all bowing. To me.

     A dame appeared at my side. It was Tamoko. A long black gown wrapped itself around her curves, the hem stirring up tiny puffs of gray dust. If she’d been alive and kicking, she would have worn a frown the size of Waterdeep. She’d always hated dresses. The skirts got in the way of her scabbard, or so she’d told me whenever I bought her something frilly. But here, her white face remained calm, and perhaps just a little smug, as if she knew something I didn’t and wasn’t about to let me in on the secret.

     “What the hell is going on here?” I asked, half-expecting some nonsense about how I’d never loved her.

     “It is your triumph, Master.” Her crimson lips drew back in a smile, but her eyes remained flat and dead. “Do you like it?”

     “Can’t say I do, doll.” I noticed a rose quartz ring on the finger of the closest skeleton. It was Imoen’s favorite ring, two gold bands twisted together around the pale stone. My throat closed up, and I could have sworn I was getting misty around the eyes.

     Tamoko’s soft chuckle made my skin crawl more than seeing my sister’s bones in the dust. “Surely you jest, darling. This is your deepest desire, the fruit of your ambitions. You have that which you have craved, your father’s throne. The power of Murder lies at your command.”

     “Power? The hell you say! They defeated me, remember?” The words tasted bitter on my lips, but I thought they might slap some sense into Tamoko. No such luck.

     “Not you. Never you. They thought they could stop you, the fools, but of all your brethren, only you possessed the strength and the will to use the gifts of your blood. You were the most ruthless, and so you broke them, crushed them under your heel.”

     “Quit trying to scare me. I’d never do that.” Of course, that was a lie, and we both knew it. I’d have sold my own mother for a shot at the big time, if I’d known her.

     Tamoko laughed again. I wanted to shake her and make those slanted dark eyes come back to life. Only if I did, she’d probably set herself on fire again, and I’d had enough of that. So I settled for yelling.  “What’s so funny, huh? What the hell’s wrong with you?”

     She melted into a murder of crows, and I flung my arm up as they grazed my cheeks and shot up into the inky sky. They circled me at a distance, laughing at me. No matter how I tried to block my ears, I could still hear them cawing my name over and over again, “Sarevok… Sarevok…”

     “SAREVOK!!!”

     I must have leapt ten feet into the air. It sure hurt like it when I landed on the floor. Imoen stood over me, her eyes as big as anhkeg eggs. She looked like she was trying to decide whether to laugh or scream. Finally, she decided on the hidden third option, concern.

     “Are you okay, Sarry?”

     “Yeah. I’m just peachy.”

     “You were dreaming about her again, weren’t you?”

     “None of your business,” I croaked.

     “Hah! I can tell. You’ve got that tragic look about you. Or maybe that’s a hangover.”

     “Shut your fat yap!”

     Imoen hunkered down on the floor and tried to help me up. “You’ve gotta lay off the booze, Sarry,” she told me, her chirp at its most annoying. “It’s going to kill you one of these days.”

     I sat up and shook her tiny paws off my back. “For a know-it-all, you sure don’t know much. Go pour me some coffee, will you?”

     Imoen stood and glared down at me. “Fine. I’ll be sure to add a good dose of common sense.” She slammed the door on my retort.

     I got dressed and began to shave, still fuming. Imoen’s words stung like a knife in the back. Lay off the hooch, lay off the cigars, next she’d be telling me to quit wenching. What the hell did she know? She’d never needed the stuff. She didn’t have these crazy dreams night after night. She--

     I swore and peered in the ritzy mirror. I’d cut myself. Sis always said not to shave when angry. Damn her for being right. After stopping the blood with a fluffy pink towel, I stomped downstairs.

     The girls had the sense not to notice the nick on my jaw. We ate, Imoen and I said our goodbyes, and we were on our way. Truth to tell, I was glad to be out of that house. It was grand seeing Sis, even under the circumstances, but it felt even better to be back on the street.

     Imoen cast a wistful eye back at the over-decorated front gate. “I miss Miri already. It was just like old times to be there, well, except for the murder and all. Think we’ll see her again soon?”

     “I doubt it. She doesn’t need us anymore, not with her knight in shining armor around.”

     “You mean Anomen?”

     “Who else would I mean? He follows her around like a hungry puppy.”

     She giggled at the image, but soon sobered. “Miri wouldn’t take up with him. Not like this.”

     I snorted. Imoen had a blind spot the size of Amn when it came to her sister. “Don’t be an idiot. You think Sis is perfect, but she’s only human. And hearts heal fast, faster than you think.”

     “Except for yours.”

     “I thought I told you to shut up about that,” I said in the most menacing voice I could muster.

     “Geez, Mister McGrumpy Pants. Whatever you say.”

     We walked in silence for a grand total of five minutes.

     “Hey, where are we going anyway?”

     “To see if Trade’s gotten Farrahd.”

     She cocked her head to one side. “What for? He’s a big boy, you know. He doesn’t need any help from you.”

     I couldn’t explain the nagging uncertainty in the back of my head, so I passed it off as a bad joke. “Call it professional curiosity.”

     “That’s what I used to tell Winthrop when he caught me in the cellars sampling his ale.” She punched my arm, cheerful once more. “Never worked, though.”

     We entered the guardhouse and headed straight for Trade’s office. A secretary decorated the desk outside his door. Imoen nodded at her, and I touched my hat. She smiled. I knew her type. Blonde hair, brown nose. She had a face that brought the boys running and legs that kept them coming back for more. On an ordinary day, I’d never let a dame like that pass me by. But this was no ordinary day, and I was running short on time. I reached for the doorknob. She didn’t try to stop me.

     Imoen and I stepped inside. Trade’s digs were neat and tidy, as usual, furnished in butterscotch leather and gleaming steel. The only messy thing was Trade. He sat slumped in his chair, scowling.

     “How’s it going, Inspector?” asked Imoen.

     Trade picked up a pig-shaped pewter paperweight and whipped it at his filing cabinet. It dented the side and bounced back, landing on the floor with a thud. From the look of the cabinet, he’d been doing this for a while.

     “Something wrong?” I asked.

     “Farrahd walked.”

     “Without questioning?”

     “Yep.”

     Imoen’s mouth flapped open. Trade couldn’t have taken her more by surprise if he’d blasted her with a fireball. Unless he’d run her over with a griffin first.

     “You’re kidding me,” she exclaimed. “You actually let the guy go? Was he innocent?”

     Trade shook his head and scowled, looking ten years older and twenty years meaner. “He had the pretty words and the golden handshake. We had to let him go.”

     “You guards are all alike. You’d think you’d never seen money before.” Imoen gave Trade one last disgusted look before turning to me. “Think he might be open to a little company?”

     I knew that look in her eye. Nine times out of ten, it meant trouble. “Let the guards handle it, kid. Sis doesn’t need our help anymore, remember?”

     “Don’t be such a stick-in-the-mud, Sarry. You know we’d be much better at getting the truth out of him.”

     “Forget it,” said Trade. “It would take a miracle to get you into that house, and the Cowlies have outlawed miracles.”

     “Miracles? No problem. I am an archmage, you know.” Imoen waved a hand, cutting off Trade’s half-hearted protest. “I’m licensed by the Cowled Wizards, so there’s nothing illegal about my magic, and nobody can pick a lock like I can.”

     “I’m not denying that you have certain talents,” said Trade, throwing a worried glance my way. “I just don’t think it’s a good idea, that’s all.”

     “Why do you have to be so boring, huh? We could get in and out of that place in thirty minutes, no problem. Farrahd would never know what hit him. Isn’t that right, Sarry?”

     I knew she’d go without me if I threw in the towel. And, more likely than not, she’d find herself up to her neck in hot water. What else could I do but agree?

