In The Cards

Spying may seem interesting and glamorous, but much of the time it can be extremely dull. In the plays and books it's all rooftop chases, fights to the death against half-ogres with metal teeth on top of moving carriages, and encountering beautiful women wearing nothing but some gold paint. In reality, you have to deal with sifting through boring account books, copying down inane conversations and being forced to listen to stupid people in the hopes of one of them mentioning something useful. Much more satisfactory to simply go in, kill, and then get out as quick as possible. Unfortunately that isn't always an option.

Excerpt from 'Interview With An Assassin'

And the aforementioned Reiltar Anchev will receive the area known as 'Sweetwater' in return for the payment of 30000 gold to Count Turnipsome…

Dekaras shook his head and put the contract back inside the drawer where he'd found it. While hardly an expert on real estate, the assassin reasoned that he'd think twice before doing business with anybody calling himself 'Count Turnipsome'. It was a name that practically screamed 'alias'. Even worse, Reiltar was apparently buying this 'Sweetwater' place without ever having actually seen it. Dekaras had a feeling the man was in for a bad disappointment. Not that he was about to point that out, of course. Anybody out to scam Reiltar Anchev would receive his silent blessing, if not his active help.

The assassin looked about the empty office he'd been sent to tidy up and decided that Reiltar Anchev actually had worse taste than his stepson Sarevok. Just about every piece of furniture was gilded in order to display the wealth and power of the Iron Throne. It wasn't particularly attractive. I've never seen anything quite this gaudy, not even in Thay, Dekaras thought. Wish I could have a picture painted of it. That ought to be enough to discourage Elvira from getting that diamond-studded writing desk she's been talking about. No, who am I trying to fool? She'd probably just decide to go with rubies instead…

Dekaras decided that he'd spent enough time in here for the moment. He couldn't risk taking too long or people might start to wonder what the supposed 'servant' called Jacen Bron was up to. No doubt he'd get another chance at Reiltar's papers before long. The only problem was that there were so many of them, and there was no way for him to know which ones were important. So far he hadn't come across anything particularly interesting apart from gaining some further understanding of the inner workings of the Iron Throne. Reiltar was apparently the leader of this part of the organization, and could run it more or less the way he liked, though he still had superiors to report to.

There were several people mentioned here and there who weren't easily accounted for however. Sarevok for one. On the surface he was Reiltar's son and second in command, carrying out his wishes. However, when you knew what else he was his role became much more sinister. Sarevok seemed to be involved with a lot of people, and Dekaras strongly suspected that it wasn't for the purpose of increasing the price of iron. Then there was the fact that Sarevok had several subordinates reporting directly to him and not employed for the Throne's regular schemes. The mage, Winski, took orders from Reiltar as well, though more rarely these days. And there was a woman as well, Tamoko, who so far was only a name. Her role was even more unclear. A definite pattern was emerging, and Dekaras wondered that Reiltar couldn't see it himself. Sarevok was building an organization within the organization, and one that was loyal to him personally. The question was just what he intended to do with it.

The assassin was still pondering this as he exited Reilar's office and made his way downstairs. As he did, he ran into the Head Butler, Sebastian Sorles. The man was looking rather twitchy, and he kept wiping his bald head with a dainty lace handkerchief. "Oh, Bron!" he said. "Lucky you're here, I need you upstairs in the 'Mask' meeting room. The Gentlemen are having an important conference, and I need somebody to attend to them. No food, so you should be able to handle it on your own. Just coffee and so on, and besides serving they'll be wanting you to handle a few other little mattes as well. Discreetly, mind you. You can do that, can't you?"

"Certainly, sir," Dekaras said with a thin smile. "You may count on me."

Apart from the 'Mask' meeting room the third floor of the Iron Throne compound also held the 'Mystra', 'Malar', 'Mielikki' and 'Milil'. Dekaras had no idea why they were called this, since there wasn't the slightest detail about them reminiscent of the gods in question. Probably some idiot had decided it was a 'cute' theme to go with. The 'Mask' room looked just the same as the others. It had a conference table in beech, surrounded by several uncomfortable chairs, and the walls were painted a blinding white that reflected the light from the magical lanterns and made your eyes hurt after five minutes. Reiltar was sitting at the head of the table, surrounded by several of his underlings. Dekaras recognized a few of them, including a large and surly man called Bruno and fat merchant named Tuth. Pity I don't have enough poison for them all, he thought as he silently served the coffee. I could have taken out much of the western branch of the Iron Throne in a single blow if I'd only known. But on the other hand, Sarevok is much more important.

Winski entered the room next, nodding briefly at Reiltar before sitting down at the other end of the table. He was still dressed in uniform black, Dekaras noticed. At least somebody around here has some taste. The assassin had been trying not to look to hard at Reiltar. The Iron Throne leader was a powerfully built man with a hard face and gray hair, and icy blue eyes. He was also currently wearing a particularly ugly purple jacket, almost as repugnant as it was fashionable among the nobles of the city. From the contemptuous look Winski gave it, it was obvious that he didn't fancy it much either.

The wizard was closely followed by a beautiful woman with the slanted eyes and olive skin of a Kara-Turan, her thick black hair done up in a braid that swept across her back as she walked. She had the light and confident step of a trained warrior, and Dekaras thought it likely that she was well versed in the use of the curved sword she carried. Her dark eyes scanned the room rapidly, displaying no emotion. Another dangerous one. Tamoko, unless I'm very much mistaken. Sarevok knows how to choose his allies, it seems.

"What are you doing here?" Reiltar asked with a sneer. "I sent for my son, not for his whore."

