Anthology - Realms of Mystery Part 14

"Only to return it to its true owner," I said hotly.

"Ah!" the small man spread his hands wide. "And here I am before you, the true owner."

"No, you're not," I exclaimed, feeling my face burn from more than embarra.s.sment. "The true owner never mentioned you. I don't think she ever would."

The collector put a finger to his lips and hummed. "A 'she,' is it? Well, I can think of one 'she' in particular, and your answer is, while she was an owner, she is not the true owner. The rightful owner. The legal owner. She traded it away, long ago. You understand that?"

I said nothing, and the small man continued, "Its good to know she's in the hunt, at least. Do me a favor, young man. You look like a reasonable individual. And when this is all over and done with you might find an offer I have to be very appealing. But for the moment..."

He fished around inside his tunic for a moment, then pulled out a thin black wand. "I suspect you'll want to get in for the bidding tonight, without being noticed, and without the price being driven up for your human appearance. This will let you get past the bouncers. Here, take it. I offer it free and without strings."

Despite myself, I reached out and took the wand. It had an oily touch to it, and almost seemed to want to squirm out of my grasp.The collector smiled, "There, that wasn't so bad, was it?" and touched his forehead by way of salutation, turned smartly on his heels, and headed off. I watched him until he disappeared from sight.

Then, regarding the cold, empty building of the Burrows, I walked two blocks over, hailed a carriage, and returned to the Wyvern.

Drusilla did not show up for lunch as promised, which added to my consternation. I wanted to ask her who the little man was and exactly what the box was all about. As it was, the luncheon hour arrived and pa.s.sed without so much as a note from her. After spending most of the previous evening on a cold bench, I was in no mood to wait any longer than I had to. I was halfway through the sh.e.l.lfish course-Prawns du Chionthar-when there was the slightest waft of air over my left shoulder. Long experience told me who had arrived and I did not even look up from my crustacean.

"She has not shown up," I said simply.

"I did not think she would," said Ampi calmly. "The idea that a simple acquisition would turn into an auction has probably upset her. She is probably making other plans to acquire the box even as we speak."

I frowned at my prawn. I didn't want to believe that Drusilla would abandon me so easily. "Perhaps she is in trouble herself. Waylaid by bandits or short collectors or something."

Ampi drifted slowly into my line of sight. His face was drawn with concern. Say whatever else you want about genies, when they are concerned you know they are concerned. Still, he would not voice them until I asked. "How was your research?"

The djinni nodded slightly and said, "Productive, but I fear expensive. The sage Prespos could teach the dao something about hard negotiations. What I discovered was of interest, however."

"And that is?"

"The Vermeers were an Iriaebor household," said the djinni. "But their forte was more magic than money. They were a household of spellcasters."

I nearly choked on my sh.e.l.lfish. "Like the Wands?" I managed, suddenly having visions of the patriarch of the Vermeer clan showing up in my bedroom late in the evening.

"Similar, but not exact," said the genie. "The biggest difference being that the last of the line died out almost a hundred years ago. If the girl Drusilla is a member of that clan...."

"'Daddy' must be very ancient indeed."

"You do not seem surprised."

"Hardly," said I. "If one thing these mystoricals prepare you for it's that the heroine rarely tells the truth the first time out. Indeed, most of the heroes ignore whatever the heroine says until after the third attempt on his life. Most likely some far flung fragment of the family trying to regain its insignia and ancestral lands. Or perhaps Vermeer was a name she pulled out of an old book, as a cover."

My logic was irrefutable, for Ampratines remained silent, if only for a moment, before resuming the argument "If you say so, sir. However, in the light of this, I would recommend we reconsider the situation and our employment with the mysterious lady."

I shook my head and motioned with a prawn claw, "No. In the stories, whenever a hero gives his word, he lives by it. It doesn't matter if the heroine is not what she says she is. Often, she's better."

"I cannot dissuade you?" said the djinni.

"Not a whit." I pulled out the black wand, "What do you make of this?"

The genie took the thin black rod from my hand. He had a look on his face akin to revulsion.