[Kirwond]

     With Trade’s reluctant blessing, Imoen and I made our way to Farrahd’s home in the Bridge District. The place looked like a cross between a wedding cake and a Calimport whorehouse, with gilded turrets and soaring spires as far as the eye could see. It came as no great shock to find that this mansion was even grander than the Coltranes’s. The Farrahds had been in business for a longer time. However, the peeling paint and the unkempt flowerbeds told me a different story. Either Farrahd’s gardener was hitting the bottle, or the cash flow was beginning to dry up.

     “You got the stuff?” I asked.

     Imoen winked and patted her belt pouch. “You betcha. Borrowed it from his pocket during his last visit.”

     “Good. Be careful in there. I don’t want to have to rescue you.”

     “Puh-leeze. This’ll be easier than shaking down a Shadow Thief.” She snapped her fingers and vanished.

     I marched up the chipped steps while Imoen slipped around the back. After waiting for a few moments to let her get settled, I pounded on the gleaming white door.

     A brick hithouse of a man answered. He had the expression of a guy who’d just found a steaming pile of dog shit on his porch. “Yeah? What do you want?”

     I could see I’d have to be careful with this one. He was packing heat, two wicked looking wands jammed in his belt. So I played it straight. “I’m here to see Yusef Farrahd.”

     He looked me up and down with a quick flick of his tiny dark eyes. “My master is a very busy man. Why should he see you?”

     “Why don’t you give him my name and find out? It’s Sar…”

     “I know who you are.” He stepped forward and thrust his face into mine. “And if you know what’s good for you, you’ll go while the going’s good.”

     The doorman’s breath reeked of gin and sulfur. I turned my cough into a laugh. “That’s real good. Did you think that up all by yourself?”

     He wasn’t impressed. “A wise guy, eh? Beat it before I have to teach you a lesson.”

     “Put up or shut up, kid. I'm not spending my day waiting for you to work up some balls.”

     He swore and reached for his wands, but I got there first. I grabbed his wrist and twisted. The wand fell from his nerveless fingers and I caught it with my other hand. He tried to point his other wand at me, but I caught his forearm and wrenched it back. He screamed as I spun him around and slammed him into the wall--hard. I did it a few more times, enough to knock him silly. Imoen wanted a distraction, not a bloodbath.

     Keeping a tight hold on his arms, I shoved the doorman through the open door and into the hall. Two guards came out of a room at the end of the hall. They drew their blades, and I shoved my wands into the doorman’s neck. “Don’t come any closer, or your buddy gets it.”

     The doorman, whey-faced and sweating, let loose with a string of panicked Calishite gibberish. Whatever he said, it worked. The guards backed off and let us enter the parlor.

     Farrahd sat in a leather armchair before the blazing fireplace. Although huddled in a mass of thick blankets, he shivered like a naked elf in a snowstorm. He jumped to his feet as we entered, his blankets sliding into a crimson puddle around his feet.

     “Hello, Farrahd,” I said, giving the doorman an extra shove. The man stumbled forward, landing on his knees with a gasp. “Nice flunky you got here. You ought to trade up. It would be a real shame if anything happened to your place.”

     The doorman opened his mouth to make another smart comment. Farrahd jerked his head in the direction of the door, and the doorman closed his mouth and went. Farrahd then turned his feverish gaze on me. He’d lost weight over the past year. Skeletons had more meat on their bones than he did, and his glittering black eyes overwhelmed his face.

     “What are you doing here, Sarevok?” he asked. “Why do you invade my home in this uncouth fashion?”

     “No games, Farrahd.”

     “And why do you no longer call me Yusef?” His frown was a masterpiece of gentle disappointment. “I thought we were friends.”

     I almost laughed at that hackneyed old ploy. “Don’t give me that. You needed some chump to find your wife and I needed a meal ticket.”

     “Very well.” He smoothed his long black beard with a tanned hand. “Perhaps we could sit down and discuss this matter like civilized men.”

     I shrugged. “You’re the boss.”

     While he rustled up some drinks, I glanced around the room. It was a lot more to my taste than Sis’s pink parlor. The walls were lined with dark wood and expensive art, and the brown velvet chairs begged me to sit down and have a smoke. So I sat down and did just that. A movement in the corner nearly startled me into a cough, but it was just Imoen settling behind a painted screen. She winked at me before nudging the delicate cloth between us.

     Farrahd handed over a whisper-thin glass of Calimshar Amber. At least the guy wasn’t cheap with his booze. He sank down into a plush armchair and flashed me a predatory smile. “To business,” he said, raising his drink. The gold ring on his pinky glinted in the soft candlelight.

     “To business.”

     We clinked glasses and drank. The wine slid down my throat like tawny silk. I didn’t say no to another.

     “I see you like my wine.”

     The second glass disappeared as quickly as the first. “You have good taste, Farrahd. This is one hell of a bachelor pad. I didn’t know you collected paintings, though. I thought you collected corpses.”

     Anyone else would have been shaken by that, but Farrahd only raised an eyebrow. “What an interesting choice of words, Sarevok. You must shine at parties.”

     “Can it, Farrahd. You know why I’m here.”

     “Perhaps I do,” he admitted.

     “That’s nice. I like it when that happens. Now spill it.”

     He shook his head. He had a good poker face, but the slight tremor of his wineglass gave him away. “I have nothing to say. I am sorry, of course, that such a worthy competitor has passed on, but I had nothing to do with it.” His voice frosted over. “And I resent the implication that one such as I would deign to perform this lowly deed.”

     “That’s your story, is it?” I tossed the guttering end of my cigar into a brass vase, keeping my eyes peeled for the faint shimmer of magical energy.

     “Do you have a better one?”

     “I think maybe you had an idea to whack the competition. That’s what I think.”

     He looked at me like I'd grown a second head. “You are insane, Sarevok. Completely insane.”

     There it was, a golden mist, hanging in the air above Farrahd’s head. I swooped in for the kill. “Did you do it, Farrahd? Did you kill Kelsey Coltrane?”

     Farrahd opened his mouth and froze. “Yes,” he rasped. I could tell the guy was serious. As serious as a gut stab.

     I waited a moment for his trembling to subside. Nice and easy, that was the way to handle him now. Imoen’s Fantabulous Super-Duper Lemon-Freshened Interrogation Spell, as she called it, was useful, but fragile. If Farrahd struggled hard enough, he could shake it off before I got what I wanted to know.

     “You were the one who shot him? Or did you hire someone?”

     “No, no, I could not trust a servant with the job.” Farrahd wiped his forehead, sweating more than an ice sculpture on a sunny day. “Delegation has its place, but when you want something done right, you must do it yourself.”

     Questioning Farrahd was taking more out of me than I’d anticipated. My own brow was getting damp just watching the guy twist in the wind. I peeled myself from my cushy chair and went straight to the bar. Pouring another glass of wine, I asked, “Why did you do it?”

     “Because she ruined me, Mirielle and that unnatural sorcerous husband of hers! Father’s business went downhill after he and Surayah died. All of our oh-so-loyal customers scurried off to less depressing pastures. After years of struggle, I finally clawed my way back to the top.” His jaw clenched. Veins stood out on his neck, their ropy lines the same sick color of a bruise. “That was when the Coltranes swept in and took it all away from me! I had to do something, for my business, and to avenge them…”

     This plan was actually working. I felt almost dizzy with triumph, but I couldn’t waste time patting myself on the back. “Avenge who?”

     Farrahd struggled to his feet, his face ashen. “She did it… she laughed when she told me… she… she…”

     A drop of sweat beaded on his forehead, and the fog of magic began to dissipate. Damn, Imoen was losing him.

     “Tell me! Quickly!”