The woman's face hardened just a little bit, but when she spoke her voice was soft and outwardly calm. "Sarevok asked me to represent him at this meeting," she said, never taking her eyes off Reiltar. "He was obliged to leave the city on urgent business. However, I shall repeat everything that is said here back to him."

"Perhaps you ought to reconsider your phrasing a little, Reiltar," Winski smirked. "Somehow I don't think Sarevok would appreciate you referring to his lover as a 'whore'. And he does get so destructive when he's upset. Of course, she might just decide to kill you herself."

"I'll call her whatever I damn well please," Reiltar growled, but he did look a little worried. "Keep quiet and sit down, both of you. We're just about to begin." He motioned for one of the other people present to step forward. This person was an attractive blonde woman, dressed in very revealing green mage robes and with a hard and brittle edge to her smile. "Cythandria, do your thing."

The woman nodded and started chanting a spell, whereupon a complicated diagram with many multicolored arrows appeared upon the white wall.

"Good," Reiltar said. "People, we're here to discuss the Iron Throne's new Vision Statement, and also its new Mission Statement."

"There's a difference?" Winski muttered. "Like between Baator and the Abyss?"

Reiltar frowned but otherwise ignored the wizard. "Now, I was thinking about 'Think Globally, Act Locally'," he said. "As you can clearly see from these graphs the public seems in favor of that one, and it fits our mode of operation." He pointed at the dizzying collection of colored arrows with the air of a man explaining something obvious. "However, I have a few alternatives as well. Such as 'Iron Throne - Here To Help Build A Better World'."

For you, certainly, Dekaras thought.

"Or perhaps 'The Iron Throne - Merchants Who Care'."

About filling your coffers.

"Or my own personal favorite 'Iron That Won't Break'."

No, you merely rust. As I'm sure I will if I'm forced to endure this for too long.

"What's wrong with my suggestion?" Bruno snapped. "'Kill your enemies, laugh at the wailing of their women.' I liked that."

Reiltar tutted. "Public image reasons keep us from using it," he said. "And unfortunately the same goes for 'Squeeze All The Money You Can From The Customers' that Winski suggested."

The wizard shrugged. "It's what we do," he said. "And people know it."

"Ah, but they don't know it officially. There's a difference. Now let's see if we can get some work done…"

Three hours later the meeting was finally over. Dekaras decided that if there wasn't for the small matter of his infiltration of the Throne he'd have killed Reiltar before the first was past. The man deserved that for making him suffer through this torture. Worse, the whole thing had been entirely pointless, since the discussion had been completely centered on that Stupid Vision Statement. The assassin saw Winski give Reiltar a murderous glare as he exited the door and privately hoped for the wizard to make the Iron Throne leader burst into flames. No such luck however. Reiltar had kept his subordinates well supplied with water and coffee, and he'd refused to let anybody exit the room until he said so. Winski seemed to be in too much of a hurry to do more than fume quietly.

The assassin sighed with exasperation as he cleared the table of cups and glasses and placed them on a tray inside the dumb-waiter. He didn't like wasting his time. Then he suddenly stiffened, his entire demeanor shifting like that of a predator scenting prey. He'd heard something outside the door. Quiet voices, suddenly raised in argument. Silent as a ghost he slipped out the door and into the shadows in the hallway outside, until he was well hidden behind a large suit of armor and able to hear and see everything that was going on. The blonde mage, Cythandria, was standing in the middle of the corridor, her hands firmly planted on her hips and with a triumphant look on her pretty face.

"You might as well give it up," she was saying. "He wants me to be his favored one. And why wouldn't he? I'm by far the most beautiful of the two of us, and why would he want some swordswoman with rough hands and uncouth manners when he can have me? That's like thinking he'd prefer to dress himself in old rags rather than in silk and finest linen. Sarevok deserves the best, and that's me. Sorry to disappoint you."

Tamoko stood motionless, only the glimmer of hate in her dark eyes hinting at her true emotions. As she slowly put her hand on her sword her black braid slid across her straight back, making a whispering sound like a snake creeping across a floor. "If I truly believed you to be what Sarevok needs, then I might consider letting you touch him," she said. "I love him enough for that. But you are nothing but poison, seeing only the power he may bring you, and not the man himself. You are filth and you lie. Sarevok does not want you."

Cythandria laughed then, a pretty tinkling laugh. "I pity you, Tamoko," she said. "So naive. You think he doesn't appreciate my company? Then perhaps you can answer me this. Why would he let me, the woman you claim he despises, hold his personal journal in safekeeping for him while he is away? Why me, and not you?"

Tamoko was silent, her face just a little paler than before.

"Poor, poor Tamoko," Cythandria said with a malicious smile, pushing her bosom out further as she flicked her blond locks back across a shapely white shoulder. "Too unfamiliar with Common to even respond?" And then she shrieked as the Kara-Turan woman grasped her by her robe and slammed her into the wall behind her, pressing the tip of a very sharp sword into her throat.

"Now you will listen to me," Tamoko said, her voice quiet and deadly. "The only reason I do not slay you where you stand is that Sarevok might disapprove. As long as you serve him faithfully I will not. But take one step out of line and you will die, that I swear. Also, I will not take the diary away from you, unworthy as you are of keeping it. I will simply ask you to keep in mind that on the day I finally kill you I will be there with my Sarevok, helping him make an entry where your fate is described in great detail. You had better not lose it." She threw the other woman to the floor and walked away without looking back, wiping her hands disgustedly.

Cythandria slowly got to her feet, breathing heavily, and looking extremely upset. Then her face turned determined and she walked off in the other direction, deep in thought.

A diary is it? Dekaras thought as he stepped out from behind the suit of armor. Isn't that interesting. No more dull real estate contracts for me, I think I'll find myself some more exciting reading material.