Sapphire Crescent (8 page)

I’ll have to dig through those Sembian letters sometime, he thought. I think there might be something in there. Later, though.

Bartimus turned his attention back to the moment, still waiting for his companion to say something. His scrying spell wasn’t going to last much longer. Grozier just continued to stare into the large mirror, a finely wrought piece of furniture worth thousands of gold coins, resting on a large easel in the middle of the study. The image in the courtyard continued to show Captain Dressus and his men milling about, discussing what to do with the bodies lying there. The original plan had been for them to haul the pair to the nearest guard station in the city and deposit them there, but it was obvious by then that the Waukeenar lieutenant’s words had unnerved them, and they were uncertain what to do any longer.

“Oh, just run!” Grozier growled from behind Bartimus. He was beginning to pace. “Is there no way to talk to them through this damned mirror?”

Bartimus cringed as he said, “Unfortunately, no. It really only works one way. I could see if I have some other means of communicating with them, perhaps a scroll in my collection.” He started to rise, completely enraptured at the thought of looking through some of his papers. “I think I might have just the thing,” he muttered half-aloud, moving toward a distant shelf, “a little spell I acquired from a man I met in Cormyr several years ago. Let’s see, I think I put those papers—”

“No, don’t waste the effort,” Grozier snapped, standing still and watching the scene again. “By the time you find something, it’ll be too late. Besides, they’ve gone and mucked the whole plan up completely already.”

Bartimus shrugged and sat back down as his counterpart sighed in exasperation.

“Dressus is an idiot,” Grozier continued. “He should have just sent the Matrell boy away and cleared out of there. He got baited into that, you know.”

Bartimus nodded, though he didn’t, in fact, know that until just then, and he wondered how Grozier had come to that conclusion.

“Now,” Grozier continued, “the city watch is concerned about our two dead victims, and Dressus is under suspicion. If not by the other guards, then at the very least, by the mercenary and his sister. We’re going to have to take care of this ourselves.”

He began to pace again.

Bartimus nodded, though he had no idea what his employer meant, and no desire to take the initiative to suggest some things until he knew more. He sat and waited while Grozier stewed.

Finally, the other man stopped his repetitive motion and said, “We’re going to have to clean this up completely, you know.”

Bartimus risked a glance over his shoulder at the other man, the head of House Talricci, to be sure he understood correctly.

“You want me to find someone?” the mage asked.

“No,” Grozier replied, tapping the wizard on the shoulder. “You’re going to have to do this yourself. I don’t want to put it into anyone else’s hands.”

Bartimus swallowed hard.

“Me?” he asked, sounding more timid than he had intended, though he certainly felt a little intimidated at what his employer was asking him to do. “How would you like it handled?” he quickly added, hoping to cover his earlier hesitation.

“I don’t know,” Grozier growled. “You’re the house wizard. You cook something up. But make sure you get rid of all the loose ends. And I mean all of them. I don’t doubt for a minute that the mercenary is going to start sniffing around, trying to find out what happened tonight. I can just feel it.”

He turned to go, then stopped and looked back at Bartimus through the gloom of his room.

“And make it clever,” Grozier added. “Something really good. Come find me and run it by me before you begin, though. I’ll expect a first idea from you within an hour.”

Bartimus nodded, inwardly sighing. Knowing Grozier, he was going to have to stay up half the night concocting something suitable to solve the problem.

J

you’re treating me like I’m five!” Emriana shouted at her uncle. She was slumped in one of the ornately

carved high-backed suthwood chairs, with its claw-shaped feet and similarly formed arms, that surrounded the huge dining room table where the Matrell family was gathered. The seat was solidly padded, but that made it no more comfortable. The girl wanted more than anything to stand and pace, like her uncle was, but she had been told in no uncertain terms to sit down and remain there until she was permitted otherwise. Emriana looked to her mother for some measure of support, but Ladara Matrell was studiously gazing at her own robe, picking at the ornate fabric as the arguing continued. The mousy woman rarely

stood in the way when her brother-in-law took the role of surrogate father over his dead brother’s children. Emriana despised those times, and this moment was one of them.

