Rassiter leaned forward, feigning surprise. Of course, the wererat had
already learned from Dondon of the Northerners' approach.
"They will be in the city soon," Pook continued. "You haven't much time."
They are already here, Rassiter answered silently, trying to hide his smile.
"You want them captured?"
"Eliminated," Pook corrected. "This group is too mighty. No chances."
"Eliminated," Rassiter echoed. "Ever my preference."
Pook couldn't help but shudder. "Inform me when the task is complete," he
said, heading for the door.
Rassiter silently laughed at his master's back. "Ah, Pook," he whispered as
the guildmaster left, "how little you know of my influences." The wererat rubbed
his hands together in anticipation. The night grew long, and the Northerners
would soon be on the streets - where Dondon would find them.
18
Double Talker
Perched in his favorite corner, across Rogues Circle from the Spitting
Camel, Dondon watched as the elf, the last of the four, moved into the inn to
join his friends. The halfling pulled out a little pocket mirror to check his
disguise - all the dirt and scruff marks seemed in the right places; his clothes
were far too large, like those a waif would pull off an unconscious drunk in an
ally; and his hair was appropriately tousled and snarled, as if it hadn't been
combed in years.
Dondon looked longingly to the moon and inspected his chin with his fingers.
Still hairless but tingling, he thought. The halfling took a deep breath, and
then another, and fought back the lycanthropic urges. In the year he had joined
Rassiter's ranks, he had learned to sublimate those fiendish urges fairly well,
but he hoped that he could finish his business quickly this night. The moon was
especially bright.
People of the street, locals, gave an approving wink as they passed the
halfling, knowing the master con artist to be on the prowl once more. With his
reputation, Dondon had long become ineffective against the regulars of
Calimport's streets, but those characters knew enough to keep their mouths shut
about the halfling to strangers. Dondon always managed to surround himself with
the toughest rogues of the city, and blowing his cover to an intended victim was
a serious crime indeed!
The halfling leaned back against the corner of a building to observe as the
four friends emerged from the Spitting Camel a short time later.
For Drizzt and his companions, Calimport's night proved as unnatural as the
sights they had witnessed during the day. Unlike the northern cities, where
nighttime activities were usually relegated to the many taverns, the bustle of
Calimport's streets only increased after the sun went down.
Even the lowly peasants took on a different demeanor, suddenly mysterious
and sinister.
The only section of the lane that remained uncluttered by the hordes was the
area in front of the unmarked structure on the back side of the circle: the
guildhouse. As in the daylight, bums sat against the building's walls on either
side of its single door, but now there were two more guards farther off to
either side.
"If Regis is in that place, we've got to find our way in," Catti-brie
observed.
"No doubt that Regis is in there," Drizzt replied. "Our hunt should start
with Entreri."
"We've come to find Regis," Catti-brie reminded him, casting a disappointed
glance his way. Drizzt quickly clarified his answer to her satisfaction.
"The road to Regis lies through the assassin," he said. "Entreri has seen to
that. You heard his words at the chasm of Garumn's Gorge. Entreri will not allow
us to find Regis until we have dealt with him."
Catti-brie could not deny the drow's logic. When Entreri had snatched Regis
from them back in Mithril Hall, he had gone to great pains to bait Drizzt into
the chase, as though his capture of Regis was merely part of a game he was
playing against Drizzt.
"Where to begin?" Bruenor huffed in frustration. He had expected the street
to be quieter, offering them a better opportunity to scope out the task before
them. He had hoped that they might even complete their business that very night.
"Right where we are," Drizzt replied, to Bruenor's amazement.
"Learn the smell of the street," the drow explained. "Watch the moves of its
people and hear their sounds. Prepare your mind for what is to come."
"Time, elf!" Bruenor growled back. "Me heart tells me that Rumblebelly's
liken to have a whip at his back as we stand here smelling the stinkin' street!"
"We need not seek Entreri," Wulfgar cut in, following Drizzt's line of
thinking. "The assassin will find us."
Almost on cue, as if Wulfgar's statement had reminded them all of their
dangerous surroundings, the four of them turned their eyes outward from their
little huddle and watched the bustle of the street around them. Dark eyes peered
at them from every corner; each person that ambled past cast them a sidelong
glance. Calimport was not unaccustomed to strangers - it was a trading port,
after all - but these four would stand out clearly on the streets of any city in
the Realms. Recognizing their vulnerability, Drizzt decided to get them moving.
He started off down Rogues Circle, motioning for the others to follow.
Before Wulfgar, at the tail of the forming line, had even taken a step,
however, a childish voice called out to him from the shadows of the Spitting
Camel.
"Hey," it beckoned, "are you looking for a hit?"
Wulfgar, not understanding, moved a bit closer and peered into the gloom.
There stood Dondon, seeming a young, disheveled human boy.
"What're yer fer?" Bruenor asked, moving beside Wulfgar.
Wulfgar pointed to the corner.
"What're yer fer?" Bruenor asked again, now targeting the diminutive,
shadowy figure.
"Looking for a hit?" Dondon reiterated, moving out from the gloom.
"Bah!" Bruenor snorted, waving his hand. "Just a boy. Get ye gone, little
one. We've no time for play!" He grabbed Wulfgar's arm and turned away.
"I can set you up," Dondon said after them.
Bruenor kept right on walking, Wulfgar beside him, but now Drizzt had
stopped, noticing his companions' delay, and had heard the boy's last statement.
"Just a boy!" Bruenor explained to the drow as he approached.
"A street boy," Drizzt corrected, stepping around Bruenor and Wulfgar and
starting back, "with eyes and ears that miss little.
"How can you set us up?" Drizzt whispered to Dondon while moving close to
the building, out of sight of the too curious hordes.