"Unpleasant material. Not from around here, as you would say." He held it up to a light, then handed it back. "It is a spell rod. Arcane device, sometimes used in the south. You break it to release the spell within. The runes say that the spell can alter your appearance. The illusion would last until you were struck or choose to drop the charade. Where did you get it?"

"Someone with a mutual interest," I replied, "Someone who thinks I should get into the auction tonight. And yes, there will be an auction tonight."

The genie's face creased with concern again. "Someone?"

"A collector, who argues a separate claim on the box," I said, holding up the claw again. "I know, I should not trust him either, but I think the first order of business is to get a hold of the box. Then we cansort everything out."

A deep sigh, again. "As you wish, sir."

That evening, after breaking open the wand, I turned to Ampi and said, "How do I look?"

The genie frowned, canted his head to one side, and asked, "Something's wrong."

"Wrong? How can anything be wrong?" I turned back to the mirror. Looking out was a rather dapper-looking dark elf in my clothes. My hair was ghost white, and my skin the color of night, a purple verging on ultraviolet. I smiled and primped for a moment.

"I think its the smile," said the genie at last.

"Too flashy?" I asked.

"Too present," replied Ampratines. "I can't think of any drow smiling, unless the situation dealt with accidental dismemberment. Try to frown."

I attempted a scowl.

"Better, but not quite," said Ampi. "You don't look angry, only petulant. Try to look more tragic.

More angst-ridden."

I scowled harder.

Ampi let out a sigh, "I suppose that's the best we can do. Here, take these." He handed me several long strips of white cloth.

I gave the genie a quizzical look and he explained, "The drow often communicate by a language of signs. Should you be challenged on the matter, you can complain you have been wounded and unable to respond."

I looked at the bandages, and took them from him. At least he had stopped trying to convince me to abandon Drusilla and was trying to be constructive. As I wound the bandages around my wrists and palms, he continued. "I'll summon a carriage. I would keep the hood of my cloak up while in the Wyvern, though. I don't think the Upper City gets much in the way of underground conqueror races and might not appreciate your continence, and I will not be there to aid you."

I blinked at the genie. "You aren't coming? I was looking for someone to ride crossbow on this adventure. Just in case things go wrong."

"I will be along presently," said the genie. "I asked the sage Prespos for a particular item, and will be along myself as soon as I retrieve it."

And with that I was off for the L.C. again, bundled in the back of the carriage, my face hidden beneath a voluminous cloak. The illusion had provided the cloak, along with a pair of ridiculously curved long swords. The latter were extremely dashing, but made sitting properly impossible. I ended up sprawling across the back of carriage, wondering if this inability to sit was what made dark elves so surly.

Night had fallen in the Lower City, which meant the gray of the day had surrendered at last to the smoky blackness of the evening. There was a haifling guard posted outside the Burrows this time, vetting the various individuals. Traditional revelers and regulars were being turned away at the door, along with a few angry humans. I waited my turn in the queue, practicing my scowling. Being made to wait helped my acting immeasurably.

Finally the party ahead of me was turned aside, a group of dwarf laborers bitterly disappointed that their evening game of "toss-the-darts-at-the-elves" had been interrupted. The halfling at the door scowled at me and said, "Private party tonight."

"I know," I said, trying to out scowl him. "There is an item up for sale. I wish to be included in that bidding."

"Name?"

My mind went, for a tragic moment, blank.

"Ziix.x.xita" I snarled at last, trying to string as many Z's and X's together as possible.

"How do you spell that?" he asked.

"You spell it how it sounds," I said, spreading my cloak and resting my hands on the hilts of theblades.

The halfling looked at the curved blades, then at my face again. Then he nodded toward the door. I gave the small humanoid a sullen snarl and pa.s.sed within.

I was a late arrival. The half-orc barbarian was there, along with the fancy-dressed southern dwarf and a drow woman dressed in a low-cut gown that denied gravity, morality, and several local zoning ordinances. There were no less than seven mages of various nonhuman types in the room, and a few creatures that were wrapped in thick cloaks, species unknown.