The hour was late, and most members of the Matrell family were already dressed for bed. Only Quindy and Obiron, the eight-year-old twins, were absent. A handful of lanterns sat on the table itself, having been lit by sleepy servants who were roused by Uncle Dregaul when it became clear that a family meeting needed to occur. As such, the full complement of candelabra that hung from chains from the ceiling remained dark, so the spacious chamber was not as brightly cheerful as it might have been during a typical dinner. More than one yawn was carefully hidden behind the palm of a hand.

“Sometimes, you still act like you’re five,” Uncle Dregaul replied, moving back and forth on the far side of the table from Emriana.

His voice was like ice, and the thinly veiled anger in his countenance said all that needed to be said to the girl. Sneaking out had been bad enough, but as the rest of the story unfolded and it became clear that she had also disobeyed Vambran’s instructions to stay in the safety of the carriage, Uncle Dregaul’s mien had grown rock-hard. Emriana kept her defiant gaze mostly on her uncle, but she spared a moment or two of scathing glares for her brother, too. His return home for her birthday wasn’t turning out to be quite the thrill she had hoped.

Vambran sat in another dark chair, the high arch of its back rising over even his tall frame. He stared at nothing, one leg thrown over the chair arm, pinching his lips together with his thumb and forefinger, oblivious to Emriana and obviously deep in thought. She was furious with him for so readily explaining the events of the evening, rather than holding his tongue about her involvement in the escapades. In

fact, he had seemed bent on making a point of it, trying to get Uncle Dregaul to listen to his concerns about the veracity of the guards, even including the fact that Emriana herself believed she had recognized the dead woman. She doubted seriously if the entire household would even be having the conversation had Dregaul been told only that she had snuck out to ride down to the docks, safely in the carriage, with Prandles there to watch over her. But, of course, he was aware of it all and no doubt contemplating what sort of punishment to inflict on her for her insolence. She hoped that neither Prandles nor Jaleene, her personal maid, would get into trouble for their parts in it. Dregaul had never been adverse to firing house staff for similar shortcomings in the past.

“Sneaking out of your chambers after I specificallyspecifically!—told you that you were not to ride to the docks with Prandles is bad enough,” Dregaul said, interrupting Emriana’s thoughts and ticking points off on his fingers. “But then to go and get in the middle of such an obviously dangerous situation in an alley in the middle of Arrabar is just plain brainless. Scuffles in alleys with mysterious figures is exactly the reason—exactly!—why I don’t want you roaming around outside the walls. And yet, you don’t have enough sense to see how dangerous it is. And you wonder why I treat you like a child. You act like one, Emriana, a very spoiled one.

“And you!” Emriana’s uncle said, turning to face her brother. “How could you drag her into the middle of such a situation? You aren’t home an hour, and already you’re mixing it up with the common folk, playing at soldier. What’s the matter with you?”

“I explained to you already,” Vambran said, his own voice rising in resentment, “that I heard a scream and went to see who might be in trouble. There was no time to stop and wonder if it was wise to get involved, given that my younger sister was along.”

“Naturally. You’ve never considered the consequences of your actions before, so why start now?” Dregaul sneered.

Emriana felt her eyes bulge as she stared at her uncle in amazement. He had never been a warm person, but that was downright vicious. She looked at Vambran, expecting him to retort angrily. Instead, the lieutenant bowed his head and stared at his hands, as though he had been slapped.

“When someone needs your help, you respond,” Vambran said softly.

How can you take that? Emriana thought, hating to see her brother cower before their uncle. That’s not like you.

“No, you respond,” Dregaul replied. “The rest of us have enough sense to leave it for the city watch, which, as it turned out, was exactly who was already there, dealing with a problem. They certainly don’t need your help to do their jobs.”

“I’m far from convinced that the first group was actually men of the watch,” Vambran said, looking up again. “I also told you that I specifically didn’t call the imposters out, for fear of a fight erupting with Em standing in the middle of it. I—”

“Yes, yes, you’ve already explained to me your theories. Avoiding a confrontation was probably the smartest thing you did. But you shouldn’t have been there in the first place. As usual, you’re looking for trouble where there is none to find. Even if what you say is true, the other group arrived, and they’ll clean it up. It’s bad enough that you’ve taken to thrice marking yourself. Half the city probably knows by now that a member of the Matrell family—a member!—is dabbling in common arcane magic, rather than leaving it to the house wizards like sensible folk.”