Dondon shrugged. "There is, plenty to steal; a whole bunch of merchants came
in today. What are you looking for?"
Bruenor, Wulfgar, and Catti-brie took up defensive positions around Drizzt
and the boy, their eyes outward to the streets but their ears trained on the
suddenly interesting conversation.
Drizzt crouched low and led Dondon's gaze with his own toward the building
at the end of the circle.
"Pook's house," Dondon remarked offhandedly. "Toughest house in Calimport."
"But it has a weakness," Drizzt prompted.
"They all do," Dondon replied calmly, playing perfectly the role of a cocky
street survivor.
"Have you ever been in there?"
"Maybe I have."
"Have you ever seen a hundred gold pieces?"
Dondon let his eyes light up, and he purposely and pointedly shifted his
weight from one foot to the other.
"Get him back in the rooms," Catti-brie said. "Ye be drawing too many looks
out here."
Dondon readily agreed, but he shot Drizzt a warning in the form of an icy
stare and proclaimed, "I can count to a hundred!"
When they got back to the room, Drizzt and Bruenor fed Dondon a steady
stream of coins while the halfling laid out the way to a secret back entrance to
the guildhouse. "Even the thieves," Dondon proclaimed, "do not know of it!"
The friends gathered closely, eager for the details.
Dondon made the whole operation sound easy.
Too easy.
Drizzt rose - and turned away, hiding his chuckle from the informant. Hadn't
they just been talking about Entreri making contact? Barely minutes before this
enlightening boy so conveniently arrived to guide them.
"Wulfgar, take off his shoes," Drizzt said. His three friends turned to him
curiously. Dondon squirmed in his chair.
"His shoes," Drizzt said again, turning back and pointing to Dondon's feet.
Bruenor, so long a friend of a halfling, caught the drow's reasoning and didn't
wait for Wulfgar to respond. The dwarf grabbed at Dondon's left boot and pulled
it off, revealing a thick patch of foot hair - the foot of a halfling.
Dondon shrugged helplessly and sank back in his chair. The meeting was
taking the exact course that Entreri had predicted.
"He said he could set us up," Catti-brie remarked sarcastically, twisting
Dondon's words into a more sinister light.
"Who sent ye?" Bruenor growled.
"Entreri," Wulfgar answered for Dondon. "He works for Entreri, sent here to
lead us into a trap." Wulfgar leaned over Dondon, blocking out the candlelight
with his huge frame.
Bruenor pushed the barbarian aside and took his place. With his boyish
looks, Wulfgar simply could not be as imposing as the pointy-nosed, red-bearded,
fire-eyed dwarven fighter with the battered helm. "So, ye little sneakster,"
Bruenor growled into Dondon's face. "Now we deal for yer stinkin' tongue! Wag it
the wrong way, and I'll be cutting it out!"
Dondon paled - he had that act down pat - and began to tremble visibly.
"Calm yerself," Catti-brie said to Bruenor, playing out a lighter role this
time. "Suren ye've scared the little one enough."
Bruenor shoved her back, turning enough away from Dondon to toss her a wink.
"Scared him?" the dwarf balked. He brought his axe up to his shoulder. "More
than scarin' him's in me plans!"
"Wait! Wait!" Dondon begged, groveling as only a halfling could. "I was just
doing what the assassin made me do, and paid me to do."
"You know Entreri?" Wulfgar asked.
"Everybody knows Entreri," Dondon replied. "And in Calimport, everybody
heeds Entreri's commands!"
"Forget Entreri!" Bruenor growled in his face. "Me axe'll stop that one from
hurting yerself."
"You think you can kill Entreri?" Dondon shot back, though he knew the true
meaning of Bruenor's claim.
"Entreri can't hurt a corpse," Bruenor replied grimly. "Me axe'll beat him
to yer head!"
"It is you he wants," Dondon said to Drizzt, seeking a calmer situation.
Drizzt nodded, but remained silent. Something came across as out of place in
this out of place meeting.
"I choose no sides," Dondon pleaded to Bruenor, seeing no relief forthcoming
from Drizzt. "I only do what I must to survive."
"And to survive now, ye're going to tell us the way in," Bruenor said. "The
safe way in."
"The place is a fortress," Dondon shrugged. "No way is safe." Bruenor
started slipping closer, his scowl deepening.
"But, if I had to try," the halfling blurted, "I would try through the
sewers."
Bruenor looked around at his friends.
"It seems correct," Wulfgar remarked.
Drizzt studied the halfling a moment longer, searching for some clue in
Dondon's darting eyes. "It is correct," the drow said at length.
"So he saved his neck," said Catti-brie, "but what are we to do with him?
Take him along?"
"Ayuh," said Bruenor with a sly look. "He'll be leading!"
"No," replied Drizzt, to the amazement of his companions. "The halfling did
as we bade. Let him leave."
"And go straight off to tell Entreri what has happened?" Wulfgar said.
"Entreri would not understand," Drizzt replied. He looked Dondon in the eye,
giving no indication to the halfling that he had figured out his little ploy
within a ploy. "Nor would he forgive."
"Me heart says we take him," Bruenor remarked.
"Let him go," Drizzt said calmly. "Trust me."
Bruenor snorted and dropped his axe to his side, grumbling as he moved to
open the door. Wulfgar and Catti-brie exchanged concerned glances but stepped
out of the way.
Dondon didn't hesitate, but Bruenor stepped in front of him as he reached
the door. "If I see yer face again," the dwarf threatened, "or any face ye might
be wearin', I'll chop ye down!"
Dondon slipped around and backed into the hall, never taking his eyes off
the dangerous dwarf, then he darted down the hall, shaking his head at how
perfectly Entreri had described the encounter, at how well the assassin knew
those friends, particularly the drow.
Suspecting the truth about the entire encounter, Drizzt understood that