     A loud squawk grabbed my attention. We both whirled to see Imoen lifted into view by unseen hands. My eyes darted to the door. The doorman stood there, smirking at me. It looked like he’d found a friend, a sinister looking mage with a nice manicure and a nose ring. I guessed he was the one responsible for Imoen’s discovery.

     I raised my stolen wands, but they slipped from my sweaty fingers. My knees buckled, and I fell forward onto the plush carpet, like a goblin who zigged when he should have zagged. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what was wrong. The queasy mess in my gut told me everything I needed to know. The wine. Never drink a suspect’s wine. Imoen was right. The booze was going to kill me after all.

     Someone kicked me onto my side. I looked up into a ring of cold steel. The guards’ faces were grim, and I could see nothing good in store for Imoen or myself.

     A big toothy grin slashed itself across Farrahd’s face. “Take them downstairs, and be sure not to forget the scrawny witch. I have such plans for them.” His shrill cackle rang in my ears as something hit me hard on the back of the skull and the world faded to black.

[Kirwond]

�  �  � I opened my eyes. Bright yellow light roasted them to well-done, and I winced away from the barred window. Something was wrong. It was important, but distant, kind of like if Imoen had woken me up and told me that the stars had gone missing. Imoen. Oh, yeah. Things came back in a hurry.

�  �  � She’d landed me in one hell of a jam this time. I ought to have been mad, but instead I was worried. She talked the talk with the best of them, but I had my doubts about her ability to back up her tough façade. Trade may have given us permission to go on this excursion, but I couldn’t expect backup, and Sis? Well, she had her own problems to worry about. No, I would have to bust Imoen out on my own.

�  �  � My eyes flicked from side to side. As cells went, this wasn’t too bad. The room was cramped, not more than six paces square, but the walls were free of mold and there were actually two barred windows, one in the far wall and one in the sturdy steel door. And best of all, there were no rats in sight.

�  �  � Something clinked as I rolled onto my side. I looked down and saw five or six blurred snakes. After I blinked a few times, they resolved into two iron chains that stretched from the slick granite walls to the two hefty cuffs biting into my wrists. This was not good. I yanked on the chains, but only managed to wrench my shoulders. After a few more tries, I gave up. This was not good at all.

�  �  � I stretched my limbs as much as I could and tried to focus. The stone floor was cold, but not uncomfortable. At least my face wasn’t in a puddle of vomit this time. And it was quiet in here, quiet enough to think.

�  �  � So Farrahd had offed Kelsey. That had only come as a bit of a surprise. Sir Delryn, the wanna-be boyfriend, had been first on my list of suspects, but Farrahd would work too. He had a nice motive, though I still didn’t understand how he could have done it so easily. None of his family had ever shown enough magical talent to light a candle, at least according to the family records Imoen had dug up. Imoen. I let loose with a sigh. My thoughts turned back to finding her and getting out of this hole. Whatever Farrahd had in mind for us wouldn’t involve a laugh and a smoke. As I recalled, he had a thing for knives. I wasn’t keen on finding out any more.

�  �  � A shadow fell across the floor. I didn’t move, thinking that it was probably a guard looking in on me. That changed when someone whispered, “Get up, you lazy bum! Get up!”

�  �  � I raised my head and saw a familiar purple mop. “Imoen?”

�  �  � There was a scraping sound as she fumbled with the lock. “Quiet. They’ll hear you.”

�  �  � “How did you slip your cell?” I sat up and immediately regretted it. The pain in my head was worse than any hangover I’d ever had, and I’d been marinating myself in cheap whiskey for years.

�  �  � “Are you kidding? I’m an archmage, remember?”

�  �  � That explained everything. One of the guards must have been close enough to hit with a charm spell. Imoen was good at those, almost as good as Sis. “Yeah, you mentioned that once or twice.”

�  �  � The lock sprang open with a muffled clang. Imoen bounded inside and worked on my bonds with her deft touch. Thirty seconds later, the cuffs fell to the floor.

�  �  � “They really locked you up tight, Sarry. You must have scared them on the way in.”

�  �  � “It wasn’t my fault. If the doorman wanted to keep his teeth, he should’ve been polite.” I rubbed my wrists where the cuffs had chafed them. “Nice work, kid. Too bad I never learned to pick a lock. I could’ve saved you some trouble.”

�  �  � “I’ll teach you sometime.”

�  �  � This time, I let her help me to my feet. “Do you have an escape route in mind, or should I just find some of Farrahd’s guards and kill them?” I hoped it would be the latter. I had plans for that nose-ring guy, starting with a length of chain and a poker--

�  �  � “Simmer down, Sarry. You can kill them later. Right now, we need to find Inspector Trade and let him know what happened with Farrahd.”

�  �  � Imoen gave me no time to disagree. She waved her fingers and did her magic mumbo-jumbo. A sickening green cloud appeared just shy of her spread hands and oozed onto the window bars. The air hissed and crackled as the bars melted, leaving behind jagged metal stumps.

�  �  � “Now, come on!” said Imoen, motioning for me to give her a boost up to the window. “Let’s make like a bread cart and roll buns.”

�  �  � I shoved her through the window before squirming through myself. It was tight, and my shirt was now a total loss thanks to the remnants of the bars, but I made it. We found ourselves in an empty courtyard, not too far from the back door. Weeds lined the ground, and every so often a cobble had managed to show itself above the overgrown grass. A faint breeze stirred the air, just the ticket to clear my head.

�  �  � I hustled through the courtyard, my ears pricked for shouts and other signs of discovery. There were none, to my disappointment. I looked back at Farrahd’s house. The windows stared back at me, as empty as a dead man’s eyes.

�  �  � Imoen tugged at my ripped sleeve. “Come on!”

�  �  � We slipped through the garden and out to the gate, where we met two of Farrahd’s men. Poor bastards never knew what hit them. We were out on the street in sixty seconds. It would have been thirty if Imoen hadn’t decided to go through their pockets.

�  �  � I whistled as we headed over the canal bridges. It was just hitting mid-afternoon, the sky as clear as a paladin’s conscience. We went back to Trade’s office, but he had flown the coop.

�  �  � “I’m so sorry, Mister Anchev.” Trade’s secretary looked up at me with melting brown eyes. “The Inspector was called away on urgent business, but if you have a message for him, I’d be happy to take it.”

�  �  � And I’d be happy to give it to her. Grabbing a slip of paper off her desk, I scrawled out my hard-won report.

�  �  � “Here you go, doll. Tell Trade we’ll be at my office.”

�  �  � She tore her eyes from my shredded shirt and flirted a cherry-lipped smile my way. “Of course, Mister Anchev.”

�  �  � We were nearly out the door before she called us back.

�  �  � “I almost forgot. A girl stopped by with a message from Lady Coltrane.”

�  �  � The broad had a lot of talents, I was sure, but reading wasn’t one of them. The note was actually from Sis’s maid, Jane. She had some information for us, and would be at our office an hour before sundown. A peek through the office window told me that it wouldn’t be long before she got there. So Imoen and I marched double-time back to the Crooked Crane. Snick was waiting behind the bar.

�  �  � “Heard you got into some trouble, Mister A.”

�  �  � Bad news traveled fast in this town. “Nothing we couldn’t handle.”

�  �  � “That’s good. Wouldn’t want to lose my best customer.”

�  �  � He slid me a glass of whiskey. I gulped it down and felt all kinds of better.

�  �  � “Hey, where’s mine?”

�  �  � “Sorry, Imoen.” Snick shook up a frothy pink concoction and sent it her way. She took a sip and gagged.

�  �  � “What’s this nasty bitter taste?”

�  �  � Snick hawked loudly and spit a wad of snot on the floor. “Whiskey.”

�  �  � “Ewwww.” She shoved the glass away. “You don’t put whiskey in a strawberry milkshake.”

�  �  � “Sure you do. Gives it that special kick.”

