"Information," the halfling replied. "As we agreed." "You told me of the kelp-enwalling, hardly something I could not have discerned on my own," Entreri replied. "Other than that, Dwahvel was of little use to me, and that measure I surely can repay."
The halfling's mouth opened as if she meant to protest, but Entreri just turned away and walked across the common room.
"You may find my doors closed to you," Dwahvel called after him.
In truth, Entreri hardly cared, for he didn't expect that he would desire to see wretched Dondon again. Still, more for effect than any practical gain, he did turn back to let his dangerous gaze settle over the halfling. "That would not be
wise," was all he offered before sweeping out of the room and back onto the dark street, then back to the solitude of the rooftops.
Up there, after many minutes of concentration, he came to understand why he so hated Dondon. Because he saw himself. No, he would never allow himself to become so bloated, for gluttony had never been one of his weaknesses, but what he saw was a creature beaten by the weight of life itself, a creature that had surrendered to despair. In Dondon's case it had been simple fear that had defeated him, that had locked him in a room and buried him in lust and gluttony.
In Entreri's case, would it be simple apathy?
He stayed on the roof all the night, but he did not find his answers.
The knock came in the correct sequence, two raps, then three, then two again, so he knew even as he dragged himself out of his bed that it was the Basadoni Guild come calling. Normally Entreri would have taken precautions anyway-normally he would not have slept through half the day-but he did nothing now, didn't even retrieve his dagger. He just went to the door and, without even asking, pulled it open.
He didn't recognize the man standing there, a young and nervous fellow with woolly black hair cut tight to his head, and dark, darting eyes.
"From Kadran Gordeon," the man explained, handing Entreri a rolled parchment.
"Hold!" Entreri said as the nervous young man turned and started away. The man's head spun back to regard the assassin, and Entreri noted one hand slipping under the folds of his light-colored robes, reaching for a weapon no doubt.
"Where is Gordeon?" Entreri asked. "And why did he not deliver this to me personally?"
"Please, good sir," the young man said in his thick Calimshite accent, bowing repeatedly. "I was only told to give that to you."
"By Kadran Gordeon?" Entreri asked.
"Yes," the man said, nodding wildly.
Entreri shut his door, then heard the running footsteps of the relieved man outside retreating down the hall and then the stairs at full speed.
He stood there, considering the parchment and the delivery. Gordeon hadn't even come to him personally, and he understood why. To do so would have been too much an open show of respect. The lieutenants of the guild feared him-not that he would kill them, but more that he would ascend to a rank above them. Now, by using this inconsequential messenger, Gordeon was trying to show Entreri the true pecking order, one that had him just above the bottom rung.
With a resigned shake of his head, a helpless acceptance of the stupidity of it all, the assassin pulled the tie from the parchment and unrolled it. The orders were simple enough, giving a man's name and last known address, with instructions that he should be killed as soon as it could be arranged. That very night, if possible, the next day at the latest.
At the bottom was a last notation that the targeted man had no known guild affiliation, nor was he in particularly good standing with city or merchant guardsmen, nor did he
have any known powerful friends or relatives.
Entreri considered that bit of news carefully. Either he was being set up against a very dangerous opponent, or, more likely, Gordeon had given him this pitifully easy hit to demean him, to lessen his credentials. In his former days in Calimport, Entreri's talents had been reserved for the killing of guildmasters or wizards, noblemen, and captains of the guard. Of course, if Gordeon and the other two lieutenants gave him any such difficult tasks and he proved successful, his standing would grow among the community and they would fear his quick ascension through the ranks.
No matter, he decided.
He took one last look at the listed address-a region of Calimport that he knew well-and went to retrieve his tools.
He heard the children crying nearby, for the hovel had only two rooms, and those separated by only a thick drapery. A very homely young woman-Entreri noted as he spied on her from around the edge of the drapery-tended to the children. She begged them to settle down and be quiet, threatening that their father would soon be home.
She came out of the back room a moment later, oblivious to the assassin as he crouched behind another curtain under a side window. Entreri cut a small hole in the drape and watched her movements as she went about her work. Everything was brisk and efficient; she was on edge, he knew.
The door, yet another drape, pushed aside and a young, skinny man entered, his face appearing haggard, eyes sunken back in his skull, several days of beard on his chin and cheeks.
"Did you find it?" the woman asked sharply.
The man shook his head, and it seemed to Entreri that his eyes drooped just a bit more.
"I begged you not to work with them!" the woman scolded. "I knew that no good-"
She stopped short as his eyes widened in horror. He saw, looking over her shoulder, the assassin emerging from behind the draperies. He turned as if to flee, but the woman looked back and cried out.
The man froze in place; he would not leave her.
Entreri watched it all calmly. Had the man continued his retreat, the assassin would have cut him down with a dagger throw before he ever got outside.
"Not my family," the man begged, turning back and walking toward Entreri, his hands out wide, palms open. "And not here."
"You know why I have come?" the assassin asked.
The woman began to cry, muttering for mercy, but her husband grabbed her gently but firmly and pulled her back, angling her for the children's room, then pushing her along.
"It was not my fault," the man said quietly when she was gone. "I begged Kadran Gordeon. I told him that I would somehow find the money."
The old Artemis Entreri would not have been intrigued at that point. The old Artemis Entreri would never even have
listened to the words. The old Artemis Entreri would have just finished the task and walked out. But now he found that he was interested, mildly, and, as he had no other pressing business, he was in no hurry to finish.
"I will cause no trouble for you if you promise that you will not hurt my family," the man said.
"You believe that you could me cause trouble?" Entreri asked.
The helpless, pitiful man shook his head. "Please," he begged. "I only wished to show them a better life. I agreed to, even welcomed, the job of moving money from Docker's Street to the drop only because in those easy tasks I earned more than a month of labor can bring me in honest work."
Entreri had heard it all before, of course. So many times, fools-camels, they were called-joined into a guild, performing delivery tasks for what seemed to the simple peasants huge amounts of money. The guilds only hired the camels so that rival guilds would not know who was transporting the money. Eventually, though, the other guilds would figure out the routes and the camels, and would steal the shipment. Then the poor camels, if they survived the ambush, would be quickly eliminated by the guild that had hired them.
"You understood the danger of the company you kept," Entreri remarked.
The man nodded. "Only a few deliveries," he replied. "Only a few, and then I would quit."