time, but it could be an important clue."
A thought shot into Adon's mind, and the cleric smiled. "The temples," he said simply. "Bane could have been plating off the
word 'faith.' Not unusual for a god these days." Adon ran his hand over his scar. "And Faulkner said there were a number of deserted
temples in the city. The Tablet of Fate could be hidden in one of them."
"Well, that's a start anyway," Midnight told Adon, then turned to the fighter. "As to your other question, Kel, there's only one thing
we can do with the Tablet of Fate when we find it. Elminster explained that there are Celestial Stairways - paths to the Planes -
scattered throughout Faerun. Only gods or mages of Elminster's class can see them and touch them. A mortal can walk through one
of the stairways and not even know it's there."
Midnight paused and considered her next statement carefully. "I've seen two Celestial Stairways, and I think we should bring the
Tablet of Fate to one of these paths and give it to Helm. But first, one of us must gain an audience with Torm. He'll know where the
closest stairway can be found." The mage paused again and put her hand on Adon's shoulder. "This should be your task. As an
experienced cleric -"
Adon rose from the table, his chair falling away behind him. "I will not!" he shouted, and the few patrons in the taproom turned to
stare at him. "I cannot speak with a god!"
A few murmurs ran through the room, and Midnight hardened her heart to the sight of the frightened, childlike cleric. "You must,"
the raven-haired mage said at last. "Kelemvor is needed to look for safe passage for us, so we can leave 'Tantras quickly - once we
find the tablet."
The fighter took a swig of ale. "Aye," he grumbled. "We must assume the Celestial Stairway will be somewhere far from this city.
If it's not, all well and good. But if it is, we must be prepared."
The cleric's hands were trembling, and his flesh had gone pale. When he saw the inn's patrons staring at him, though, Adon
picked up his chair and seated himself at the table once more.
"I intend to return the Tablet of Fate to the Planes," Midnight said with a finality that frightened Kelemvor, though he couldn't tell
why. "It's the only chance we have of ending the madness that has infected Faerun. As for our immediate plans, we should start the
search immediately, and meet back here in two days."
"There's only one thing you're overlooking," Adon noted softly, his hands covering his face as he spoke in a low, trembling
voice.
"What's that?" Midnight asked.
"There are two Tablets of Fate," Adon answered bitterly. "What happens when you stand before the God of Guardians with only
one of them and he demands to know what you've done with the other one?"
"I'll tell him the truth," Midnight said flatly. "Helm has no reason to harm me."
Adon chuckled a strained, nervous laugh. "Strange," the scarred cleric commented. "I remember Mystra trying to do the same
thing you propose... before Helm tore her, limb from limb, that is." Adon rose from the table and left his companions to ponder the
observation alone in his room.
Eventually, though, Midnight and Kelemvor left the table to return to their rooms. The heroes had just reached the stairs, when a
white-bearded minstrel carrying a harp entered the Lazy Moon and approached the bar.
"We do not perform charity work," the innkeeper growled with a voice that reeked of snobbery. "If free lodgings are what you
seek, I would advise the local poorhouse."
The heroes turned away and walked up the stairs, and the minstrel watched them until they had moved from sight. Only then did
the white-bearded man turn his attentions to the innkeeper.
"I have money, and I have very little patience," the minstrel snapped as he opened his hand and displayed a fistful of gold
pieces.
"How long will you be staying?" the innkeeper asked politely, his back straightening, his tone instantly changing.
The minstrel frowned deeply. "I don't need lodgings. I need information. What can you tell me about the couple that just went
upstairs?"
The innkeeper looked around to make sure that no one was listening. "That depends on what it's worth to you, "he whispered
slyly.
"It's worth a great deal," the minstrel said as he shook his fistful of gold pieces and stared at the stairway, just where the heroes
had stood. The smile faded from the minstrel's face. "More than you could ever imagine."
Fingers greedily kneading the air, the innkeeper grinned "I have a great imagination."
"Then tell me everything," the minstrel said quietly as he handed the gold to the innkeeper. "For there is little time, and I have
much to learn..."
XII
TEMPLES AND BELLS
Outside the Lazy Moon Inn, the heroes said their farewells. Midnight kissed Kelemvor for the fifth and final time then brushed
the hair from his face. His strong, proud features were much more relaxed these days, now that the curse had been removed. Today,
however, a shadow of worry and doubt had fallen upon him.
"Perhaps we should stay together after all," Kelemvor told the mage. "I don't like the idea of you risking your life -"
The mage placed her fingers to Kelemvor's lips then calmly noted, "We're all at risk. The best chance we have is to get what we
came for and move on quickly. You know that we can cover more ground and accomplish our task faster this way."
The fighter covered the mage's hand with his own. "Aye," he grumbled, and kissed her fingers. "Be careful."
"You're telling me to take care?" Midnight asked sarcastically and patted the side of the fighter's face as she said goodbye to
Adon and left the Lazy Moon Inn. She traveled south for two blocks until she came to a one-story, gray stone building with no visible
windows. A sign had been placed above the ragged doorway, and it read, "The House of Meager Living."
The mage pushed at the partially open door, but it wouldn't open. At first she thought the door was simply stuck, then, through
the door, she saw a man's arm fall to the floor. There was a soft moan from inside the building and Midnight pushed harder at the
door. The sound of a body sliding across the floor accompanied her efforts. Once the door was open far enough, Midnight slipped
inside the dark building.
The interior of the House of Meager Living was lit by a handful of small torches set in metal braces attached to the main support
beams. A dozen metal beds bereft of any covering were scattered throughout the room, and well over seventy men, women, and
children crowded the single room that took up most of the building's few hundred square feet. Volunteers moved among the poor, the
homeless, and the sick, bringing food from an open kitchen at the rear.