�  �  � Imoen sighed. “Just make me another, will ya?”

�  �  � I left them to their conversation and headed into the office for some peace and quiet. After a quick change of clothes, I sat down and parked my feet on my desk. There was a thump as something fell to the floor. I peered over my knees, hoping I hadn’t knocked over a birthday present from Farrahd. It was one of Imoen’s sappy romance novels, with a frayed cloth binding and a picture of a half-naked dame on the cover. Half-naked dames, I thought. This might be worth my time. I picked it up and started reading. This one was about a forbidden affair between a lady paladin and a flesh golem. I was glad when the door opened.

�  �  � Jane crept into the room, her drab brown eyes wide in her pale moon face. “I guess you got my message,” she said.

�  �  � No putting that past this dame. I threw the book into a drawer and nodded her way. “Come on in.”

�  �  � I watched her fumble her way to a chair. It seemed like she’d faint if you looked at her funny.

�  �  � “Something’s happened,” I said. It wasn’t a question.

�  �  � She stared stupidly at me, her mouth hanging open like a dead fish. I wondered if Farrahd had gotten the drop on Sis.

�  �  � “Well, go on then. Start at the beginning, continue to the end, and then stop.”

�  �  � “There was a… problem… this morning.” Her work-roughened hands twisted in her lap. “Normally, I wouldn’t worry. The mistress can take care of anything. But this time, even she was at a loss.”

�  �  � Maybe she hadn’t heard what I said about starting at the beginning. Before I could tell her off, she continued.

�  �  � “I had just served a light luncheon to Lady Mirielle and Sir Anomen. She asked for a glass of orange juice, so I went to the kitchen to fetch it.” Jane paused, her pulse beating fast in her plump throat. “When I returned, I saw Sir Anomen standing over the mistress, raving at her.”

�  �  � My ears perked up at that. “Yeah? What was he saying?”

�  �  � “I don’t know,” she confessed. “He was speaking so quickly, you see. I could only make out something about Yusef Farrahd and going too far.”

�  �  � The knight had one hell of a temper--that much was clear from Imoen’s chatter. The thing I didn’t get was why he’d be screaming at Sis about Farrahd.� 

�  �  � “The mistress tried to calm him, but I could see that even she was shaking.” Glancing to either side, Jane leaned forward and lowered her quavering voice to a whisper. “I wouldn’t be surprised if Sir Delryn did something… crazy.”

�  �  � The door slammed open and Imoen burst into the room. “Sarry! We gotta go!”

�  �  � “What?” I demanded. “Why?”

�  �  � She grabbed my hat and threw it at me. “Yusef Farrahd died two hours ago.”

[Kirwond]

     Somebody, probably my accountant, once told me that the only sure things in life were death and taxes. Personally, I thought that was a load of crap. The taxman could be bought, and you could wake up one day in your sister’s pocket plane after a short stay in Hell, but only if you were a Bhaalspawn. Poor Farrahd had to play by the rules.

     Imoen sat on a polished teak table and swung her feet back and forth, scuffing her boots on the rich carpets. I leaned against the doorframe and wished I’d brought my smokes. Farrahd’s den was crawling with the city guards. Some of them had their wands out to capture images of the scene, while others argued about how far the fire had burned down at the time of death. Everyone avoided looking at the body, and with good reason. Farrahd wasn’t all that good-looking in life, and things had gone downhill after death.

     “Hey, Anchev!”

     I looked up. Trade sauntered toward me, wearing a grin that threatened to swallow his face. I edged back a bit, making damn sure I had a clear shot at the exits. For all I knew, he was about to pin Farrahd’s death on either me or Imoen. “What’s the story, Trade?”

     “No need for the long face. You’re off the hook. Deta’s spell fixed the time of death at half-past three, and my secretary tells me you were in the office just then. No, I found something else.” He rocked back on his heels, his hands in his pockets. “Looks like our man overdosed on Bittersweet syrup.”

     “Bittersweet? The hell’s that?”

     “It’s used to treat bronchitis,” said Trade. “Small doses ease breathing and relieve pain, but more than a spoonful and you’re a goner.”

     That explained why Farrahd had been so thin. I wondered just how long he’d been ill, not that it mattered now.

     “Are you going to have Moore cast that stupid spell of his?” Imoen asked. “Or did you want me to do it?”

     Trade shook his head. “Magistrate’s satisfied that it’s a suicide, so there’s no real need. Plus I don’t want to deal with the Cowled Wizard red tape tonight. Let’s save that for the cases that need it.”

     “Inspector!” One of the guards came forward, brandishing a torn scrap of parchment. Trade skimmed through it, raising one bushy eyebrow, and passed it to me.

     I smoothed it out, peering at the ornate script. The note was terribly blotted, letters straggling like wayward children, but I managed to get the gist. It read:

     Unfortunate circumstances force my hand. One cannot struggle against Fate.
     Please accept my apologies for what I have done. Murder is not the
     sort of deed I can be proud of, but I did what I felt I must.
     Tell your brother that I am sorry about the wine, but
     a detective must always watch his intake.
     I am feeling a bit strange now, so I shall end this charade. I hear the guards
     rushing to the scene. They are most diligent. Forgive me, Father. And oh, my
     Surayah, I feel so close to you now. Wait for me.

     Yusef Farrahd

     Yet another guy telling me to lay off the hooch. I'd have been pissed if I wasn't so puzzled. “Strange phrasing,” I said. “And his writing is really bad, even for him. Lots of blots.”

     Trade didn’t seem bothered by that. “He must have written it after he took the Bittersweet. Disorienting effects, you know. Dizziness, nausea, that sort of thing.”

     Imoen read the note with a little frown on her face, her blue eyes darting over the page. I could see her mind was doing a little overtime. She shoved the paper at me and headed over to the stairs.

     I shrugged and handed the note back to Trade. “Looks like your case is solved. Congratulations.”

     He nodded with satisfaction. “Pity we couldn’t track down the actual perpetrator, but at least the true villain is out of the way. Someone should inform Lady Mirielle of this development.”

     “I’ll take care of that. She’ll be pleased.”

     Imoen was nowhere to be found, so I said my goodbyes and left the Farrahd estate, trusting that she’d catch up. I tried to shake off the air of melancholy, but it clung closer than a dame’s perfume. Reading a dead guy’s last words will do that to you.

     I massaged the bridge of my nose, feeling an ache like a dagger between my eyes. Trade and his men had put in their time. They’d figured out the case and wrapped it up with a neat little bow. Something still stank about Farrahd’s death, but then again, something always did. A cold wind raised goosepimples on my arms as the fat orange sun sank below the horizon. I settled my cloak more firmly against my neck. Just a little farther and I could go back to trailing stool pigeons and boozing it up in the Crooked Crane. All I had to do was tell Sis.

     My amulet flashed. I held it up, keeping the other hand on my blade. “Anchev.”

     “Heya, Sarry.” For once, Imoen didn’t sound too cheerful.

     “Where the hell are you?”

     “Upstairs in the Farrahd estate.”

     “Practicing your lockpicking?”

     “No, silly. Didn’t you read Yusef’s suicide note? I’m just looking where it told me to.” I could hear her grin clearly over the connection. “Don’t tell me you missed it.”

     Huh? I tried to remember the letter’s exact wording for the clue I had missed. I couldn’t think of anything, but I knew Imoen had a good eye. “Of course I saw it. I was just testing you.”

     She didn’t fall for it. “Yeah, okay.”

     I quit acting like a jerk and got down to business. “Find anything?”

     “Yeah. Lots of shady deals, lots of pretty jewels, and two very interesting notes. Seems somebody did write him about the Coltrane shipment, and all but spelled out that he could hurt their business by messing with it.”
     
     I stood a little straighter. The case wasn’t closed yet. “And the other note?”
 
