Sapphire Crescent (10 page)

“Master Matrell, they were a couple of common laborers. What difference does it make?”

“Beggar or king, we’re talking about a possible murder. You should be out there, trying to find those imposters. I can help you track them, if you’ll give me a chance.”

“Are you presuming to tell me how to do my job?”

“No, I’m just asking you to do it properly!” Vambran could not believe how callous the captain was being toward the whole investigation.

“It’s time for you to go, Master Matrell. I’m a busy woman, and I’ve got no time for pampered boys with delusions of grandeur.”

“You’re unbelievable!”

“Leave now, or I will have you arrested,” she said, and her visage made it clear she wasn’t kidding.

Vambran was so stunned he couldn’t even retort. He simply glared for a full two heartbeats then, shaking his head, he stormed out of the station house.

Vambran was halfway back to the estate before he’d calmed down enough to take a deep breath. It was pretty common knowledge that the city watch functioned well inside the circle of intrigue of the city, just like every other major power player of Arrabar, especially given that they ultimately answered directly to the Shining Lord of Arrabar himself. Still, he would have thought it in Eles Wianar’s best interests to see that some law enforcement remained consistent within the city, if for no other reason than to maintain stability for trade’s sake. And of course, it was. So either the captain was simply a callous woman who cared little for the lower classes of people—which also wouldn’t have been surprising, given her jurisdiction and the type of citizen she was charged with protecting—or there must be some other motivations influencing events. Most likely, Captain Leguay just didn’t care enough to try to figure out what was going on.

But Vambran did. Seeing those two bodies the previous evening brought back uncomfortable memories for him, memories and guilt. He couldn’t just let the crime go. If the watch wasn’t going to do anything about it, then he would track the imposters down himself. But first, he wanted some advice. Nodding to himself as the seeds of conviction grew into certainty, he hurried down the cobblestoned road toward the Temple of Waukeen.

In his haste, Vambran completely failed to notice the pair of figures watching him from a corner, well back in the shade of an alley.

• • •

“Lip, now!” Jaleene insisted, throwing back the screens to all of Emriana’s windows and letting in the light. “You’ve lazed around in your bed long enough,” the handmaiden said, and her tone made it clear she

was in no mood to listen to Emriana complain about the early hour.

Emriana didn’t care.

“Stop it, and go away!” she snarled, grabbing at the sheet and pulling it tighter around her head, then burrowing beneath the pillows to escape the intrusive brightness. “It’s too early,” she groaned.

“Too bad,” Jaleene replied, yanking the covers away

from Emriana and grabbing her by the arm.

The girl did not fail to notice the lack of honorifics

on the handmaiden’s part that morning.

She must definitely be in a foul mood, Emriana realized.

Opening one eye, she looked at her personal servant and saw the tight expression on the other woman’s face. Emriana groaned again.

“Did Uncle Dregaul yell at you?” she asked somewhat timidly, sitting up when Jaleene pulled her by her hand.

The woman’s expression tightened further, wordlessly confirming the girl’s question.

“You have a full day ahead, including a visit to House Pharaboldi,” Jaleene said briskly, ignoring the issue of her own guilt in the previous night’s escapades. “Mistress Hetta instructed me explicitly to make sure you were up and ready to go by eight bells.”

Emriana groaned again. She had completely forgotten the tea that afternoon with Denrick. Sitting around in the Pharaboldis’ parlor in an uncomfortable dress, sipping tea and nibbling daintily on tiny cakes while Denrick clumsily courted her was the last thing Emriana wanted to do that day. She flopped backward onto the bed again, sighing heavily.

Jaleene simply grabbed her by both arms and hauled her completely to her feet, then guided her toward her bathroom.

“I’ve already gotten a bath ready for you, Mistress Emriana. Get started while I prepare your

outfit for the tea. When we’re finished, you are to go straight down to breakfast. Your grandmother wishes to speak with you before you depart for House Pharaboldi.”

“Aren’t you coming with us?” Emriana asked, already stumbling toward her private bath, stripping off her chemise as she did so and leaving it in a pile on the tiled floor.