Emriana winced at her uncle’s scathing comments, knowing how proud Vambran must be about his new talents. She watched as Vambran clenched

his jaw and shook his head in denial, obviously fuming at Dregaul’s derisive remarks. Off to one side, Evester was nodding in agreement with their uncle, acting as usual like the toady to his mentor. Emriana had half a mind to admit that she had encountered her oldest brother on the roof earlier in the evening, just to watch Dregaul’s wrath turn on Evester, but she held her tongue. She doubted the ploy would come off as she expected. Nothing else so far that evening had.

Beside Evester, his wife Marga was trying to hide a gloating smile by turning her head away from the scene. Emriana glared at her, but the red-haired beauty never saw her.

“Uncle Dregaul,” Vambran said, his tone deferential, “I already explained to you that bearing three marks does not provoke the same fear and hostility in other parts of the Reach that it does in Chondath, and in fact it offers some benefits. The Rotting War was nearly four hundred years ago. It’s only in Arrabar that uneducated fools still fear a return of the magic plague that was unleashed. Everywhere else in the Reach, the people are over it.”

“Foolish or not, the fear is real,” Dregaul responded. “And it’s powerful. Marking yourself is only inviting scorn and suspicion, both upon you personally and upon the House. It’s a foolish risk that isn’t necessary. But that never stopped you from taking foolish risks before, so I don’t know why I would expect any different from you now.”

“Don’t worry,” Vambran said through clenched teeth, “I will certainly not ‘disgrace’ the family further and raise your ire by continuing to wear the third mark. I certainly wouldn’t want the whole city of Arrabar to cringe in fear, thinking I was bringing the plague to one and all.”

He threw his hands up helplessly, as if to say he didn’t know what else to offer to placate his uncle.

“Fine,” Dregaul replied. “And as for this other matter with the guards, leave it alone. Don’t drag the Matrell name any farther into it. Do you understand me?”

“Yes,” Vambran said, rising up out of his chair abruptly. He stared hard at Dregaul, a dangerous gleam in his eye that Emriana had never seen before. “I understand exactly what’s most important to you. I always have.”

The girl realized she had gasped at her brother’s reaction, and she wasn’t the only one. Her mother was patting her chest in anxiety, obviously feeling ‘the threat of a fainting spell coming on. Even Grandmother Hetta seemed taken aback, and very little got her excited. At the far end of the table, Evester frowned, but he didn’t react much beyond that. Emriana was finding it harder and harder to read him.

For his part, Uncle Dregaul stopped pacing and stared right back at his nephew, his hands resting on the back of one of the tall, dark chairs. Emriana could see that his knuckles were white with strain, and she realized he was barely holding his own anger in check.

“You’ve made it perfectly clear what you think of me,” Vambran went on, his voice dangerously soft. “I tried to give something back to the family, to you, as best I could. And when that didn’t work, I tried to keep my distance, for both our sakes. But it’s never enough to change anything, and I guess it never will be. So I’m through trying. I’m not going to ignore what I think is a murder ostensibly disguised as the city watch ‘doing its job’ “—Vambran’s tone grew sarcastic—”just because it might temporarily put the Matrell family name in an unfavorable light. If you can’t abide it, then I’ll make sure none of my actions trouble you ever again.”

Emriana’s eyes widened in amazement. She couldn’t believe what her brother was suggesting.

The girl realized her mouth was hanging open, and she snapped it shut again, looking at Dregaul. The man’s face turned red as he sputtered, unable to speak. Emriana turned to the rest of the family to see their reactions. At the same time, she was beginning to wish she could be somewhere else right then.

“Vambran!” Emriana’s mother said, looking aghast at her son. “You should not speak to your uncle that way.”

“I’m sorry, Mother,” Vambran replied, “but he’s left me no choice. I can’t continue to live under his baleful stare any longer. I’ll make my own way in the world, on my own terms, if it means living in peace and without his scorn and scathing remarks.”