It took Tarscenian a moment to realize that the woman was speaking to him. "I'd just as soon not put myself on display to the temple guards, friend," he answered. "I'll stay back here, near the trunk, if you don't mind. I'm no rabbit offering itself up for the fox's dinner."
"Some might say you already have."
Tarscenian saw that she held a dagger in her hand, and he knew that she could flick the weapon before he had a chance to draw his sword. She kept her face toward the commotion below, however, giving no outward sign to guards and goblins that she was anything but alone on the stairs. "They are distracted," she said suddenly. "Come around now."
Tarscenian obeyed her without question, his cloak snagging on the tree bark as he slipped behind the woman. She continued watching the centaur. The man-horse had dislodged the kender and now was accusing it of thievery. "What did the kender take?" Tarscenian asked.
"The centaur's silver neck-chain." The woman mur shy;mured without appearing to move her lips. "Short-stuff says he borrowed it, of course."
"Of course." Tarscenian decided it was time for intro shy;ductions. "I am .. "
"… Tarscenian, of course," she finished. "I'm called Mynx. Hederick has all of Solace looking for you, stranger. You're a fool to have come here. With the description of you that Hederick's priests have posted all over the city, anyone with sense could identify you, even in that cloak." She laughed softly and ran her hand through her hair, increasing its disarray. "Fortunately for you, Tarscenian, I'm the only one here with any sense right now."
"I'm looking for some people."
"Their names?"
"No names. I want to find a thieves' ring."
Mynx gasped, then laughed outright. "I hope you don't plan a career in picking pockets, Tarscenian. It strikes me that your talent as a thief might be somewhat limited. Men over six feet tall are rare in Solace. It would be diffi shy;cult for you to blend into a crowd, don't you think? How old are you, anyway?"
"My talents are greater than you think." Tarscenian murmured a magical chant and released a pinch of herbs from a pouch. Then he held out his hand. The double-bladed dagger owned by the Throtl woman gleamed in his palm. It was an illusion, not the real item, but as long as Mynx didn't touch it, she might not guess. Her eyes widened at the sight of the dagger, but she said nothing.
Tarscenian whispered another chant. At that moment, a screech sounded from below, and then the Throtl woman screamed, "The kender! He took my dagger! Guards! Did you see? It must've been him!"
The real dagger was still firmly in place on the woman's blanket-although Tarscenian's spell kept most people from realizing this.
Together, Mynx and Tarscenian watched the guards corral the kender and search the scrawny creature. The search of the kender's four pockets and seven pouches revealed three pieces of rose quartz, a silver ring, two money pouches, one crochet hook, three coins, six maps, a fragment of red leather, seven balls of twine, a chunk of yellow cheese, one child's leather sandal decorated with fake gems of colored glass, half a loaf of brown bread, some metal implements that Tarscenian recognized as lock-picking tools, and a quill pen. But no double-bladed dagger.
A dwarf and two humans, uttering terrible oaths, lunged forward to retrieve the ring and money pouches.
"Oh, are you the owners?" the kender asked, brown eyes wide under his bobbing topknot. "I'm so glad I found you! You should keep better watch on your valu shy;ables, you know. Solace is full of thieves. The next person who finds your belongings might not be as honest as I am."
Despite the protests of the humans and dwarf, the temple guards gave the kender only a shake and, laugh shy;ing, turned him loose. "Not likely the High Theocrat would want a thieving kender anywhere in his temple- even in the dungeons!" one guard called to another. They guffawed loudly and moved away.
Mynx was smiling, too, but sadly.
"What's wrong?" Tarscenian asked.
She turned and took Tarscenian's measure. "The kender reminds me of someone I knew once," she finally said.
"Once?"
"Hederick killed him."
Tarscenian opened his mouth to speak, but Mynx frowned. "So you want to find a thieves' ring," she said.
He inclined his head.
"With half of Erolydon on your trail, a thieves' ring would be crazy to help you."
Tarscenian remained silent.
"Still, it's clear you're no man of Hederick's," Mynx continued. "That's something in your favor. Perhaps I can introduce you to someone who could help you-for a price. But first you must show me more of this vaunted thieving skill of yours."
Tarscenian could only hope his modest magic would see him through whatever it was she had in mind. "What would you like me to steal?"
Mynx's brown eyes swept the crowd below. Then she pointed. "There. Take his badge of office-the death's-head ring."
Tarscenian followed her gaze, groaning inwardly. The man she had pointed at was Hederick's high priest. "Dahos will recognize me immediately," Tarscenian said.
"All the more challenge. Take it, or leave me alone."
Tarscenian was already on his way down the steps when he felt Mynx's gaze on his back. Remembering her warning, he slouched within his dark cloak. He might pass unnoticed, at least in this dim light. His mind raced to concoct a plan.
He bent forward and affected a confused, trembling walk, mumbling as he made his way through the crowd. He found the kender first. "Sweet creature, can you assist me?" he quavered. "I am weak and need help walking. Would you lend me your staff?" He pointed stiffly at the weaponlike, forked stick that the kender held.
The small creature gazed up. "It's not a staff, it's my hoopak. It's a weapon. And I can't lend it, but you can make me an offer anyway. My, what a huge hood! I can't even see in there. Are you human? You're certainly tall. Twice as tall as me. More than that, even. What do you-"
The kender reached up in an attempt to pull back Tarscenian's hood. The small creature's voice trailed off in a squeak a moment later as Tarscenian grasped his wrist in an iron grip. "Ouch! You're hurting…"
Tarscenian leaned over. "My back pains me, small one," he said loudly. "I need to lean upon your shoulders." Tarscenian bent closer and whispered, "Would you like to see something marvelous, kender?"
Curious, the creature stopped struggling. "What?" His brown eyes attempted to probe the depths of Tarscenian's hood.
Tarscenian spoke so softly that the kender had to strain to catch his words. "The high priest's ring is enchanted. The being who holds it can see things that ordinary mor shy;tals cannot."
"See what things?" the kender whispered.
'Into people's dwellings. Through walls, if you desire. If you stole . .. rather, if you 'borrowed' the ring, you could watch people, unseen. For example, you could view them as they empty their pockets at night. Think of the treasures you could behold!"
The kender's face glowed. "How exciting!"
"What is your name?"
"Kifflewit Burrthistle."
"Come with me, Kifflewit. And be still." They made their way around the periphery of the torchlight, Tarscen shy;ian leaning heavily on the kender. As they sidestepped blankets of trade goods, Tarscenian kept a strong grip on Kifflewit's right wrist, but he couldn't be certain the small creature wasn't filling his pockets with his other hand. Nevertheless, Tarscenian moved on, behind a goblin, around a pair of arguing dwarves, over a rivulet of scummy water, until he reached the young white centaur.
"Sir?" the centaur said. "Thou needest something?" He was a Crystalmir centaur, Tarscenian could see-leaner than Abanasinian centaurs, with an angular face and tilted violet eyes that appeared otherworldly beneath his shock of silver-white hair. No great intelligence shone in those eyes, but they were gentle. His face and torso were deeply tanned and muscular.
Tarscenian kept the kender behind him and made his voice tremble as much as his walk. "Please, noble crea shy;ture, have you alms for an old soul? I have had no food since yesterday. I am quite weak."
Tarscenian tilted his head. He peeked out from beneath the fabric of the voluminous hood. The centaur already had opened a pouch at its waist-the point at which the human torso became horse withers-and was holding out a coin.
"Here, old man," the centaur said. "Thou needest this more than I. I can sleep anywhere, and I am surely young and strong enough to forage for my meals."