     “Written by the same person. It warned that a certain brother and sister duo was coming for a visit.” Her voice hardened, a hint of steel evident beneath the chirp.  “Said to take whatever steps he deemed necessary to shut our traps.”

     “Farrahd was never one to listen to good advice. I’m guessing there wasn’t a signature.”

     “That’s right.”

     “Then that’s a whole fat lot of nothing.”

     “Geez, calm down, Sarry. I’ll poke around a bit more.”

     “Meet me at the Coltrane joint when you’re done.”

     “You got it.”

     I grimaced and dropped the amulet, letting it thud against my chest. Whoever had written those notes had known for sure we’d be coming. Given the state of Athkatla’s gossip network, it could’ve been a lot of people. But there were only a few who could’ve known about both my visit to Trade and the evidence against Farrahd.

     The pain between my eyes turned into a full-fledged pounding. I needed a drink. Again. There were a few bars nearby, but Snick’s was the only joint in town that didn’t serve my whiskey with a paper umbrella.

     I changed direction and didn’t stop until I reached the dim lights of the Crooked Crane. As I stepped inside, I noticed someone in my seat. The bastard! That was my thinking seat. In no mood to be civil, I marched up to him and tapped his plate-mailed shoulder. “That’s my chair. Move it or lose it.”

     He stood and turned around. I had been looking for a fight, but instead I found a familiar face. The face of Sir Anomen Delryn.

[Kirwond]

     “Hello, Sarevok,” said Anomen. A splash of wine slopped from his glass and onto the dusty floorboards. In the wavering candlelight, the wet stain bore a close resemblance to blood.

     “Hello, Anomen. Waiting for me?”

     “Of course,” he slurred. I could tell he’d been waiting for a while. “Sit down, have some wine.” He fell back onto his barstool and shoved a filthy pitcher along the bar.

     I may be a lot of things, but I’m not stupid. Drinking a guy’s wine had already knocked me out once this week. I wasn’t about to let it happen again. I sat and motioned to Snick. Since we were such pals, he didn’t have to think twice to know what I wanted.

     He leaned close as he handed me a glass of my usual. “Need a hand, Mister A?” he muttered.

     To be honest, I wasn’t sure what kind of a hand Snick could give. From the stench of his breath, I guessed he’d been sampling his wares for the better part of the evening. I glanced at Anomen, already nose-deep in his wineglass. I could hold my own, even if the knight wasn’t as drunk as he looked.

     “Mister A?”

     “Don’t worry about me, Snick. But stick around, just in case.”

     “You got it.” Snick slouched off, just far enough to look like he was out of earshot. I heard the telltale scrape of a crossbow underneath the bar.

     A girl in tattered finery took her place in the corner. She began to sing, her long fingers plucking at a lap harp. Her sad croon wove in and out of the clink of glasses like one of those satin ribbons Sis liked to wear.

     “All right, I’m here,” I said. “What do you want?”

     “Have you ever been in love, Sarevok?”

     For a moment, the world stood still and I saw Tamoko’s stricken eyes, just before she turned her back and walked out of my life forever. I drowned the memory in a hard slug of booze. “A doll in Baldur’s Gate once got a fur coat out of me. I guess you could call that love.”

     “Aye, love… the poets sing of its bliss, its pure, cleansing fire, its sanctity.” A violent flush stained his cheeks and he shoved his glass away. “Lies, all lies! She took everything, my soul, my honor, my life… Helm help me, I would give it all again even now, knowing her for what she is.”

     I didn’t have to ask who he was talking about. The sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach told me that I already had a pretty good idea.

     “By Helm, when I heard what had happened… I was sorry, of course, that Kelsey had to die, but a dark portion of my soul rejoiced at the news that Miri was finally free to love as she would.” He slammed his fist down on the bar and made our glasses and the wine jug hop. “I should have known better! I never should have come back after what she did to Saerk and his daughter!”

     “You mean Sis—“

     “Aye. No one else knows… no one even thought of it. But I knew. I saw Surayah’s scarf in her pack. I saw the blood on her dagger. I almost went to the Magistrate… what would the Order have said if they knew what kind of company I kept… but I could not. I would have done anything for her… anything…”

     His dark eyes pleaded with me for something, understanding, validation, hell, I didn’t know. I said the only thing I could think of. “She’s a persuasive dame, I’ll give you that.”

     Anomen buried his face in his hands. “And now Yusef is dead. Helm forgive me, I cannot say that I am sorry. He was a dishonest man, a shabby trader, a blackmailer… but he did not deserve to die. And neither you nor Lady Imoen deserved what happened.”

     He picked up his glass again and drained it in a single gulp. I refilled it, but he didn’t seem to notice or care.

     “You would not think a woman like her could do it,” he murmured. “My heroine, my Miri…”

     I almost felt sorry for the guy. His only real fault lay in letting a beautiful dame use him as her patsy, which could happen to anyone dumb enough to let his pants do the thinking. Being the kind of guy I was, I sure couldn’t point any fingers.

     “Anomen. Did you kill Farrahd?”

     “Leave me be. I have lost everything this day, now that my Order has cast me out like the dog I am. I cannot bear anything else.”

     “’Cause if you didn’t,” I continued, talking over him, “it would be wise to say who did. Otherwise, the guards might get the wrong idea when I bring you in.”

     His broad shoulders sagged. “Aye, I had expected you would call the guards on me. It is almost a relief that this is finally over.”

     Anomen brought his glass to his lips, his throat working as he swallowed. He set it down again and wiped his mouth.

     “Better?” I asked.

     His bearded jaw dropped, and his skin went fishbelly white. “Lord?” he gasped, staring at something over my shoulder.

     There was a thud as he fell forward onto his face, and then, silence.

[Kirwond]

     I stared at Anomen’s limp body. There was only one thought running through my head.

     “Shit! Shitshitshit!” Snick peered over the bar, crossbow dangling from a pudgy hand. “A Knight, dead in my bar! Aw, man, the Cowlies are gonna have my liquor license for this!”

     It was lucky for us that no one else in the Crooked Crane seemed to have noticed the body sprawled on the floor. The last thing I needed was for some well-meaning guard to poke his nose in and raise a fuss. I could see it now--endless questions and piles of red tape, and worst of all, no whiskey. Plus I’d lose the chance to catch Sis off-balance. No, I couldn’t let that happen. I had to get Anomen under cover, fast.

     I grabbed Anomen’s feet and dragged him around behind the shelter of the bar. The armor weighed a ton, but with a bit of scrambling, I managed to flip him over so that he lay on his back. Snick was too busy moaning over his run of bad luck to help.

     “What the hell am I supposed to do now?”

     I tuned Snick out and concentrated on getting Anomen’s armor off. I could try to raise the guy. Yeah, that was the ticket. If I ran, I could get a priest in here lickety split. There were quite a few who owed me a favor or two.

     “I suppose I could turn this dump into a café, like the wife always wanted.”

     As soon as I wrestled his breastplate off, I saw it. Anomen’s chest was moving.

     “It couldn’t be that hard. A few ferns, a little wood paneling, some dancing girls…”

     “Shut up, Snick! I’m trying to concentrate.” I threw the breastplate down and fumbled for Anomen’s wrist. His pulse fluttered under my fingers, weak, but there.

     “What’cha got, Mister A?”

     “The man’s not dead.”

     Snick’s stubbled cheeks puffed out, and he sagged against the counter. “Praise Tymora. I thought my wine had killed him. I didn’t give him the good stuff, you know.”

     “You never give anyone the good stuff.” I bent over and took a whiff of Anomen’s breath. “Pah! He reeks of wine.”

     “He should. He drank eight bottles of red.”