Most of the tables had been cleared to the sides of the room and the chairs organized in a rough line facing the bar. A buffet table had been thoughtfully set up at the opposite end. As I entered one of the halflings was standing on the bar, thundering a large stave against the top and calling for order.

As I scanned the room my eyes locked on those of the drow woman. She looked as imperious as drow women were reported to be, but was not fully a drow matriarch. A drow debutante, then, but still one that could expose my masquerade.

She raised a hand, and her fingers drew intricate patterns in the air. I froze for a moment, suspecting a spell, but realized immediately that she was greeting me in her unknown language. I raised my bandaged flippers and gave the best dourful look I could manage. She in turn gave me a frosty glare, but nodded.

I exhaled slowly, mentally thanking both the G.o.ds and Ampi, and took a seat on the far side of the room from the drow woman. I did not trust my disguise against a true native of the Underdark, and did not wish to press my luck. I ended up next to the half-orc.

"Whaddya bid onnit?" said the half-orc, without preamble or greeting.

I thought for a moment. Actually, if the bidding brushed the crystal sphere, I was planning on just noting who had bought the box and approaching them later. Would be better than dealing with halflings.

Still, a reply was called for. "Whatever it takes," I said, and scowled deeper.

The half-orc gave a deep chuckle. "Yagreed. Whativer i'takes," He pulled a barbed dagger. "Just don' git'n m'way, eh?"

"Take your seats," said the halfling. As our motley mob took our places, he thumped his staff thrice more and the show got on the road.

The back door swung open and a procession emerged: one of the ogres, a pair of halfling guards with spears, a well-dressed halfling with a serving dish, two more halfling guards, and the last ogre. Any of the halflings could be Big Ugly. Or all of them.

The well-dressed halfling climbed up behind the bar and set the serving dish on it. The two ogres took up positions on either side, also behind the bar. The halflings guarded the doors. The halfling with the staff said, "We are the representatives of the owner of this establishment, known to the humans as Big Ugly. We thank you for coming on short notice. A foolish fop of a human has approached us in regards to an item that we have in our possession. While we wish to be rid of it, we want to give our non-human brethren"-and with this he waved a small paw at the a.s.semblage-"the opportunity to bid on it first. Many of you have had the chance to examine the item in question, though not all. Therefore, there will be a brief examination session before we begin to accept bids."

The halfling with the serving dish lifted the lid and the a.s.sembled group milled forward in roughly two adjacent lines down the center of the room. I could not see the box itself from the back of the pack, but the group was generally orderly, like mourners at a funeral. Each paid their respects and then returned to their seats.

I let the half-orc pa.s.s ahead of me, but ended up alongside the drow woman. "Where are you from?" she said with a cold smile. She was looking ahead, but her question was obviously for me.

I mumbled something indistinct, then said, "Water-deep," at last.

"Skullport, you mean, the city beneath the city?" she nodded, "I've heard of it but I've never been.

Who are you?"

"I'll tell if you will," It was almost our turn up to the box.

The drow looked at me, and it was a curious look. Apparently drow males were not so forward, but she said "Fair enough. I am Marinanta, loyal follower of the Demiurge of Despair, faithful to the Maiden of Pain. And you?""Ziix.x.xita," I muttered, keeping to my original story. Then the mage and the half-orc in front of us parted and I got my first look at the box.

It made me think of Drusilla immediately. It had that same sort of purity, a radiance that seemed to embody the young woman. It was a cube of translucent yellow gold, only about three inches on a side.

The faces were incised with numerous carvings and mystic wards, simitar to the walls of the Burrows themselves. I daresay that this little number would give Ampi a nasty head-pain as well. There was no obvious latch or hinges. Within the translucent box, something indeterminate seemed to glow of its own power.

In a moment I knew why Drusilla wanted the box, or at least thought I knew. It was one of the most splendid things I had seen in my life. I also knew in a moment that I could not afford what the others would bid on this.

I looked up at the drow in the low-cut gown next to me, expecting to see in her eyes the same look of wonder and appreciation. Instead, I saw a set of narrowed eyes that pierced me to the core.

