Zol, the 10th of Sypheros, 998 YK
The derelict façade did not bear a sign, but even a casual glance at the store’s front window, cracked in two places, revealed an assemblage of curiosities within. Other shops lined the slanted street in both directions, most of them closed at this early hour. Some were abandoned, housing vagrants and the less fortunate among Korth’s lawless population. The icy breeze sweeping in from King’s Bay didn’t do much to wash away the detritus of the Low District. It gathered like eddies in every niche and alley.
Toward the end of second watch, only laborers, longshoreman, and the White Lions walked the streets. The odd warforged could be seen here and there, doing guard work or heavy-lifting. A casual glance at the unremarkable curio shop before him told him that business was slow.
That suited Tallis-and the one he sought-just fine.
He’d come here in his veteran’s garb again, careful to keep his face hidden from everyone he passed. He hoped this would be the last time he needed to use this particular disguise. Tallis scrutinized the other occupants of the street, making certain everyone he saw belonged there.
With the Brelish girl on his trail, he had to be especially careful. He may have overpowered her once, but she’d tailed him like a magebred hound. Tallis was fairly certain she possessed magic of some kind. She could be working for House Tharashk or House Medani, but she’d cited King Boranel. Was she really with the Brelish government?
Satisfied that no one had followed him, he limped over to the small shop and opened the door. The hinges screeched from intentional neglect, and the small copper bell affixed to the door heralded his arrival. Rows of tall shelves made the interior even more confined. Cluttered with miscellaneous oddities, the shelves limited sight. Had this been any other place, Tallis would have been nervous about that. He liked to control his environment and command a view of all exits and hiding places. Still, he had never known a civilian locale more shielded from the law than this place. He felt genuinely safe.
Tallis moved among the shelves and soon caught the eye of the bored-looking clerk at the back. He nodded in greeting and received no response. Of course. This was how it was done.
He made his way casually to one side of the shop, idly lifting up trinkets for inspection, some of them actually legitimate objects of monetary and artistic value. There were the usual sundries: antiquated artificer tools, glass bottles of every color, porcelain dolls. He spied ivory soldiers from a Conqueror set he’d never seen before, along with Lhazaar nesting dolls, and even a mummified gnoll hand from Droaam. The shelves were well dusted, the curios arranged with a semblance of order. She actually keeps this place restocked, he mused, impressed as always.
The true worth of this shop was hardly found in its visible wares. When he neared a wall whose bric-a-brac lay behind glass doors, Tallis cleared his throat.
“Is there a key for these?” he asked aloud.
“Might be,” the clerk responded in monotone. “Something interest you?”
“Yeah,” Tallis said, familiar with the routine. He eyed the collection of tiny, winged figurines, looking for the one that stood out among the rest. “This one, with a child. Some sort of sylph mother?”
“As you will,” came the reply. Tallis heard the jostling of keys. “If you’ll step aside, sir.”
With his own apathetic grunt, Tallis stepped away to examine a shelf of rusted warforged fingers. Most were the thick, Cannith-issued digits, but he noted with interest that others were slender and articulate.
The clerk selected an unusual key from his ring then twisted it inside the tumbler. Knowing what to expect, Tallis’s sharp ears caught the faint rustle of whirring gears followed by the sound of the front door locking by itself. At the same time, the glass panes of the door frosted over as if the temperature had dropped exceedingly low, obscuring its transparency.
The clerk removed the key and inserted another into the same arcane mechanism, turning again. A second click sounded from beneath an area carpet. The clerk kneeled before him and Tallis saw the faded tattoo on the back of his neck-the sigil of the Midwife’s gang. Tallis wondered which one this man was. Ranec? Dorven? Not surprisingly, they seldom looked the same.
The clerk pulled open the trapdoor beneath the carpet and gestured at the narrow, spiraling stair lead into darkness. “Lastpoint,” he said softly, naming the watchword for entry.
With a wink, he added, “I think.”
“Funny,” Tallis said.
When the trapdoor closed above him, he relied upon memory alone to find the bottom of the twisting stair. Even the elf blood in his veins couldn’t penetrate the utter dark. Tallis felt another pang of loss for his darkvision lenses. Something told him the Brelish inquisitive had them now. As he walked, he removed the veteran’s cloak and bundled it up under his arm.
At the end of the stair he found himself at a juncture of three dark corridors that smelled of smoke and wax. A single stub of a candle was fixed upon a wall sconce across from him, trailing a tiny wisp of smoke as it sputtered. Tallis knew the candle was enchanted to remain in its dying state indefinitely. The smoke drifted idly down the right-hand tunnel.
“Lastpoint,” Tallis repeated in a quiet but clear voice. The utterance suppressed the magic, temporarily incapacitating all traps down the right-hand tunnel. Slowly he set off down the path, scanning the shadows for the tell-tale triggers.
Very few were allowed here. Even Tallis, privy to the Midwife’s hideout as one of her favored clients, had to be cautious. Once, when he’d foolishly entered the perilous gauntlet after mispronouncing a previous watchword, he’d nearly lost his head to a swinging axe blade and he still bore the chemical scar at the center of his back from that damnable acid trap.
Tallis knocked on the door at the end of the last hall. A small window slid open, and two yellow eyes peered back at him.
“Unscathed this time,” Tallis said, holding up one empty hand as if in evidence.
When the heavy lock shifted, the door scraped against the stone. Except for the leather jerkin he wore and the long knife held ready in one hand, the rogue standing before Tallis was the spitting image of the clerk upstairs. The yellow eyes he’d seen a moment ago had already been replaced by brown.
“Is anyone actually still fooled by that ridiculous getup?” the man asked, gesturing at the bundled cloak in Tallis’s hand.
Tallis looked down at his veteran’s disguise. “Some are, Ranec. I suppose it’s just my amazing fortune that observant changelings like you remain an undesirable minority in this town.”
The rogue’s face blurred and reshaped itself, now resembling Tallis’s own. He offered a wicked smile, but two of the changeling’s teeth were capped with silver. “Dorven,” he corrected, pointing the knife blade at his teeth. “My brother has only one.”
“Can’t change your teeth?” Tallis asked with disinterest. Dorven grunted and stepped aside.
The chamber beyond resembled the common room of a guild hall, with hardwood benches and tables, a few pieces of luxury furniture, and plenty of open space. The walls were probably stone, but heavy curtains hid them from view and framed the room’s perimeter. The hall conveyed a warm, comfortable atmosphere, looking as it always had. Simple. Clean.
And illegal. A pair of men argued in hushed tones over a table, a loose sheaf of forged documents spread out between them. One of the men nursed a swollen jaw. The other, a large brute with an iron prosthetic replacing most of a missing ear, wiped the errant crumbs of some vanished meal from his goatee. In the center of the room, a sly gnome cast gold coins into the air, grinning when they transformed into tiny knives as they peaked before melting back into currency.
Tallis ignored the gang and walked up to a large desk set against one wall, where the curtains parted to reveal a mural-sized map of Karrnath. Small pins riddled the surface, making the map resemble a general’s battle plan. Tallis had always wondered what the pins denoted, but he knew better than to ask.