Midnight looked down and saw the man who had been lying near the door. He was in his late forties, and he wore a tunic that
might have once belonged to a guardsman, save that there were now holes where any official markings might have been. Sandals
made from worn strips of leather hung on his feet, and his hands were pressed tightly to his chest.
"Can I help you?" Midnight asked softly as she took a step toward the man and bent down. Suddenly the man struck out, his
movement surprisingly quick. Midnight fell back, avoiding the blow, and realized that the man held a large, rusted spike in his hand.
The mage scrambled backward, moving out of the derelict's range. But he didn't try to strike her again. He merely hugged the spike to
his chest and stared at the floor.
Midnight felt hands grip her arms then she was dragged to her feet. The mage turned to face a middle-aged woman and a boy
who might have been her son. Both were dressed in the same clean, white clothes as the other volunteers.
"What's your business here?" the woman asked gruffly, folding her arms across her chest.
"I needed a guide to take me around the city," Midnight explained as she got to her feet. "I thought perhaps -"
"You thought you'd get some cheap labor," the woman snapped. "The government has an office for hirelings on Hillier Way.
You'd best go there."
Midnight frowned at the woman. "I thought I could find some resident of the city who knew its lore and its customs better than
some bored government worker." She paused and pointed toward the roomful of indigents. "And I was trying to help."
"Do you want to start a riot in here?" the woman hissed softly. "If you offer gold here, they'll kill each other for it. Be off with you."
"Wait! I'll do it," the young man said as Midnight turned to leave. "I work for the city government when I'm not here. They take a
lot of what I earn, though. You think we can have an agreement just between the two of us?"
"That would be fine," Midnight answered, looking at the excited boy through narrowed eyes. "Just as long as part of the
arrangement is that you don't chew my ear with a lot of questions along the way."
"Well," the boy said in mock outrage, his eyes wide. He'd lived for no more than sixteen winters, but he was tall and strong, with
thick, black hair that curled at his shoulders. "Privacy, eh? I have no problem with that, as long as the price is agreeable."
Midnight smiled, and the boy turned to the middle-aged woman at his side. "Can you spare me, mother?" he asked, practically
panting with enthusiasm.
"Spare you? Would that I never had you," she snapped. "Begone and good riddance. If any of the city's men come by looking
for you, I'll tell them you're busy visiting with your crazed aunt from the family's bad side."
A few minutes later, Midnight and the boy were on the street. "By the way," the boy said brightly, "my name is Quillian. You
didn't tell me yours."
"That's true," Midnight answered flatly.
Quillian whistled. "Well, if you're not going to tell me your name, will it be all right if I call you 'milady?"
Midnight sighed. "Under the circumstances, yes. Just remember our agreement. I'll ask all the questions."
One side of the boy's mouth curled up in a wicked smile." I bet you're a thief, come to rob our city blind."
Midnight stopped and stared at the black-haired boy. She was obviously angry.
"I'm just joking," Quillian said quickly, holding his hand up to stop the mage from admonishing him. "Still," he added after they
had started walking again, "if you were a thief, I wouldn't mind helping you. This city's robbed me blind all my life."
Midnight shook her head. "You're a bit young to be that jaded."
"Age has nothing to do with it," Quillian noted bitterly. "You saw the conditions in the poorhouse. If my father hadn't died a war
hero and left a decent pension for us, my mother and I would be residents in that nasty hole, not just volunteers."
The mage imagined Quillian dressed in a pauper's rags, the spark in his eyes drowned by hunger and want. The mage frowned
and pushed the thoughts from her mind. "I'm not a thief, but I'll pay you well. Just do your job and there'll be no problems between
us."
Quillian smiled and brushed a stray piece of hair from his eyes. "Where do you want to start?" he asked.
"How about the city's temples," Midnight answered as nonchalantly as possible. "Any place of worship that you know about."
"That's easy enough," Quillian said. "Let's start with the Temple of Torm. That's just -"
"I believe I can find that one without a guide," the mage told the boy as she gestured toward the beautiful spires to the north.
A look of embarrassment crossed Quillian's face. "Reasonable point," the dark-haired lad said sheepishly. "Let's head toward
the market, then. It's nearby and there used to be a small house of worship there."
The two walked in silence for a little while. As Midnight and Quillian got closer to the market, the crowds grew in size. Soon the
mage could smell food cooking and hear the droves of people haggling about prices and the merchants yelling to attract customers.
"Up ahead, on the right, there's a butcher shop," Quillian noted as they entered a crowded square. "The building used to be a
temple to Waukeen, the Goddess of Trade. Are you familiar with Liberty's Maiden?"
Midnight shrugged. "Vaguely. I remember something about a golden-haired woman with lions at her feet.''
"That's how they say she appears when she walks among us. I haven't seen her in town," the boy said sarcastically, "so I
couldn't tell you if that's true or not. Tantras was blessed with Lord Torm instead."
The mage found the boy's sarcasm surprising, especially compared to the enthusiasm about Torm's presence she'd heard from
the watchmen at the dock. "Aren't you a follower of Torm?" Midnight asked.
"Not usually. But I can be when it's necessary," Quillian said.
I'd best change the subject, Midnight decided, noting the anger in Quillian's voice when he mentioned the God of Duty's name.
"What can you tell me about Waukeen's temple?" the mage asked.
"There were statues of Waukeen and her lions in front of the place. The Tormites purchased one of the lions to decorate their
new temple. I don't know what happened to the other statues or the rest of the fixtures."
The pair crossed the busy square. Midnight stopped in front of the butcher shop, waiting for the crowd to thin out a bit before
she entered the busy establishment. She turned to Quillian and put her hand on his shoulder. "I hope that the money I'm paying you