     “Eight?” I had figured Anomen was in need of liquid comfort, but I’d underestimated his pain. Good thing Snick’s wine was watered, or I’d lose my favorite dive. “What were you planning to do, rifle his pockets when he passed out?”

     “Er… maybe?”

     No big surprise there. I rolled my eyes. “Forget it. Get me some wake-up juice.”

     Snick slid me another glass of whiskey.

     “Not for me! For him!”

     Getting the idea, Snick scrounged under the bar for his dishtub. The water was filthy, chock-full of slime and eggshells, but I figured this was no time to be picky. At my nod, Snick sloshed the tub’s contents over Anomen’s prone form.

     Anomen groaned. His eyes cracked open, sunken and crusted like pissholes in a snowbank. “What… what happened to me?”

     “You passed out,” I told him, picking a piece of rotten sausage from his beard. He didn’t seem to understand, so I dumbed it down. “You got drunk.”

     “Drunk?” he rasped. “Impossible. One trained in the knightly arts cannot get drunk. I…” He tried and failed to sit up. “Oh, my head…”

     “Lie still. Maybe next time you’ll think twice before cracking open a bottle or seven.” I leaned closer, trying to breathe through my mouth. “Now, tell me, Anomen, what else did my sister do?”

     Anomen blinked a few times, alarmingly green under the beard. He opened his mouth. I half-thought he would puke, but he ended up spilling his guts in a more useful fashion.

     “She asked me to write the notes,” he said. I could barely hear his voice above the crowd. “She said she wanted to trap Farrahd, to find out just how far he would go.”

     “Guess he went pretty far, huh?” I asked, hoping to coax some more good stuff out of him before he passed out again.

     “When she explained what she had done and why, I was horrified. I told her that what she had done, what we had done, was wrong. I tried to set her on the right path, but she only laughed and ordered me to write another note before she told the Order my part in this ignoble scheme.”

     He let his breath out in a half-sob, half-groan.

     “She used me. By all the gods, I loved her so, and she used me.” His voice held all the bewildered pain of a mistreated animal. “How could she do such a thing? Why… Miri…”

     My heart lifted as I pieced together his broken mutterings and added them to the things I’d already figured out. I felt like I’d opened a dirty old belt pouch to find it filled with a thousand sparkling gems, each more valuable than the last. For the first time since this whole crazy mess began, everything made sense.

     “Are you okay, Mister A? You’ve got this weird expression on your face. It looks almost like a smile.”

     I’d forgotten Snick was there. “Never mind that. Have your boys put him in the back, and be sure to leave him something to puke in. I’ll let Trade know where to collect him.”

     Snick grinned, revealing a mouthful of broken yellow teeth. “Sure thing, Mister A.”

     I stood up and wiped my hands on my pants. “And leave his pockets alone. His drinks are on me.”

     “Spoilsport,” Snick muttered, but he scrambled to follow my orders.

     Leaving Anomen in Snick’s capable hands, I went to share my newfound knowledge with Trade. Twenty minutes later, I headed out to see Sis. We had a lot to talk about.

[Kirwond]

     I stood at the gates to the Coltrane mansion. The bars parted at the touch of my hand to reveal the garden, now tarted up with torches and hovering balls of magelight. My steps were heavy as I started up the path. I didn’t want to go in that house. I didn’t want to do this, but it was too late for regrets. Life’s a bitch, I reminded myself, and family even more so.

     “Sarevok!”

     Sis flew down from the house, her heels beating a staccato on the cobblestones. The sleeves of her pale blue gown flapped behind her like the wings of an angel. She was crying again. I groaned inside.

     “Hi, Sis. What’s wrong now?”

     “Oh, Sarevok! Imoen told me what happened at the Farrahd estate, and I’ve been so worried and… and…”

     She hurled herself into my arms and sobbed against my chest. The scent of summer roses perfumed the air around us. I never knew that murder could smell so sweet.

     I unwound her arms from my neck. “Is Imoen here?”

     “Yes. She’s in the parlor.”

     Sis took my hand and led me up the path and into the house. Fires blazed in each room, taking the chill off of the night air. As we entered the parlor, I saw Imoen slouched on the pink sofa, cooling her heels. She jumped up when she saw us.

     “Sarry! Where have you been?” She hugged me and immediately recoiled. “Drinking? Again?”

     “Surprised?”

     “Not really.” She patted my back and put her mouth close to my ear. “I wish you’d come sooner,” she whispered. “Mirielle’s been a real handful. She’s gone through twenty handkerchiefs. The maid’s gonna have a fit when she sees this week’s laundry.”

     I would have apologized, but I couldn’t be sorry about anything that earned me hugs from two beautiful dames in one day.

     “Please, have a seat,” said Sis. “Now that we’re all together again, can I offer you some tea? As a celebration of sorts?”

     “Tea? Who the hell celebrates with tea?”

     “Be quiet, Sarry.” Imoen poked me in the ribs and smiled at Sis. “Tea would be great, Miri. How about some cakes or something? I’m starving!”
 
     Once the tea had been brought and the maid had gone away to eavesdrop at the parlor door, Sis started talking. “I’ve been so worried about you two! The story Immy told me was just horrifying! Locking you away in a dungeon… is there nothing that man won’t do? You take milk and sugar, right, Immy?”

     Imoen nodded. “It was more of a storage space, but I guess it did the trick. If only I could get my hands on that person who warned him that we’d be coming… I’d fireball him from here to Waterdeep!”

     Sis wore a strange, sad smile as she shoveled half the sugar bowl into Imoen’s tea. I had to hand it to Sis. She’d done one hell of a job pulling the wool over everyone’s eyes. Her only mistake had been to come to us in the Crooked Crane that night. She should have waited for us to find out about Kelsey and come to her. She could have done all the crying she wanted, and neither of us would have gotten in the way.

     Her hand paused over Imoen’s cup for just a moment too long. I reached out and grabbed her wrist. Sis gasped as I forced her hand open to reveal a tiny brown vial.

     I looked her straight in the eye. “You already tried to kill us once. Why do you think you’ll succeed this time?”

     Sis blanched, terror flashing in her baby blues before she recovered her sweet-faced mask. “I… I don’t know what you’re talking about, Sarevok. Those are just vitamins. I thought Imoen looked a little peaked--”

     “Save it, Sis. Anomen talked. He had some interesting things to say, about you, and Saerk, and Kelsey.”

     Sis shook her head, avoiding our eyes. “Really, I don’t think--”

     “Oh, I think you know exactly what I’m talking about. But Imoen doesn’t, so I’m going to tell a little story. A story about a woman who fell in love with a guy who wasn’t her husband.”

     Sis shot me a wintry glare. “Stop it.”

     I crushed her hand in mine, enjoying the way she cried out in pain. “Shut up and listen. Maybe this woman tried to be a good wife, I don’t know. I wasn’t around. But the fact remains that instead of making the best of things, she decided to take care of her little problem. She decided to kill Kelsey.”

     I paused for effect. It wasn’t wasted. Imoen’s eyes narrowed, and I could almost see her putting two and two together. I needed to hurry before she stole the show. 

     “Now, this dame had a lot to lose if word got out about what she was planning to do. So she found herself a fall guy, someone who had every reason to hate her husband. Farrahd. Unfortunately he hated her as well, so she had to find some chump to help her, someone whose handwriting Farrahd wouldn’t recognize.”

     Imoen beat me to the punch. Damn! “Someone like Anomen Delryn.”

     “Leave him out of this!” Sis snapped. Her frightened eyes glittered like chips of ice.

     “Forget it!” said Imoen, sticking out her pert chin. “We all know that Ano would do anything for you, and with all the bad blood between his family and Farrahd’s, it would be super-easy to convince him to play along.”
 
