“Yes, I know,” Elaith said.
She compared the lists. Like two columns of a merchant’s receipt book, the dates and locations lined up in perfect balance. Arilyn froze.
Balance. For each Harper who fell to the assassin, an agent of the Zhentarim was slain by her sword. Neither side gained in strength from the other’s loss. As Arilyn considered this aspect of Elaith’s revelation, a suspicion crept into her mind, too appalling to contemplate, but too insistent for her to dismiss.
Still absorbed in the study of the two lists, Danilo let out a low whistle. “By the gods, someone is going through a lot of trouble to set you up.”
“And succeeding,” Elaith added. To Arilyn, he said, “I have reason to believe that the Harpers suspect you and have set someone on your trail. If they get hold of this supposed connection to the Zhentarim, your guilt in their eyes would be sealed. Be careful.”
“I will.” Arilyn rose and extended her left palm to the moon elf. “Thank you for your help.”
“At your service,” he said, laying his palm briefly over hers. The half-elf walked to the back door, trailed by Danilo.
At the doorway, Arilyn turned back to Elaith. “One more thing: when we met in the House of Good Spirits, you mistook me for Z’beryl.”
“That is so.”
“Yet you called me by another name.”
“Did I?” Elaith shrugged as if the matter was of no consequence and turned to Danilo. “Oh, by the way, I’ve made arrangements to have you killed. Just in case I’m unable to rescind my request, you may wish to take extra precautions.”
Danilo’s eyes bulged. “By the way?” he repeated in disbelief.
The elf seemed to enjoy the dandy’s befuddlement. “I suggested the idea to an old acquaintance of mine, and he agreed to see to it.”
“I don’t suppose you’d care to name that old acquaintance?” Arilyn asked. The moon elf merely raised one eyebrow, and Arilyn shrugged. “Just tell me one thing. Is he a Harper?”
Elaith laughed. “Most definitely not.”
The half-elf nodded and abandoned that line of inquiry. “By the way, why did you want Danilo killed?”
“By the way,” Danilo echoed in a dazed voice. “There’s that phrase again.”
“I don’t particularly like him,” the elf told Arilyn casually, as if that were reason enough. “Now, if you will excuse me, I have a great deal of work to do before this evening.”
Arilyn grabbed Danilo’s arm and dragged him out of the Hidden Blade. Evening was nearing, and the late afternoon sun cast long shadows. The dandy looked about nervously. “You don’t think the elf was serious, do you?” he asked when they were once again in the safety of the crowded street.
“Of course he was, but I’m sure we can handle whatever his ‘old acquaintance’ throws our way,” Arilyn said evenly, setting as brisk a pace as the crowded street allowed. Danilo’s distressed expression did not fade, so she added, “Why so glum? Hasn’t anyone tried to kill you before now?”
Danilo sniffed. “Of course. I’ve just never been disliked before now. Well, what’s next? Check into the moon elf’s old acquaintance, I suppose?”
“No. An adventurer such as Elaith would not live long if he revealed the names of his associates,” Arilyn pointed out. “It would do little good, anyway. The assassin is probably within the Harper ranks.”
“You said that before,” Danilo noted. “Why?”
Because Harpers and their allies work to maintain the Balance, Arilyn thought. Aloud she said, “Like I told you before, Harpers are a secret organization, yet the assassin knows the identity of his victims.”
“The assassin also knows a lot about you, it would seem,” Danilo said. “I don’t understand why someone in the Harpers would do such a thing, or why he would go to such lengths to make you look like the Harper Assassin.”
“Neither do I,” said Arilyn.
“So what do we do now? Now that Elaith is no longer suspect, we’ve run out of places to look.”
“Then we’ll have to make sure the assassin gets back on our trail,” Arilyn said. A slender, black-robed mage brushed past Danilo, and the half-elf’s eyes lit up. “Tymora’s luck might yet be with us,” she said softly. “See that young man carrying the huge book? We’re going to follow him.”
“Why?” Danilo fell in beside Arilyn as she wove through the crowds.
“I’m going to let the assassin know where to find me.”
“Oh. Why are you still wearing that disguise, then?”
“Elaith said that the Harpers suspect me. I’ve got to keep out of sight until I find the assassin and clear my name.”
“Ah. What should I do?”
The young mage slipped into a tavern by the name of the Drunken Dragon, Arilyn and Danilo close on his heels. “Have dinner,” the half-elf suggested. Obligingly, Danilo found a table near the front door and dropped into a seat.
While pretending to watch an ongoing game of darts, Arilyn observed the black-robed mage as he settled himself at a table. He pulled a bottle of ink and a quill from his bag, then opened his book and began to write. Every now and then he would look up, staring into space and absently chewing the end of his quill, then again take to scribbling.
Arilyn pushed through the crowded room toward the young man’s table. On the way, she relieved a passing serving wench of her tray, slipping the servant the price of the ale plus an extra silver coin. The girl pocketed the money, dimpling flirtatiously at the handsome lad Arilyn appeared to be. Having become accustomed to such responses to this particular disguise, Arilyn merely gave the girl a roguish wink and continued on her way.
“May I join you?” she asked the mage, holding out the ale-laden tray.
“Why not? Good company and free ale are always welcome,” came the response. He took a mug from the tray Arilyn offered him, drained it, and then gestured toward the book that was prominently displayed before him. “I welcome a diversion from my work. It’s not going well tonight.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Arilyn replied, sitting down and taking the cue that the young man so obviously supplied. “What are you working on? Is that a spellbook?”
Beaming with the pride of a father displaying his firstborn son, the young man pushed the tome toward Arilyn. “No. It’s a collection of my poetry.”
The half-elf opened the book and leafed through it. Written on its pages in slanted, spidery script was some of the most execrable verse she had ever encountered.
“Not my best work,” the youth disclaimed modestly.
Even without seeing his best efforts, Arilyn was inclined to believe him. She had read more edifying poetry on the walls of public conveniences.
“Oh, I don’t know about that,” she lied heartily as she tapped the page, her thoughts drifting back to a certain battle on the Marshes of Chelimber. “This ballad in particular seems quite stirring. If ever you decide to set any of your work to music, I know of a suitable bard.” She cast a quick glance at Danilo. He was busily charming a serving wench whose overstated curves strained the lacings of her bodice. Arilyn sniffed. The girl looked like a two-pound sausage stuffed into a half-pound casing.
“A ballad, you say?” The young man brightened at the perceived praise. “I had never thought of doing that,” he marveled. “Do you really think some of these poems would make songs?”
Arilyn dragged her gaze back to the young mage. “Why not? I’ve surely heard worse.”
“Hmmm.” He pondered that for a moment, then stuck out his hand in a belated gesture of introduction. “Thank you for the suggestion, my friend. My name is Coril.”
“Well met, Coril. I’m Tomas,” Arilyn replied, clasping the offered hand. She already knew the young man’s identity. As well as a terrible poet and minor mage, Coril was an agent of the Harpers. Reputed to be a shrewd observer of people, Coril was employed to gather and pass on information.