Free Crypt of the Shadowking by Anthony Mark Page B

face, shattering his nose. The Zhent tumbled out of the wagon and rolled into the foul muck of the gutter.
    “Care for a ride, old woman?” Caledan asked with a smirk. Mari smiled back. The two took a moment to strip the dead Zhents of their dark leather uniforms.
    “You’re enjoying yourself, aren’t you, scoundrel?” Mari hopped up into the wagon as Caledan flicked the reins.
    “It never hurts to take pride in your work,” Caledan remarked as the wagon bounced along into the night.
    Before guiding the horses onto the steep road that led up the face of the Tor, Caledan halted the wagon. Quickly he and Mari donned the uniforms of the dead Zhents. Then they continued up the Tor, winding through the dim streets of the Old City. Both tensed when a trio of city guards rode by on horseback, but the guards simply saluted and continued on their way.
    Caledan brought the wagon to a halt at the base of a tall spire in the shadow of the city lord’s tower. Cormik’s multifarious eyes and ears had learned that this was Cutter’s primary countinghouse. The lion’s share of the money that her guards extorted from Iriaebor’s ships and caravans passed through here on its way to her coffers.
    “Are you ready?” Caledan asked Mari as he brought the wagon to a stop in the courtyard.
    “Worry about yourself, Caldorien, not me,” she said crisply as she stepped down from the wagon. Caledan merely shrugged, following suit. Mari opened the wagon’s rear door. Inside was a jumble of swords, shields, bolts of cloth, and pieces of ivory, but after a moment Caledan found what he was looking for—a small iron-banded casket filled with coins. He lifted, grunting with effort.
    Mari’s heart was beating swiftly in her chest, but she forced herself to walk boldly alongside Caldorien to the tower’s stout wooden door. She rapped on the portal with a black-gloved hand. After a moment the door swung open. A meaty-looking guard glared out unpleasantly at them.
    “We’ve got a delivery,” Caledan said.
    Mari was surprised at his suddenly brisk military demeanor. It was a convincing act. She nodded, doing her best to imitate Caldorien. “It’s the caravan gold,” she added harshly. “We had a good haul today.”
    “Avdis has been waiting for you,” the massive man said gruffly. Then suspicion glittered in his eyes. “Say, I don’t know you, do I?”
    Caledan shrugged. “Your loss, friend. Brim got sick tonight, and his partner, too.”
    “Sick?”
    Caledan nodded grimly. “Plague. But it’s all right. I don’t think he coughed on me. How about you?” he asked, turning to Mari.
    “Oh, not more than a couple of times,” she replied flatly. “He was almost dead, after all.”
    Swiftly, the massive guard retreated several steps, his meaty hand pressed to his mouth. “Gods, get on with you!” he said, waving them past quickly.
    “Thanks, friend,” Caledan said. “We’d hate to keep Avdis waiting.”
    He and Mari strode past as the doorkeeper repeatedly made the sign against the evil eye. They reached the floor of a spiral staircase and proceeded upward. They passed several floors where they caught glimpses of city guards gambling, sleeping, or sharpening weapons. Mari and Caledan exchanged concerned looks. The message was clear: getting out might not be as easy as getting in had been. The stairway opened up into a circular chamber.
    The chamber was lit all around with bronze oil lamps. Windows faced in all four directions. The ceiling was a high tiled dome. There was little furniture in the room besides a large table and a chair, on which sat a flabby middle-aged man with a pointed ratlike nose and beady ratlike eyes. The man was counting gold coins, muttering to himself as he piled them in neat, precise stacks. He looked like a child hoarding his favorite toys and seemed to be enjoying himself immensely. After long moments, Mari cleared her throat.
    “Blast it!” the rat-faced man—apparently Avdis— squealed.