Arvin stepped over to the pouch and loosened its ties. Something glittered inside: gems—dozens of them. Seeing the way they sparkled, even in the dim light of the shop, Arvin realized what they were: diamonds. Small, easily portable and immensely valuable, they were a currency that could be spent anywhere in Faerun that Arvin might care to go.
Assuming they weren’t just an illusion, which gave him an idea. “How do I know they’re real?” he asked.
“Inspect them as closely as you like,” the rogue offered.
“May I use magic to evaluate their worth?”
The rogue hesitated. “No tricks,” he warned. “Or—”
“I know, I know. Or I’m a dead man,” Arvin continued.
“Don’t worry. There will be no tricks.”
He bent over the pouch and stirred the gems with a finger. They seemed real enough. Then he braced himself; it was now or never. He picked up the pouch and manifested the power that would allow him to listen to the thoughts of those in the room. Silver sparkles erupted from his third eye and streamed toward his hand, dissipating as they hit the gems; if his bluff held, the rogue would think the spell was targeting them. Out of the corner of his eye, Arvin saw the rogue frowning, as if listening to a distant, half-heard sound. Arvin wondered if the invisible person was doing the same thing.
An instant later, his question was answered. Two separate voices whispered into his mind: the thoughts of the rogue and the invisible person. Ignoring the former—he would be an expendable member of the guild, one who’d been told as little as possible—Arvin concentrated on the latter. The thoughts were those of a man who stood with his finger on the trigger of a crossbow, loaded with a bolt whose head was smeared with a poison more lethal than yuan-ti venom. Worse yet, the trigger was a dead man’s switch: if the invisible man relaxed his finger, even a little, the crossbow would shoot.
Arvin hid his shudder and gestured at the gems. “What do I have to do to earn this?”
“The girl,” the rogue answered. “When you find her, give her to us.”
Arvin nodded, concentrating on the thoughts of the second man. The fellow was worried about the diamonds, which were real enough. If he killed the psion, they’d scatter on the floor, and some might be lost in the cracks. If even one went missing, someone named Haskar would have his head.
“What will you do with Glisena?” Arvin asked.
“Ransom her,” the rogue answered. He gestured at the pouch. “For a lot of coin. What we’re going to demand from the baron will make that look like the contents of a beggar’s cup.”
Arvin nodded, still listening to the thoughts of the second man. The guild wasn’t going to ransom Glisena to the baron. No, that would be too dangerous. They’d sell her, instead. Lord Wianar would pay well for the girl—and there would be no need for dangerous exchanges or worrying about those damn clerics.
Arvin nodded to himself. Alarmed though he was at the thought that the local rogues’ guild knew who he was—they must have a spy in the baron’s court—he was relieved to find that their plan was so simplistic. He let his manifestation end, satisfied he’d learned everything he could.
Somewhere outside, a horn sounded three times: the morning call to prayer for Helm’s faithful. The rogue ignored it.
“How do I contact you?” Arvin asked.
“Enter any tavern and make this sign,” the rogue instructed. With a finger, he rubbed first the inside corner of his right eye, then the outside corner.
Arvin smiled to himself. It was one of the first words in silent speech the Guild had taught him.
“When you see someone make this sign,” the rogue continued, making a V with the first two fingers of his right hand and drawing them along his left forearm from elbow to wrist, “you’ll know you’ve found us.” He paused. “Do we have an agreement?”
Arvin nodded. “It’s certainly a tempting offer,” he said. “I’ll let you know.” He set the pouch back on the barrel—carefully, so none of the diamonds spilled.
“May I go now?”
The rogue opened the door and stepped away from it. As Arvin walked past him, he moved his hand to the hilt of his dagger. “Just remember,” he warned in a low voice. “We’ll be watching you. Don’t cross us.”
Arvin nodded. The rogue wasn’t telling him anything new. If Sespech’s rogues’ guild was anything like Hlondeth’s, Arvin’s every move would be marked.
It had been bad enough, finding Zelia in Sespech.
Now he had a second reason to watch his back.
Arvin went directly to Dmetrio’s residence. There was no need to be secretive about his destination—not when the local rogues’ guild knew who he was. The meeting with its two representatives had taken only a short time; the sun had risen, painting the winter sky a dull white, but it was still early in the morning. The same two militiamen were still on guard duty outside the residence. The younger man was yawning widely—and being glared at by his sergeant.
“Good morning, Rillis,” he called to him. “Don’t they ever let you sleep?”
