Arvin watched, amused, as the weedy-looking boy—pretending to be one of the cluster of touts for the inns and taverns—crowded around the bottom of the gangplank with the other boys. The gangplank suddenly tipped—one of the dock workers must have bumped it—and the yuan-ti stumbled. The boy jumped forward to steady him. As he caught the yuan-ti, his left hand darted into a pocket inside the yuan-ti’s cloak. The yuan-ti bared his fangs in an irritated hiss, and the boy backed away, bowing and making a sweeping gesture with his right hand in order to draw onlookers’ eyes away from the object he’d palmed with his left.
The yuan-ti wasn’t fooled. His slit eyes narrowed, and he touched his pocket with slender fingers. “Thief!” he hissed.
Arvin, descending the gangplank, was surprised by the speed of the yuan-ti’s reaction, given the fellow’s earlier sluggishness. The yuan-ti lunged forward, grabbing for the boy’s wrist.
The boy was faster. The yuan-ti’s hand caught his shirt cuff, but he wrenched his arm free and danced back out of the way. His hands—now empty—were spread wide. “He’s crazy!” he protested. “All I did was help when he stumbled.”
The doxy moved into position at the base of the flight of steps. Arvin knew what would happen next. The rogue would turn and flee—only to run headlong into her. During this “accidental collision” whatever he’d just stolen would be exchanged. Eventually he would be caught, and searched, but by this time the doxy would be well on her way down the pier and out of sight, passing the object off to the next rogue.
The yuan-ti, however, wasn’t playing along. Instead of calling out for the militia—or whoever patrolled this city—he used magic. No words were spoken, no gestures used. but suddenly the young rogue’s face blanched and his hands started to tremble. Arvin knew just how he felt, having been the target of a yuan-ti’s magical fear himself.
“You’ve… made a mistake, sir,” he gasped.
The yuan-ti raised a hand and flicked his fingers. Acidic sweat sprayed from his fingertips, striking the boy in the face. The young rogue howled and clawed at his eyes.
“Give it back,” the yuan-ti demanded.
The boy turned and ran—blindly, crashing into the dock workers and shoving them out of the way. As he neared the base of the steps, the doxy opened her mouth as if to call out to him then thought better of it and turned away. The rogue waved his arms around, feeling blindly for her then staggered up the steps.
The yuan-ti turned to the officer on board the ship. “Use your wand,” he hissed. “Stop him.”
The officer shook his head… slowly.
Nearly spitting with anger, the first yuan-ti slithered after the blinded rogue. The stairs slowed him down somewhat—he slithered back and forth along them, humping his serpent’s body up them one by one—but the boy’s progress was even slower. He ran headlong into a pair of dock workers who were carrying a heavy sack between them and careened backward down the stairs. As he scrambled to his feet again, the yuan-ti lashed out, trying to bite him, and just missed. The yuan-ti’s fangs caught the boy’s collar, tearing it, and the boy shrieked. “He’s trying to kill me! Stop him, somebody!”
Arvin strode down the gangplank and onto the pier.
He caught the doxy’s eye, made his left hand into a fist, placed it on his open right palm, and jerked his hands upward. Help him.
The doxy’s eyes widened as she saw Arvin using silent speech. For a heartbeat, she hesitated. Then, as the young rogue on the steps screamed a second time, she shook her head and hurried away.
Arvin was furious. The doxy could easily have saved the boy by “accidentally” colliding with the yuan-ti. She still had eyes to see with, and could have run away, but she’d abandoned him instead. Muttering to himself—and wondering what in the Abyss he was thinking, getting involved in the local guild’s business—Arvin ascended the steps. He slipped his gloved hand inside the back of his shirt and grasped the dagger that was sheathed there. With a whisper, he vanished the weapon into his glove; it would make a persuasive backup if his psionics failed. He readied himself to manifest a charm and felt the familiar prickle of energy coiling at the base of his scalp, waiting to be unleashed. But as he reached the top of the steps, he paused. Maybe just maybe—this dispute would resolve itself.
The young rogue had backed up against the dais that held the statue of the gauntlet. He threw down whatever it was he’d stolen; Arvin heard a metallic clatter as the object hit the cobblestones. “Take it!” the boy screamed. “Take it. and let me be! You’ve blinded me—what more do you want?”
The yuan-ti slithered over to the object—a small silver jewelry case—and picked it up. He slipped the case back inside his pocket and smiled at the boy, baring his fangs. His long forked tongue flicked in and out of his mouth, tasting the young rogue’s fear. “Your death,” the yuan-ti answered belatedly. Then he slithered forward.
