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I opened my eyes. Bright light seared them like fire, and I winced away from the barred window. Something clinked as I rolled onto my side. I looked down. I saw five or six long, snaky things, which soon resolved into two thick chains. I followed the chains to the two big metal cuffs on my wrists. This was not good. I yanked on the chains and hurt my arms. This was not good at all. The only positive thing so far was that I hadn’t dreamed about her.
I stretched and tried to focus. The stone floor was cold, but not uncomfortable. At least my face wasn’t in a puddle of vomit this time. And it was quiet in here. Quiet enough to think.
So Farrahd had offed Kelsey. That had only come as a bit of a surprise. I’d been plumping for the wanna-be boyfriend, but Farrahd would work too. He had a nice motive, though I still didn’t understand how he could have done it so easily. Too bad he broke out of the spell so early. I’d be revealing our findings to Trade right now. And possibly taking that secretary of his out for a drink or three.
A shadow fell across the floor. Probably a guard looking in on me. Someone whispered, “Get up, you! Get up!”
Nobody bosses me around. Especially not a hired goon. “Folks lose teeth talking to me like that. You want to keep yours, you be pol…” I raised my head and saw a familiar face. “Imoen?”
There was a scraping sound as she fumbled with the lock. “Quiet. They’ll hear you.”
I sat up and immediately regretted it. The pain in my head was worse than any hangover I’d ever had, and I’d been marinating myself in cheap whiskey for years. “Did they hurt you?”
“Are you kidding? I’m an archmage, remember?”
“Yeah, you mentioned that once or twice.”
The lock sprang open with a muffled clang. Imoen bounded inside and worked on my bonds. Soon I was completely free.
“They really locked you up tight, Sarry. You must have scared them on the way in.”
“Yeah, I guess I did.” I rubbed my wrists where the cuffs had chafed them. “Too bad I never learned to pick a lock.”
“I’ll teach you sometime. Now, come on! Let’s make like a bread cart and roll buns.”
Our escape was pretty routine—dead guards, blazing spellfire, the whole nine yards. We were out on the street in thirty minutes. It would have been twenty-five if Imoen hadn’t decided to help herself to some of Farrahd’s valuables.
It was a beautiful day, the sky as clear as a paladin’s conscience. We went back to Trade’s office, but he was out. Off for a three-drink lunch, the secretary said with a wink. We left a message about Farrahd for Trade, and got a note in return. It was from Mirielle’s maid. She had some news for us, and would be at our office in an hour.
So we marched double-time back to the Crooked Crane. Snick was waiting behind the bar.
“Heard you got into some trouble, Mister A.”
News traveled fast in this town. “Nothing we couldn’t handle.”
“That’s good to hear. Wouldn’t want to lose my best customer.” He slid me a glass of whiskey, and I gulped it down gratefully. “Oh, yeah. You just missed a visitor.”
The maid, I guessed. “A dame?”
“Naw. Your accountant. He had some papers for you.” Snick hawked loudly and spit a wad of snot on the floor. “Man gives me the creeps. Always talking in numbers.”
Imoen hoisted herself onto a barstool. “Nothing wrong with numbers, Snick. Some folks say they make the world go round.”
“Only in Athkatla.”
I left them to their conversation and opened the office door. Floyd had definitely been here. The sheaf of papers on my desk would have told me that if Snick hadn’t. I sat down and picked up the top sheet. It said:
Dear Mister Anchev,
Please find enclosed the forms requiring your signature. I humbly beseech you not to take up the whole page this time—it is needlessly flamboyant and is a flagrant violation of the Amnish Taxation and Revenue Board guidelines.
Sincerely,
Floyd
I had to smile. I’d caught all sorts of hell for that last trick, but it was worth every minute. Some folks say that taxmen have no sense of humor. Floyd was living proof.
My smile faded as I realized just how many of those damned forms were on my desk. I swept them off and onto the floor. Floyd would just have to wait.
There was a book underneath that I recognized. Imoen had been bugging me to read it for the past week. Having nothing better to do, I opened it. It was one of those sappy romance novels that she liked. This one was about a paladin and a flesh golem. I was glad when the door opened.
It was the maid. “You got my message,” she said.
“I did. Come in.”
I watched her fumble her way to a chair. She looked like she’d faint if you looked at her funny. I wondered if Farrahd had gotten the drop on Sis.
“Something’s happened,” I said. It wasn’t a question.
She stared stupidly at me, her mouth hanging open.
“Well, go on then. Begin at the beginning, continue to the end, and then stop.”
“There was a…disturbance…this morning. Normally, I wouldn’t worry. The mistress can take care of anything. But this time, even she was at a loss.”
Maybe she didn’t hear what I said about starting at the beginning.
“I had just served breakfast to Lady Mirielle and Sir Anomen,” she said. “I went to the kitchen for another pitcher of orange juice. When I returned, Sir Anomen was standing over the mistress, raving at her.”
“What was he saying?”
“I don’t really know,” she confessed. “He was speaking so quickly…I could only make out something about Yusef Farrahd and going too far.”
Well, Imoen said that the man had a temper. And I had a feeling that was a major understatement.
“The mistress tried to calm him, but I could see that even she was shaking. Really, he was truly frightening.” She leaned forward and lowered her voice. “I wouldn’t be surprised at all if he did something…crazy.”
The door flew open with a bang, and the maid sat back in a hurry. Imoen ran into the room. “Sarry! We gotta go!”
“What?” I demanded. “Why?”
She grabbed my hat and threw it at me. “Yusef Farrahd died an hour ago.”
