The Mage in the Iron Mask (15 page)

“Yes, your majesty,” the worm acknowledged, backing out of the boudoir in an almost ludicrous series of bows and abasements.

When he had left, the Tharchioness broke into peals of derisive laughter that was soon augmented by that of her advisors. The sheer grossness of the overt cowardice of the ambassador had set the rest of the group at ease, and they were now prepared to get down to work.

“Now that we’re alone, we can proceed,” the Tharchioness announced.

“What about our new ambassador?” Minister Konoch inquired. “I fear that he is no more capable than his predecessors.”

“Exactly,” the Tharchioness replied, “and he will therefore be the perfect scapegoat, should my beloved husband become suspicious.”

“Or if we fail,” added Mischa Tam, with a grin that suggested the cat who had just swallowed the canary. “Szass Tam is even more an enemy of failure and incompetence than you are, First Princess.”

“Indeed,” the Tharchioness replied, now slightly ill-at-ease.

On the Road Back to Mulmaster
from the Retreat:

Upon completing a thorough examination of the Retreat’s grounds, Volo and Chesslyn had decided to pass the night together before heading back to Mulmaster in order to allow the Hawks Jembahb and
Wattrous a wide berth on the road, thus assuring their own safety and anonymity. Both the master traveler and the Harper agent had ample experience doing things that would hedge their bets in order to maintain their secrets. In their respective lines of work their continued survival often depended on it.

With the first rays of dawn, the two packed their kits and prepared to set off for Mulmaster. As Chesslyn swung herself into her saddle she asked her new found riding partner, “Did you encounter anyone on the way here?”

“Just a felon named James who thought me an easy mark,” the master traveler replied.

“Well, we can’t be too careful,” the Harper agent instructed. “We’d better not retrace your steps. Let’s take the long way back. I know a place just outside the city where we can hole up for the night.”

“Sounds good to me,” the wily gazetteer agreed, relishing the continued company of the attractive woman.

“I’m due back at the temple by tomorrow midday,” Chesslyn continued as they rode out of the Retreat’s gate, “so it would probably be better if we left separately tomorrow.”

“Why?” Volo asked, trying not to sound too disappointed.

“It wouldn’t look right for a guard at the Gate of Good Fortune, in service of Tymora, to be seen traveling in close company with an outsider, particularly given the circumstances at hand.”

The master traveler, realizing that she was right, nevertheless countered with an argument.

“But surely being seen with the legendary travel writer Volothamp Geddarm is not that out of character for one of Tymora’s minions.”

Chesslyn abruptly stopped her steed, and turned
to face Volo, her look and bearing betraying her seriousness.

“I have survived as a Harper agent in Mulmaster for quite a while, and I have no desire to risk betraying my true identity. To do so would invite the placing of a price on my head. My presence in Mulmaster as a set of ears, and an occasional helping hand, is invaluable to many, and not just the Harpers, given the current political situation.”

“But surely …” Volo started to argue, then abruptly changed gears. “How have you managed to escape detection? I mean, if things are that dicey, why haven’t the Cloaks picked up on your presence before now?”

Chesslyn reached inside her blouse, and removed an amulet that was nestled inconspicuously between her breasts and held it out for him to see.

“Because of this,” she explained, continuing in her tone of grave seriousness, “my amulet of non-detection. It’s probably my most important possession. If Storm hadn’t mentioned you to me the last time we met, I probably wouldn’t have acknowledged you at all. I don’t make friends easily, and am exceedingly careful about who knows I’m a Harper and who doesn’t.”

The master traveler fingered his beard for a moment. He realized that it was futile to argue, particularly since she was entirely right, and he was just being lasciviously selfish.

“An amulet of non-detection, eh?” he asked. She replaced it back into its safe hiding place, as the master traveler followed its journey with his eyes. “Always wanted to get my hands on one,” the master traveler continued, adding, “the amulet, I mean. That accounts for why you were able to get the drop on me so easily back at the Retreat yesterday.”

Chesslyn chuckled.

“And I thought it was because of my superior skills as a ranger,” she countered with a smile.

He replied only with a grin, glad that there were no hard feelings.

They once again continued on their way, Volo urging his steed forward so that they could ride side by side for as long as the narrow road would allow it. After all, they didn’t have to part until the next sunrise, and much mutual enjoyment of each other’s company could take place until then.

Volo struck up a new topic for discussion.

“So,” he asked, “what do you think those two buffoons were looking for yesterday?”

“Probably the crystal wand,” she replied. “Rickman is Selfaril’s right-hand man, and the head of the Hawks. He probably sent them to investigate the slaughter. Kind of funny, though. My confidential sources are the best in Mulmaster, and I didn’t know that anything had happened there. I was there just on the merest of coincidences. I had promised one of the elders that I would deliver his winnings to him, once they exceeded a certain amount.”

“Come again?”

“Only the elders of the Retreat were allowed to come to Mulmaster, and then only on a rotating basis as the need arose. One of the elders, Damon of Runyon, would stop by the temple on his visit and leave a series of bets with very specific instructions. When his winnings reached a certain point, it was my place to bring a portion of the kitty to him, and, for a tidy fee, to bring out new betting instructions. He was pretty lucky, at least up until now.”

“Obviously.”

“So, anyway. He must have been surprised at the attack.”

“At least.”

“As surprised as we were to discover it.”