Jaleene sighed as she followed the girl, picking up the garment.

“No,” she replied, and the strain in her voice made Emriana pause and turn back. “I must have an extended conversation with Master Dregaul today,” she explained. “My duties at the house, indeed my very future, are being called into question. I’ve already been warned that your presentation and timely appearance at breakfast this morning will be used to gauge my usefulness to the household.”

Emriana’s eyes bulged at the notion that her own personal attendant, who had been taking care of her since before she could remember, might be let go.

“Jaleene, no!” she said, putting her hands on her hips. “He can’t blame you for last night. You didn’t even know.”

“It’s my responsibility to know,” the other woman replied softly, the look in her eyes pained.

Emriana felt the weight of guilt press down upon her, but she shook it off.

It’s not right, she silently fumed. Uncle Dregaul cannot hold her responsible for my actions. I’m not a little girl anymore, and she can’t be expected to keep up with me day and night.

“He’s not going to do that to you. I won’t let him. I’m going to go talk to Grandmother right now,” she said, turning to find something to wear.

“Please,” Jaleene replied, shaking her head, “just get to your bath and get ready. If you really want to help me, don’t anger your uncle any further.”

dearly, than from Uncle Dregaul, whom she didn’t mind annoying in the least.

“All right,” Emriana said at last, trying to put on a happy smile for her grandmother’s sake.

“Oh, don’t pretend you want to do this,” Hetta said, chuckling. “I know you better than that, my dear.”

It was true. Hetta had a way about her, an ability to read people and know exactly what they were thinking or planning, and precisely how they were likely to react in any given situation. It was how she and her husband, the first Obiron, had been so successful in business. Even though he had been the spokesperson during their business negotiations, it had been Hetta who had the shrewd business acumen and always advised the right course of action.

“I’m sorry, Grandma, but I’m not a little girl anymore. It’s time to let me out of my cage, and Uncle Dregaul just doesn’t seem to see that.”

“You’re absolutely right, Em. You’re not a little girl anymore, and it is time you were able to make more of your own decisions. But child, getting caught sneaking out at night is not the way to prove that.” It was funny to Emriana how her grandmother could tell her she was all grown up and still call her “child” in the same sentence. Somehow, it didn’t sound wrong, either. “If you want Dregaul to respect your opinions and your adulthood, then you must first show him that you are capable of being smart, of making good decisions.”

Emriana sighed.

“I know,” she said quietly, “but I’m not so sure he has any better an idea of what’s best for me than I do. He’s always thinking about what’s best for the family, and not the family members. I can’t be someone I’m not, Grandma.”

“Em, do you remember your Aunt Xaphira?” The girl nodded and said, “A little bit.”

“Your Aunt Xaphira was my youngest daughter. She was also the scamp in the family, and she drove

Keep it to yourself, and eventually, you’ll hear the whole of it.”

Emriana nodded, the sense of conspiracy genuinely frightening her. She was beginning to think that growing up wasn’t just about getting to do what she wanted, when she wanted. Turning sixteen suddenly didn’t seem quite as perfect and carefree as she’d once thought.

across his chest, resting on his ample stomach, and he was drumming his fingers, each of which was adorned with a gaudy ring replete with gems of every hue.

Bartimus waited by the door, unwilling to break the silence that hung so thickly in the air. Grozier had sent for him, though the wizard did not know why. He began to worry that the anger in the room was going to be directed at him, and the longer he could stave that unpleasantness off, the better. So he leaned against the side of the arched doorway and waited.

“I would have thought that eliminating the evidence would have dissuaded him from pursuing this any further,” Grozier said, moving to sit on the corner of his desk. “I would think that a mercenary officer, or better yet, a young merchant scion, would have better things to do with his time. You’re certain you picked up on his intentions correctly?”

“My divination functioned as it should have,” the priest said, turning away from the window and looking directly at Grozier. “He was angry and determined to keep digging when he left the station house. But you underestimate his priorities. He has no duties, no responsibilities, in his house. He receives a monthly stipend to live on and spends his time wenching and fighting, like all men his age and in his circumstances do.”