"Ziix.x.xita is a woman's name," she hissed, "Who are you, really?"

Had I been thinking about my mystoricals I could have toughed it out, have thought of some glib explanation, but in truth I had been wowsered by the beauty of the box. I did the one thing a drow never should do. I smiled.

Her eyes flew open in recognition immediately. "You're not a drow," she snarled. Louder, she shouted, "We have an impostor among us!"

I spun on my heel immediately, looking at the shocked faces of the others. "We have an impostor!" I agreed loudly, "And that's him!" I pointed at the back of the half-ore barbarian, who was at the moment ensconced at the buffet table.

I had chosen a perfect target, if only because the barbarian had at the moment a mouth full of roast beef and could not defend himself verbally. Instead he dropped his plate and reached for his blades, which was as good as an admission of guilt. Both ogres vaulted the bar, while around the room there was the sudden, deadly whisper of blades, wands, and spellcasting materials being pulled from sheaths, holders, and pockets.

The drow woman shouted, "No, not him, the other drow!" But by that time I made my move. As everyone was turning toward the half-ore, I lunged forward and grabbed the amber box. The artifact felt warm to the touch, and that warmth comforted me to the core. I felt a need to protect it, to take it back to Drusilla.

There was an explosion from the side of the buffet table as one of the mages decided that the half-ore was guilty of something, if not of being an impostor. That half of the room was bathed in a shining radiance, followed by the smell of singed ore-flesh and the cries of temporarily blinded non-human mages. By the time the drow woman had shouted her correction, I was already halfway to the door. I intended to vault the two halfling guards and make my escape into the night.

That was the intention. Instead I found an overturned chair and got tangled in its legs. With a shout I pitched forward and downward, still clutching the box in my bandaged hands.

The fall probably saved my life. Over my head there were a scattering of lightning shards, fire bolts, and other magical missiles. The ward-covered walls glowed as they were infused by the energies, then began to smoke as the mystic wards themselves were overloaded by the a.s.sault.

I picked myself up as everyone was reloading and charged for the door. The two now slightly-singed ogres had reversed direction and were bearing down on me, hammerlike fists raised in a.s.sault.

The first time I fell was by accident. Now I did it on purpose, tossing myself behind an overturned table. The ogre fists slammed into the wall behind me. Then I was up again, making for the door as ogre curses berated my back.

The haft-end of a spear swung upward from out of nowhere and caught me in the face. My brain would have recognized it as belonging to one of the halfling guards, and would have realized that was why halflings would carry spears. The better to swat tall thieves with. Instead my brain was concentrating on getting back off the floor. If it had any spare room from that task, said brain would note that I hadregained my true Tertius form.

My spinning sight came to rest to reveal an ugly tableaux. Five angry halflings. Two ogres with broken hands. An enraged female dark elf. A badly burned but still standing half-ore. And all manner of non-human mages. None of whom seemed particularly happy with me at the moment.

I was dimly aware of the fact that I still held the box, and stumbled to my feet. I held the box high, intending to threaten to smash it unless they let me leave.

I intended to make the threat, really, but that was when the wall collapsed.

The wall had been spell-smashed and ogre-bashed, and now was crumbling of its own accord.

Long cracks crawled up the remains of the masonry, and the plaster began to give way under the damage it had suffered. There was a moment of silence, then the entire west half of the building collapsed with a roar, and the night wind blew the dust into the Burrows.

Something else came in with the dust. Something tall and proud and very, very dangerous. At first I thought I recognized the form, but convinced myself I was just confused by the sudden disappearance of the wall. Then I cleared the dust from my eyes and saw that it was indeed Drusilla who glided into the room.

Indeed it was Drusilla, if Drusilla had grown another foot, had her back stiffened, and lived through several bad wars. Her clear eyes were now filled with fire, and her b.u.t.ton nose and bee-stung lips were twisted in a snarl. Her golden locks of hair extended in all directions, as if she had just shaken hands with a lightning bolt.

Her voice was no longer quiet, but still in perfect pitch as she said, "I have come for my property.