Varden saw the older man and let out a cry of greeting. "Gratus!" the thief exclaimed happily, a smile on his face. "Why, it's my good friend and associate, Gratus!"
The old man looked up. He was wearing clothing similar to Varden's violet pants and shirt with yellow boots — except that Gratus was missing the cape. An expression of sorrow and pain lashed across the old man's lace as he squinted in the direction of the thief. Then Gratus spread his hands wide, and papers flew in every direction.
"Varden, you're still alive!" Then the old man's expression changed rapidly to one of anger. "Go away! Every time I see you, it's nothing but trouble!" Gratus croaked. The old man saw that the papers had scattered from his lap and tried futilely to gather them up again.
Varden's smile widened. "I can't really deny that, considering our present circumstances," the thief said as he flashed a glance back at the open window. "But I would very much appreciate it if you would stop complaining and give us a hand!"
Standing near the window, Adon ducked his head outside to take a look. "I don't see any sign of Durrock," Adon noted.
"He's probably calling the other Zhents, trying to cover all the exits," Varden said flatly. "He has no way of knowing what direction we'll take when we leave."
"Excuse me," Gratus said. "But did you say 'Durrock,' as in Bane's unholy servant? Black, spiked armor? Rides a horrid, monstrous horse with flaming hooves?"
Midnight drew a deep breath. "Yes. That's who's following us." The mage moved to Adon's side and glanced nervously at the window.
"Come now," Varden said cheerily, turning to Midnight. "Don't look so glum. We've already defeated Durrock's friend hack in the festhall."
Gratus held his wrinkled hand in front of his face. "Fine!" he snapped and held up a single finger. "You defeated one." The old man paused and held up another bony digit. "Durrock's undoubtedly circling somewhere overhead, so that makes two." Gratus held up a third finger slowly and said, "But where is the third assassin? Durrock is always in the company of two others."
Midnight turned away from the window and fixed the old man with a cold stare. "I cast a spell at him when we escaped. He's probably still pinned to the side of the warehouse near the Zhentish garrison."
"A mage!" the old man cried as he lifted himself from the ground. "So this is what you bring me, Varden. Another mage!"
"What does he mean, 'another mage?'" Adon asked.
Varden tried to dismiss the question with a smile. "It's nothing," the golden-haired thief said. "Gratus's mind wanders sometimes, that's all."
The old man stood up straight. "Goon, Varden! Tell them!" Gratus put his hands on his hips. "I'm not lifting a finger to help until you do."
Varden sighed and hung his head. "A… former acquaintance of mine was a magic-user." All traces of the thief's good humor disappeared as he spoke.
Gratus nodded emphatically. "Note the word 'was,'" the old man cackled, wagging his finger at the younger man.
The thief spun to face the older man. "It's not my fault that Dowie tried to light that torch using his magic! It was a very stupid thing to do."
Gratus chuckled. "Did either of you happen to notice a pillar of flame that rose to the heavens a week ago?" the old man asked.
"We're new in town," Adon said.
Gratus nodded and continued. "You should have seen the look on Dowie's face right before — "
"The two of you can trade stories all you want later," Midnight growled. The mage trembled with barely controlled anger. "Right now, we need help. Durrock will be back any second now with those Zhentilar that passed us a while back."
Varden held up his hand to calm Midnight down. "Gratus, I think we should go to the garrison." The thief turned to Midnight and Adon. "We're merchants here in Scardale, but it recent days, we have found it expedient to seek the protection of the Sembian garrison here," Varden explained, "the outfits are the garb of our illustrious employer."
The old man nodded. "That's fine with me." Gratus paused and idly kicked a pile of paper aside. "Unless the fair lady of magic wants to use her great power against the assassins and turn Scardale into a smoking pit in the process. I heard about a mage who reduced an area outside of Arabel to — "
"How do we get there? To the Sembian garrison?" Adon growled. "And please make it quick, before the Zhentish decide to storm the building."
Gratus looked at Varden. "Impatient, isn't he?" the old man sighed. "Do you expect us to simply dance out of here into the streets and stroll to the garrison? The Zhents would be on us in an instant."
Even Varden was growing impatient now. "So how are we going to get out of here?" he snapped.
Gratus smiled a crooked smile, exposing his yellowed crooked teeth. "I've been holed up in this place, sifting through papers, because I'd heard rumors that the old government installed a number of secret tunnels beneath the city."
Midnight could not contain a sarcastic laugh. "And you expect the plans for them to be lying around here, waiting to be found by any old cutpurse who can find his way into the building?"
Gratus continued to smile. "Why not hide them in plain sight?" the old man said. "That's what I would do."
"And that's why you aren't ruling this city," Varden growled. "This is a terrible time to be relying on rumor, Gratus."
The old man ignored Varden and continued, the crooked smile still on his face. "I have made some rather interesting discoveries." Gratus withdrew a set of documents from his waistband and gestured with them. "Like these plans for a proposed sewage system that — "
Moving forward, Midnight reached for the stained, crumpled parchments. "Give them to me!" the mage growled. After studying the plans, Midnight shook her head, then returned Gratus's smile. "According to these, there should be an entrance to the sewer right beneath this building."
"That is correct," Gratus said smugly. "If the government installed the secret tunnels, then it would make sense that there are entrances to all public buildings. This building used to be a sort of hall of records."
"Your luck seems to be holding out, old man," Varden said, shaking his head in disbelief.
"Luck!" Gratus exclaimed, balling his hands into fists. "Suddenly I no longer feel guilty about leaving you for dead in the street after that band of Zhentilar attacked us."
"I wasn't going to mention that," the thief stated flatly. "Besides, you couldn't have known that I wasn't dead. After all, I was unconscious for a while." Here Varden rubbed the bruise on his forehead. "Anyway, I was perfectly safe as long as the Zhents thought I was dead."
Gratus stiffened at Varden's words, then turned to leave the room. "You didn't know?" the old man mumbled as he moved into the hallway. The sounds of Durrock barking orders to the Zhentilar drifted in through the open window. "Come on, the lot of you! We've got to get out of here!"
Midnight and Adon followed Varden and Gratus down two flights of warped wooden stairs into the basement of the building. The old man took the map from Midnight once they reached the musty basement and looked at it again. "The entrance to the tunnels should be right here," Gratus said, pointing to a large, empty bookcase.
The heroes pushed the oaken bookcase a few feet to the side and found a thin sheet of wood covering a small, dark doorway.
For several moments, Varden had been mulling over the comment Gratus had made before they left the room upstairs. "I didn't know what?" the thief finally asked as the heroes peered into the darkened tunnel.