“Right.”

“So how did Rickman know to send some men to investigate it?”

“And how,” Volo added, “would they know to look for something as specific as the bloodstained Thayan crystal wand?”

“Unless,” Chesslyn continued, “he knew what they would find, and how would he know …”

“… unless he himself was involved.”

“Agreed,” the Harper agent concurred. “Curiouser and curiouser. The sole piece of evidence, the bloodstained wand, may not point to Thayan perpetrators since it might have been placed there by allies of Rickman.”

“Which still doesn’t explain the reason for the attack on the Retreat and merciless slaughter within,” Volo added.

“Or why, beyond the obvious, Rickman would want to pin it on the Thayans.”

Volo fingered his beard once again, this time in confusion. “What’s the obvious?” he asked, unashamed of his ignorance.

“Rickman is Selfaril’s right-hand man, and Selfaril hates Thayans,” Chesslyn answered.

“But he’s married to one,” Volo countered.

“That’s right,” she replied with a grin. “Sometimes life’s a bitch, ain’t it?”

Past Tenses

In the Office
of the Captain of the Hawks
in Southroad Keep:

“Captain Rickman?” inquired an out-of-breath Hawk by the name of Danovich who hoped that the news he bore was sufficiently urgent to warrant disturbing the second most feared man in all of Mulmaster.

“What is it?” the captain of the Hawks demanded without looking up from the surveillance reports that seemed to form a blotter of paperwork upon his desk.

“You requested updates on the searches for the escaped prisoner, the released prisoner known as Passepout, and the travel writer Volothamp Geddarm?” Danovich asked tentatively.

Rickman looked up, his stern visage betraying the throbbing that resounded within his tortured brow.

“So I did,” he said in a sarcastic tone. “Let me guess, they are all now in custody, along with Elminster, King Azoun, and the Simbul.”

“Uh, no sir,” Danovich answered, not comprehending Rickman’s sarcasm, “and I only have updates on the three I mentioned. Should I add Elminster, King Azoun, and the Simbul to the list?”

“Just give me the report,” Rickman demanded, a touch of weakness and exasperation in his voice. He couldn’t help but be reminded of the inferior quality of men under his command since the Year of the Bow, when their fleet was destroyed by forces from Zhentil Keep. Back then men didn’t just obey orders, they understood them as well.

“On the status of the escaped prisoner and the travel writer,” Danovich reported officially, his mustached upper lip trembling, “there is no change. The escaped prisoner is still presumed dead, and the travel writer has not returned to Mulmaster since his observed exodus early yesterday morn.”

“As I expected,” Rickman observed, “but what of the itinerant?”

“According to one of our spies upon a Sembian merchant vessel of the name
Tanyaherst
, the former prisoner Passepout was shanghaied by a press gang, pressed into service, and subsequently thrown overboard
when it was determined that he would be more of a hinderance than an asset on their journey eastward.”

“Go on,” Rickman urged in stern seriousness.

“He was thrown overboard, evidently still groggy from the physical persuasion that was inflicted on his cranium during his recruitment. Given his condition, and the deadly Moonsea tides, he is presumed dead. Officially, unless we want to challenge it upon the ship’s return to Mulmaster, he will be listed as missing after an unfortunate shipboard accident.”

“Any other interesting tidbits?”

“Well,” Danovich answered tentatively, “the itinerant named Passepout was actually an actor by trade.”

“What does that have to do with anything?” Rickman demanded.

“Nothing,” Danovich replied sheepishly, “just that I, too, was trained in the theater.”

Rickman rolled his eyes to try to suppress his rage at the incompetence and feeblemindedness that seemed to abound within the ranks of his men.

“Anything else?” he said, half under his breath.

“No sir,” Danovich reported.

“Then back to work!”

“Yes sir,” the Hawk replied doing a quick about-face, a smile crossing his lips as he left his superior’s office, thankful that he, unlike previous men in his position, had not incurred the captain’s wrath.

Rickman stood up and, hands clasped behind his back, strode to the lone window of his office, stopping only briefly to summon his batsman by means of the signal cord.

The batsman, Roché, arrived in a flash, finding his captain contemplating the sky over Mulmaster.

“My instinct tells me that a storm seems to be
moving in,” Rickman asserted.

“The weather scryer in the Cloaks has predicted as such, sir,” Roché said officiously.

“Any word on the condition of the sea?”

“According to the last report from the Lighthouse, high tide is just now coming in. The seas are choppy, and a mariner’s advisory has been issued. The Moonsea is quite unforgiving of those who challenge her, even under the best of conditions,” Roché responded, confident in the degree of detail expected by his captain. He had been in service to Rickman for close to eight years.

“What odds for survival would you give someone thrown overboard during such seas?” he asked, still staring out the window.

“Slim to none, sir,” the batsman retorted.

“Just as I thought,” Rickman replied, turning to face Roché. “Nothing is ever certain. You may go, Roché, but please put in a change of orders for the soldier who was just in here.”

“Lieutenant Danovich, sir?” the batsman confirmed.

“Yes.”

“Where will his new posting be, sir?” Roché inquired, a pad instantly in hand to take notes.

“Use your own judgment, Roché,” Rickman answered, once again taking his place at his desk, and starting once again to go through the surveillance reports. “Just make sure it’s an assignment far from Mulmaster, with a very small survival quotient.”