Midnight looked down and saw the man who had been lying near the door. He was in his late forties, and he wore a tunic that might have once belonged to a guardsman, save that there were now holes where any official markings might have been. Sandals made from worn strips of leather hung on his feet, and his hands were pressed tightly to his chest.
"Can I help you?" Midnight asked softly as she took a step toward the man and bent down. Suddenly the man struck out, his movement surprisingly quick. Midnight fell back, avoiding the blow, and realized that the man held a large, rusted spike in his hand. The mage scrambled backward, moving out of the derelict's range. But he didn't try to strike her again. He merely hugged the spike to his chest and stared at the floor.
Midnight felt hands grip her arms then she was dragged to her feet. The mage turned to face a middle-aged woman and a boy who might have been her son. Both were dressed in the same clean, white clothes as the other volunteers.
"What's your business here?" the woman asked gruffly, folding her arms across her chest.
"I needed a guide to take me around the city," Midnight explained as she got to her feet. "I thought perhaps — "
"You thought you'd get some cheap labor," the woman snapped. "The government has an office for hirelings on Hillier Way. You'd best go there."
Midnight frowned at the woman. "I thought I could find some resident of the city who knew its lore and its customs better than some bored government worker." She paused and pointed toward the roomful of indigents. "And I was trying to help."
"Do you want to start a riot in here?" the woman hissed softly. "If you offer gold here, they'll kill each other for it. Be off with you."
"Wait! I'll do it," the young man said as Midnight turned to leave. "I work for the city government when I'm not here. They take a lot of what I earn, though. You think we can have an agreement just between the two of us?"
"That would be fine," Midnight answered, looking at the excited boy through narrowed eyes. "Just as long as part of the arrangement is that you don't chew my ear with a lot of questions along the way."
"Well," the boy said in mock outrage, his eyes wide. He'd lived for no more than sixteen winters, but he was tall and strong, with thick, black hair that curled at his shoulders. "Privacy, eh? I have no problem with that, as long as the price is agreeable."
Midnight smiled, and the boy turned to the middle-aged woman at his side. "Can you spare me, mother?" he asked, practically panting with enthusiasm.
"Spare you? Would that I never had you," she snapped. "Begone and good riddance. If any of the city's men come by looking for you, I'll tell them you're busy visiting with your crazed aunt from the family's bad side."
A few minutes later, Midnight and the boy were on the street. "By the way," the boy said brightly, "my name is Quillian. You didn't tell me yours."
"That's true," Midnight answered flatly.
Quillian whistled. "Well, if you're not going to tell me your name, will it be all right if I call you 'milady?"
Midnight sighed. "Under the circumstances, yes. Just remember our agreement. I'll ask all the questions."
One side of the boy's mouth curled up in a wicked smile. "I bet you're a thief, come to rob our city blind."
Midnight stopped and stared at the black-haired boy. She was obviously angry.
"I'm just joking," Quillian said quickly, holding his hand up to stop the mage from admonishing him. "Still," he added after they had started walking again, "if you were a thief, I wouldn't mind helping you. This city's robbed me blind all my life."
Midnight shook her head. "You're a bit young to be that jaded."
"Age has nothing to do with it," Quillian noted bitterly. "You saw the conditions in the poorhouse. If my father hadn't died a war hero and left a decent pension for us, my mother and I would be residents in that nasty hole, not just volunteers."
The mage imagined Quillian dressed in a pauper's rags, the spark in his eyes drowned by hunger and want. The mage frowned and pushed the thoughts from her mind. "I'm not a thief, but I'll pay you well. Just do your job and there'll be no problems between us."
Quillian smiled and brushed a stray piece of hair from his eyes. "Where do you want to start?" he asked.
"How about the city's temples," Midnight answered as nonchalantly as possible. "Any place of worship that you know about."
"That's easy enough," Quillian said. "Let's start with the Temple of Torm. That's just — "
"I believe I can find that one without a guide," the mage told the boy as she gestured toward the beautiful spires to the north.
A look of embarrassment crossed Quillian's face. "Reasonable point," the dark-haired lad said sheepishly. "Let's head toward the market, then. It's nearby and there used to be a small house of worship there."
The two walked in silence for a little while. As Midnight and Quillian got closer to the market, the crowds grew in size. Soon the mage could smell food cooking and hear the droves of people haggling about prices and the merchants yelling to attract customers.
"Up ahead, on the right, there's a butcher shop," Quillian noted as they entered a crowded square. "The building used to be a temple to Waukeen, the Goddess of Trade. Are you familiar with Liberty's Maiden?"
Midnight shrugged. "Vaguely. I remember something about a golden-haired woman with lions at her feet.''
"That's how they say she appears when she walks among us. I haven't seen her in town," the boy said sarcastically, "so I couldn't tell you if that's true or not. Tantras was blessed with Lord Torm instead."
The mage found the boy's sarcasm surprising, especially compared to the enthusiasm about Torm's presence she'd heard from the watchmen at the dock. "Aren't you a follower of Torm?" Midnight asked.
"Not usually. But I can be when it's necessary," Quillian said.
I'd best change the subject, Midnight decided, noting the anger in Quillian's voice when he mentioned the God of Duty's name. "What can you tell me about Waukeen's temple?" the mage asked.
"There were statues of Waukeen and her lions in front of the place. The Tormites purchased one of the lions to decorate their new temple. I don't know what happened to the other statues or the rest of the fixtures."
The pair crossed the busy square. Midnight stopped in front of the butcher shop, waiting for the crowd to thin out a bit before she entered the busy establishment. She turned to Quillian and put her hand on his shoulder. "I hope that the money I'm paying you will make you less fickle about your service to me than you are about your devotion to the gods."
Before the boy could answer, a voice called out behind the mage. "Fickle? That's not a word you hear very often in Tantras these days. Not since the God of Duty moved in!"
The mage turned and saw an old man with a shock of white hair and a scraggly white beard. He was carrying a small harp, and he brushed his hand across its strings, bringing a flow of beautiful notes that pierced the sounds of the crowd.
"Fickle," the old man repeated. "The word reminds me of a limerick I picked up in Waterdeep. Would you care to hear it? It's of great significance, I assure you."
Midnight stared at the minstrel, examining his features closely. She was sure that he looked like someone she'd met before.
The minstrel stared back at her for a moment then asked, "Are you feeling well? Do you need a physician? Or would the young lady prefer an epic ballad or a sweet tale of romance to sooth her frazzled nerves?" The minstrel's voice was lilting and sweet.
The mage shook her head. "My apologies," she said softly as she shook her head. "For a moment you reminded me of someone."