“Then why doesn’t he go wench and fight,” Grozier demanded, “instead of chasing ghosts that are better off left to drift away to nothingness?”

“In a way, this is his fight,” the other merchant said. “He’s made it his.”

“Huh,” Grozier grunted, seemingly unsatisfied with that answer.

“What he needs,” Junce said, not moving nor looking up at either of the other two participants in the conversation, “Is a distraction. Something else to keep him busy.”

“Or maybe a warning,” Grozier muttered.

The wizard bobbed his head obsequiously and entered the rest of the way into the study.

“As you no doubt heard,” Grozier continued, “our young mercenary is being quite persistent. I’m concerned about what he might yet find.”

“I arranged it so that there would be nothing for him to find, as you and I decided,” Bartimus said quickly, worried again that his employer was going to blame him for some shortcoming. “I can’t imagine what else he could do.”

Grozier snorted.

“Tell him what you and the priest discovered,” the merchant said, looking at Junce.

The rogue chuckled.

“We followed Vambran Matrell today after he went to the watch headquarters to meet with Captain Leguay,” Junce explained, flopping down onto the chair once more. “When she didn’t give him any satisfaction, he left in a huff. The priest read his thoughts and discovered that Vambran seems to think he has a way of finding our phony watchmen. He seemed to have some notion of tracking down a dagger.”

Bartimus frowned.

“Of course, I suppose that’s possible, assuming that he knows of a particular dagger to track. Certainly, there are ways to do it, both arcane methods and divine incantations,” he said. “But that wasn’t something I would assume he had the capability to utilize, since first and foremost, he would need this dagger to be familiar, and secondly—”

“Enough,” Grozier interrupted wearily. “I don’t care how likely it is that he can do it. The fact is, he seems confident that he can. In those situations, I tend to trust that he knows what he’s talking—er, rather, thinking—about. The question we should be asking ourselves is, what do we do about it? I don’t intend to let the fate of all my planning rest in his hands,” the merchant said, nodding toward the door where the

“Me?” Bartimus yelped, taking a step back. “I can’t—oh, wait. You want something else.” He began to think about his repertoire of magic. “There are a number of different things I might try. Let’s see,” he said, beginning to mentally tick off possibilities. “I could—”

“I don’t want the details,” Grozier said impatiently. “Just come up with something suitably nasty that’s certain to deal with everyone.” The merchant was nodding then, a pleased look on his face. “Yes. If our nosy little mercenary lieutenant slips through Junce’s ambush and still wants to track down his favorite dagger, we’ll just let him. That should solve our problems just fine.”

• • •

As usual, the Temple of Waukeen in Arrabar was bustling with activity when Vambran arrived. The building itself soared from the middle of a vast open lawn, a great rounded structure capped by a massive dome and surrounded by various towers that were all topped with sweeping, majestic spires, each one taller than the next and reaching skyward. All of their various surfaces were etched in gold inlay and precious gems, some of the stones large enough to glitter brightly even when viewed from several blocks away. No expense had ever been spared in the construction of the temple, and its expansion continued even then, as more and more space was needed to house the new priests who pledged their lives to the Merchant’s Friend each day.

Vambran bypassed all of it with barely a glance, for he had seen it many times before, and truly, such a display of wealth did not impart the same impression upon him that it would most others. Still, he was surprised by the amount of new construction going up on the grounds. He gazed at the scaffolding where

of his superior, Kovrim Lazelle, who was in charge of many of the business-related activities of the Sapphire Crescent. Vambran and Kovrim would spend the morning together going over the business details and financial documentation of the lieutenant’s company’s most recent excursion, to Aglarond and Sembia. Vambran was certain Kovrim already knew that Lady’s Favor was in port. In fact, the older priest had most likely already ordered its cargo unloaded. Once he and Vambran went over the manifests together, the goods would be put up for sale in temple-owned shops and stalls throughout the city and in the bazaar. Vambran’s visit promised to be filled with tedious but necessary paperwork, but he was looking forward to the day nonetheless. Uncle Kovrim was also family, the lieutenant’s mother’s brother.