Mirt nodded a little wearily and said, "Aye, where they know where to find us."
Something wriggled inside his head, and he stumbled up against the wall of Murktar Roldro's cellar with a groan.
"Magic?" Durnan snapped, putting a steadying hand on Mirt's shoulder.
The moneylender nodded and waved a vague hand struck dumb by a flood of memories-faces, places, names, and amounts owed and due dates and-and-
The invasion was gone, as swiftly as it had come.
"Someone … in my mind," he wheezed, clutching at Durnan's stone-steady arm. "That mage following us."
The innkeeper nodded and asked, "Seeking memories of Yelver?"
"Aye. Turned up everything-gods, my head's a-whirl still-but Yelver, yes, an' our talk with the Keeper. I wonder what Yelver was mixed up in?"
Durnan was already whirling past him.
"Stay here," he said. "Be right back."
Mirt leaned against the wall, groggy, listening to his friend's boots racing up the stairs-and more slowly coming back down again. The keeper of the Yawning Portal wore another of his grim smiles.
"They're all racing away back nor'east, of course."
"To the Keeper of Secrets," Mirt grunted. "Knowing she told us nothing, we're now nothing-but she remains a danger." He slapped his hand to his sword hilt, drew in a deep breath, and started up the stairs himself. "So, 'tis back to Sammarin's Street."
"Way ahead of you," Durnan replied cheerfully, bounding past.
"Aye," Mirt agreed. "Everyone always is."
The flash and the trembling of cobblestones under their feet came when they were still a street away from the Keeper's shop.
Faint sounds of startled cries, curses, and the crashes of things falling and breaking arose in the tallhouses and shops all around. Durnan broke out of the trot that let Mirt keep pace with him, and raced ahead.
Almost immediately he returned with the terse explanation: "Two Watch patrols."
"Rooftops," Mirt replied, waving at a distant tall-house with carved dolphin downspouts.
Durnan flashed him a smile and dropped it off his face as he looked back behind them.
"More Watch coming," said the innkeeper.
Mirt shrugged and replied, "So we're innocents, look ye. Deafinnocents."
"No sort of innocent climbs downspouts in the middle of the night."
"Innocent downspout inspectors do," Mirt growled. When Durnan rolled his eyes, the moneylender protested, "I've a palace badge, and know what names to invoke. I-"
The uppermost floor of the building they'd visited not long before burst apart with a roar, in an eruption of stones, roof slates, and the shattered bodies of men.
A head and what looked like a knee bounced and pattered wetly to the cobblestones nearby. Durnan abandoned any attempt to look innocent and clawed at Mirt.
"Down" he hissed, "and look dazed."
Blinking around at the tumult of running Watch officers and still-rolling shards of stone, Mirt complied.
They crouched together against the wall of what looked to be a toy shop as shouting uniformed men ran past, lanterns bobbing.
"Yelver surprises me more and more," the fat moneylender muttered, "but we'll never know his secrets now. No one could've-"
There was a creaking close at hand as a "downsteps door" opened. Durnan peered down a narrow flight of stone steps past the usual clutter of rain barrels and discarded trash, into one of the many cellar-level entries common to that part of North Ward. After the blasts, someone could come out curious, or wanting to flee, or waving a blade and wild enough with fear to use it on anyone.
Mirt hastily drew back his boots to let the lone cloaked and cowled figure mount the steps, noting bare, empty hands clutching at her-yes, her-cloak to keep her features covered.
She stopped, peering up at the two men, and said, "Stand back, if you please, and let me pass."
It was the calm voice they'd traded words with in the darkness.
"Of course," Mirt squeaked, trying to make his voice sound unlike his own.
He and Durnan both stepped back, lifting empty hands to signal that they meant no harm. But as the woman reached the top of the steps, Durnan whirled back to face her, luring her attention. Mirt plucked back her cowl.
Her revealed face was smiling wryly. Beneath the emerald-green cloak was a rather plain, heavy-set woman in a rumpled gown. She had very large, dark, arresting eyes. Around their dark-fire gaze one scarcely noticed plump cheeks, pale skin, and unruly brown hair.
"Well met, lady," Durnan said. "What price are your secrets now?"
"Bensvelk Miirik Darastrix loex?"
The hiss was swift and angry.
"The Keeper?" a deeper, calmer voice rumbled. "Nay, nay, she lives. Were she to die, yon crystal would burst." A hand waved at a glowing orb of glass halfway across the cavern. "And you really should keep to Common, Orauth. Even in Waterdeep, Draconic attracts attention."
"Malval om aurm!"
"Of course your anger is great. So is mine. To lose her would be an aurm blow, yes, but the true korth is if humans learn what she does-and through her, of us. Which is why I watch the crystal. Anyone who captures, attacks, or hurls magic at her must die."
"Lay a hand on me," the woman said, "and I'll scream for the Watch."
As she spoke, more Watch officers trotted past, several Watchful Order mages striding among them.
"Ye mistake our natures, lady," Mirt protested.
"No, she doesn't," Durnan disagreed, before the Keeper could reply.
Whatever word she started to snap dissolved into a swift, short laugh.
She tugged her cowl free of Mirt's fingers, faced them both squarely, and asked, "What do you want?"
Mirt blinked at her then said, "Uh-er-to know thy name, an' who those men were, an' what ye did to them an' how, an'… an'…"
"Yelver's secrets," she finished calmly, shaking her head.
"Nicely listed, lady," Durnan agreed politely, and fell into waiting silence.
As it stretched, the three of them stood regarding each other, and the street around them filled with gawking Waterdhavians.
"Very well," the woman said at last. "You may call me Taunamorla."
"And?" Durnan asked politely.
"I am still," Taunamorla said with a smile, "the Keeper of Secrets."
"Your real name being one of them?"
Taunamorla's smile widened.
"Of course," she replied. "Now, neither of you are dullards-and so I believe you can guess how dangerous questioning me further will be."
Durnan touched Mirt's arm, and the stout moneylender nodded curtly. He'd already caught sight of a tall, cloaked man striding toward them among the gathering crowd of gawkers who were staring at the shouting Watch and the smoking, still stone-shedding ruin of the shop. At Durnan's caution, he saw two more cold-eyed men, bareheaded but in full armor, approaching from where the innkeeper was facing.
"You have friends," Durnan observed calmly.
"I keep secrets," Taunamorla replied. "Go now, and keep your lives."
Mirt bowed to her and started away down the street, leaving behind only the comment, "We'll meet again, Lady of Secrets."
Her reply was as calm as ever: "Of course."
They were halfway back to the Portal when fire mounted up into the night sky behind them with a roar that sent Mirt staggering.
"Keep going," Durnan said. "Whatever's happening, I'm sure the Keeper of Secrets is involved-and that we're better off draining tankards over our lancers and pondering what she is. Beyond a powerful spell hurler, that is."
"A powerful spell hurler with enemies," Mirt replied, as they hastened on together.
Another, larger blast followed, then far-off screams, splintering sounds, and what sounded like something very large-lunged roaring in pain-a protest that abruptly ended in yet another explosion.