     “Anomen was a fool,” I said, “but not Farrahd. He wouldn’t just charge right in and kill Kelsey, knowing he’d be in for a little session with the hangman when he got caught. No, a little spell was needed, to make emotions run high.”

     “And Miri must have done something so that Kelsey couldn’t fight back.” Imoen bit her lip. “Something in his dinner? His wine?”

     Sis flicked her eyes up and quickly back down, a slow flush creeping up her white throat. Her face was a closed book, and there were no jacket blurbs to give her thoughts away. I continued, knowing she’d crack sooner or later.

     “After Kelsey kicked the bucket, she had more work to do. Being the paranoid soul that she was, she decided to bump off Farrahd so that he would have no chance to sing like a canary and expose their dirty little secret.”

     “Why would he?” asked Imoen. “He’d come off just as bad as Miri.”

     I waved that aside. “If Farrahd figured out that he’d been played for a stooge, he’d want to get even. Getting her pretty head in the noose would be a perfect revenge for knifing his father and sister.”

     Sis closed her eyes, but she couldn’t hide the guilt written on her face. Imoen’s head snapped around like a speeding sling bullet.

     “You killed them,” she breathed. “I thought something was going on that night, but I didn’t want to believe…” She pursed her lips in disgust. “Saerk and his daughter… oh, Miri, how could you!”

     “Because he deserved it.” Sis spat the words through clenched teeth. “All men die eventually. I just hurried it along.”

     “And Surayah?” Imoen leaned forward. For a moment, I thought she was going to turn on the waterworks. “She did nothing, nothing to any of us!”

     Sis shrugged. “She got in the way. Ripped a hole in my prettiest shirt, too, the little bitch.”

     I’d been wrong about Imoen. She wasn’t about to cry after all. She was livid, her eyes spitting fury. I let go of Sis and got ready to run, just in case a fireball was headed our way.

     “Gorion taught you better than that! I know he did!”

     “How is this different from all that killing we did during the Bhaalspawn wars? We have murder in our blood. You can’t deny it.”

     “I can. Sarevok could. Eventually.” Imoen crossed her arms over her chest. “And I thought you could, too.”

     “Oh, what do you know? Love is just another four-letter word to you!” Two hectic spots of color danced in her cheeks, and Sis balled up her hands into perfect porcelain fists. “I’ve suffered for so long and done so much for Faerun. Can’t I have a little happiness in return?”

     “You should have left Kelsey if you hated him so much.”

     “I didn’t hate him, Immy. He was cute, and sweet, and had this wonderful talent for making money. I like my silk dresses and enchanted jewelry. Why would I leave him and jeopardize all that?”

     It made sense, at least to me. Amnian law was very clear on divorces—it wasn’t the thing to do. Wives who left their husbands got nothing. Husbands who left their wives paid a bit of support, more if there were children, but this often meant next to nothing. But if hubby dropped dead, a grieving widow just might hit the jackpot.

     It seemed like Imoen had reached the same conclusions. She didn’t look thrilled. “You never needed Kelsey’s money, Miri. You had plenty left over from our adventuring days. At least you did the last time I saw you…”

     Sis spread her hands. “Well, setting up a household can be so expensive. If you buy the wrong china, you’ll be the laughingstock of polite society. And there were so many dresses that I just had to have. All that time on the road meant my wardrobe was at least three years out of date!”

     Imoen pinched the bridge of her nose. “Are you telling me that you spent all of that money on dishes and clothes?”

     “And handbags.”

     “Handbags?”

     “Everything needs to match, Imoen! It’s a fashion commandment!”

     “You should have become a god,” I said, “and saved yourself this trouble.”

     “I couldn’t. Being a god would be so boring, all those togas and frumpy robes… and I couldn’t leave my Anomen…”

     Sis bowed her head, and we sat around in uncomfortable silence.

     “So how’d you kill Kelsey?” I asked, careful to keep a note of admiration in my voice. Sis had always liked to show off, and now would be a great time for it. “Poison in his nightcap, I suppose?”

     She looked up, a proud gleam in her eye.  “Extract of white cloud mushroom. Rashemi warriors use it on their spirit quests.”

     “Nearly undetectable, except for a faint mineral taste,” Imoen murmured. “So that’s why he didn’t cast any spells. He was already tripping.”

     “The vial cost me two bags of gold, but it was worth every copper. Once the effects started, it was cake to cast my new bloodboil spell. The boys never knew where it came from.”

     “Nice. And Farrahd?”

     “A simple teleportation spell to get into his study. Anomen stood guard at the door while I helped Yusef take his medicine.” She smirked. “Some guys just can’t hold their bittersweet.”

     My chest grew heavy and cold as I watched her. This was the dame that I’d fought for and believed in? I’d thought she was better than me. She hadn’t left her Tamoko behind to rot. She’d given up godhood for the one she loved, or so I’d thought. What a chump I’d been. I almost knew how Anomen felt. “Nice,” I repeated. “That shows real class.”

     Mirielle simpered at me. “I thought you’d appreciate it, Sarevok. I’m glad you approve.”

     “Who said I approved?”

     She blinked, an actress who’d been thrown the wrong cue. “Well, I thought--”

     “You thought wrong, Miri!” Imoen crossed her arms. “You’re going straight to the big house. Better pack your fancy wardrobe… there’s no mink where you’re headed.”

     “No!” A big fat tear rolled down Mirielle’s cheek. “Haven’t I suffered enough? You guys caught me, and Anomen won’t even speak to me…”

     That wouldn’t last, I knew that much. Sure, Anomen had been kicked in the teeth, but with time and encouragement, he’d come crawling back for more.

     Imoen shook her head. “No. Sorry, little sister.”

     “But… but I’m a hero!”

     “Forget it, Miri. You can’t murder two people and then try to kill me and expect that I’ll let you off. I’ve stood by you through a lot, but this is just too much.”

     Sis decided to try her chances with me. Her tears dried up as if by magic, and her voice softened to a kittenish purr. “And how about you, my darling Sarevok? Are you going to turn me in to your friends?”

     “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t.”

     The air steamed as she shot a sultry glance my way.

     I snorted. Sis had a body to die for, but that price was too high to pay. “Forget it. I’m not like Anomen, you said so yourself.”

     “Fine.” She rose in one fluid motion and sashayed over to a polished oak cabinet. Her fingers quickly unlatched the enameled pink clasps as she spoke. “Then I’ll give you what you love most.”

     “Yeah? What’s that?”

     Sis opened the cabinet and pulled out a leather sack almost as big as her head. With a visible effort, she upended it over the tea table. A cascade of clear gems clattered onto the dark wood, nestling around our teacups, glistening like pieces of a shattered rainbow.

     “This,” she said softly. “Reasons two through two thousand.”

     I let out a long, low whistle. I’d only seen that kind of loot once before, and that was in a dragon’s lair in Tethyr.

     Imoen was less impressed. “Diamonds? Oh, please. Sarry doesn’t want those.”

     “Shut up, kid.” I stirred a finger through the clicking pile, my senses reeling at the sight of such wealth. The diamonds seemed to whisper to me, telling me what I could do with them.

     Imoen poked a finger in my chest, breaking the spell. “You’re going to let her off? For those? Come on, Sarry, I thought power was the only thing you wanted.”

     She didn’t get it. After all this time, she still didn’t get it. Wealth was power in Amn, as Sis well knew. I’d had a lot of cash after parting ways with the crew. It had trickled away over the years, spent on stakeouts, booze, and women. It sure would be nice to have some more. I’d worked out a plan, yes, but I’d be a fool to pass up this offer, and I was no fool.

     I looked up at Sis. Our gazes locked, and I knew she knew what I was thinking. Her full lips curled back. There was a hard light in her eyes that I’d never seen before. “Well, brother? What do you say?”

     I could have said a lot of things, but I didn’t. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”

[Kirwond]

     Imoen and I trudged down the garden path, dodging the bobbing magelights. We moved like novice mages in full plate, but that was okay by me. Between us, we were carrying more loot than a bank vault. My neck prickled with the dirty little looks Imoen was throwing my way. Knowing her, it wouldn’t be long before she made her feelings clear.

     Two seconds later, Imoen kicked me in the shins. Hard. While I hopped around and tried not to drop my loot, she yelled, “You jerk! I can’t believe you’re going to take her money and run. You know what she’s going to do, don’t you? She’s going to find Anomen, and wrap him around her stupid little pinky again, and make his life a living hell!”

     I shrugged my shoulders and kept walking. This really ticked her off.

     “And I really can’t believe that you don’t mind that she encouraged Yusef to kill you! And me!”

     Now that stung. I did mind. I just had a different way of showing it. Sis had led us a pretty dance, and that sort of thing didn’t slip my mind as easily as Imoen seemed to think. I stopped and faced her. “Yeah. So?”

     “You know she’s not going to leave us alone. We know her little secret, and she’s going to come after us one day. And knowing her, it’ll be hemlock in your whiskey, or a knife across my throat. Don’t you care what happens to me?”

     “What do you want, love and kisses? I thought you were a big, bad archmage and didn’t need anyone’s help.”

     She kicked me again. “Sarevok!”

     Dames. No sense of humor. “Sure I care, doll.”

     “Then act like it, ya big lush! Get back in there and take care of her!”

     If I stalled any longer, I was going to wind up with one of Imoen’s daggers in my back. And I planned to live. At least long enough to enjoy my newfound wealth. “Oh, I’ll take care of her.” I turned around and spread my arms wide. “Okay, Trade,” I said to the bushes. “Make your move.”

     Imoen giggled, taking my words as some kind of joke. She stopped laughing when the squad of heavily armed guards exploded from the bushes, their dented chainmail gleaming with the rainbow hues of a dozen freshly-cast protection spells. They all wore the steel winged helmets I’d suggested, the charm-resistant ones from the Adventurer’s Mart that cost a mint. Trade must have blown his department’s budget on this raid alone. Moore strolled out from the shadows of the rose trellis, his left hand moving in small, quick circles over a glowing blue orb. Recording spell, unless I missed my guess. He nodded my way before settling himself on a bench and closing his eyes. The skin under his eyes was white from the strain, so I figured he’d earned himself some shut-eye.

     The guards rushed up the path with minimal clanking, their boots light on the cobbles. Right before the steps, they split into two groups. One group went around the house to the back, and the other rushed up to the front door. They waited for a moment, and then broke the front door down and barged inside.

     Imoen watched this open-mouthed. “Were they hiding in the bushes the whole time?”

     “If you were a better thief, you might have noticed them.”

     “Sarry!”

     I dodged another kick. “Just kidding.”

     An explosion rocked the house, blowing out a big chunk of the front door. Imoen didn't seem to notice. She was too busy flapping her gums.

     “Don’t you think we should go in and help?”

     “You got any anti-charm spells on you?”

     Her thin shoulders drooped. “No,” she admitted.”

     “Then we’ll stay right here.”

     “Fine, fine.” She looked away, her hands curling and uncurling. “Trade’s men sure were well-hidden.”

     I shrugged, trying to concentrate. The battle was going fast and furious, and I hoped Trade’s men were getting the best of Sis. If only I’d had the equipment to fight in there. I could show those guards a thing or two.

     “Moore must have cast a really good camouflage spell. I didn’t think the old geezer had it in him.”

     “Quiet.” I jerked my head at the house. Imoen stopped prattling and listened. A moment ago, the sounds of spells and screams had echoed in the garden. Now, there was only silence and a spreading gray cloud of smoke. I wondered if things had gone as planned, or if Sis had been stronger than I thought. Luckily, I didn’t have to wait too long to find out.

     A man appeared at the gaping hole in the mansion, fanning the smoke away from his streaming eyes. It was Trade. He walked down the steps towards us, followed by a number of cranky guards. They looked like they’d been through hell. I did warn them that Sis fought dirty.

     Two of the guards carried a woman’s body, her limbs bound tight with heavy steel chains. Her long golden hair trailed in the dirt. I couldn’t decide whether to be glad or sad, until I saw her lips move.

     Her voice had dwindled to a hoarse rasp, but I could hear her clearly enough. “You will pay, brother.”

     I shrugged. “Want a piece of me? Get in line.”

     Her rosebud lips twisted, and a sick chill twisted in my gut as I realized she was whispering the words to a spell. From the gloating look in her eyes, it wouldn’t be something I could shake off with a drink. I fumbled for my sword, but Imoen was there before I could draw.

     “Cruatha zorak!” she said, crooking her little finger and slashing it in a straight line over Sis. Blue eyes locked with blue, and the air crackled with power. It felt like forever before Sis slumped back, nostrils flaring, her lips pinned together by the force of Imoen’s will.

     “Thanks,” I said.

     “No problem.” Imoen grinned. “I’ve always wanted to shut her up.”

     Sis damn near busted a gut trying to break free from Imoen’s spell, but to no avail. The guards carted her off, to jail, I guessed. I hoped they had good strong magic-resistant cells. They were going to need them, if they hoped to keep her around for her execution.

     “Got the confession, Moore?” asked Trade.

     Moore levered himself to his feet, his prune face gray and drawn. “Of course I did,” he snapped, slipping the glowing orb into a fold of his robe. “Give me some credit.”

     ”Just checking. Why don’t you head back to the office? You look beat.”

     “I want a raise.”

     “You’ll get it.”

     As Moore shuffled off, Trade came over and slapped me on the back. “Thanks a million, Anchev. Your information was top-notch. Charm was the first spell she tried to use.”

     I nodded. “It’s her favorite. Glad those helmets worked.”

     “I owe thanks to you as well, Lady Imoen.”

     She nodded, ignoring his outstretched hand. He coughed and smoothed his mussed hair.

     “We’ll send the reward to your office. Gems or gold this time?”

     “Gold.” I had enough gems for the moment.

     He grabbed my hand and pumped it. “Nice working with you.”

     “Yeah. Sure. Anytime.”

     As Trade hurried to catch up with his crew, my eyes went to Imoen. “Something wrong? Where’s my congratulations on a job well done?”

     She crossed her arms and harumphed. “How dare you not fill me in! I could have helped, you know.”

     “You weren’t around, remember? If I’d pulled you aside, Sis might have figured out the game was up.”

     Her glare lost its fire. “Well… well…”

     “It worked out, didn’t it? And anyway, I thought you liked surprises.”

     “Only when I spring them on other people.”

     That got a chuckle out of me. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

     It was time to head for home and put my feet up. Maybe I’d celebrate with a cigar and a bottle of booze. The good stuff, this time. I started out the gate, but Imoen grabbed my elbow.

     “Sarry? If you hadn’t worked out that plan with Trade, and Miri had offered you the same deal… would you have taken it?”

     It was a no-brainer. Of course. Everyone has their price, and Sis had more than met mine. Sure, she might have come after me later with a lightning wand in hand and murder in her eyes, but I would have been okay. Sis had to lose sometime.

     But I couldn’t say that to Imoen. It would be like kicking a puppy. A purple-haired puppy. So, I lied.

     “Nah. She’d have stabbed me in the back anyway.”

     Imoen gave me a long hard stare. “Good,” she said. I had a feeling she didn’t quite believe me. She’d always been a smart one.

     I turned away and kept walking, Mirielle's fat sack of diamonds hitting my hip with every step. I’d been on the side of the angels in this case, but for some reason I felt like the ultimate heel. Just par for the course here in Athkatla, City of Coin. So many coins and so many hands waiting to take them. The perfect place for a guy like me.

The End