The Black Bouquet

"We need to speak to Naneetha Dalaeve," Miri said as she laid a silver piece on the bar.

The gnoll failed to pick up the coin.

"Don't know nobody named that," it said. "What you drink?"

"She owns this place," Miri said.

The yuan-ti she and Sefris had interrogated had told them as much, and since the snake-man had feared for its life at the time, she was inclined to believe it.

"Don't know her," the gnoll repeated. "Buy drinks, or get out."

Miri sensed it would do no good to increase the size of the bribe.

"Two jacks of ale," she said.

The shaggy, long-legged gnoll fetched them, one hoped without drooling into them during the process, and the two humans stepped away from the bar.

"What now?" Sefris asked.

"See that doorway in the rear wall?" Miri replied. "It stands to reason that if the owner isn't out here, she's in the back somewhere. The problem will be reaching her. I've already had enough excitement for one day. I'd just as soon pass on fighting an umber hulk and half the goblin-kin in Oeble."

"Suppose I distract everyone?" the monastic asked. "Would you be comfortable bracing a wizard by yourself?"

"Yes," Miri said, "but what are you pla

Sefris's enigmatic smile widened ever so slightly as she said, "Don't worry. Everybody in Oeble loves knife-play, so I'll simply teach them a thing or two about the sport. Wait until everyone is looking my way, then make your move."

The monastic slipped through the throng toward the spot where an orc, a goblin, and a lizard man stood throwing daggers at a human silhouette crudely daubed on the wall. The otherwise black target had its eyes, throat, and heart picked out in red, presumably for bull's-eyes. Some of the Dance's patrons sat just to the sides of the mark, but they didn't look nervous because of it. Either they trusted the competitors' accuracy, or they were too drunk or reckless by nature to mind the blades hurtling past scant inches from their bodies.

Sefris pushed back her cowl. The rogues, goblin-kin, and scaly folk had already marked her as an outsider, but beholding her shaved head, they realized she was a more exotic visitor than they'd initially thought.

"Pitiful," she said. She wasn't shouting, not in any obvious way, but even so, her voice carried across the tavern back to where Miri was standing.

The orc turned. It was missing its left ear, and perhaps as some obscure form of compensation, it wore several jangling golden hoops pierced into the right.

"Are you talking to us?" it asked.

"I'm afraid so," Sefris replied. "All my life, I've heard how deftly folk in Oeble handle knives. I thought when I finally saw it I'd marvel. But the three of you throw like blind, arthritic old gra

The orc bristled. Considering that neither it nor its fellow players had missed the painted figure, it was entitled.

"Can you do better?" the humanoid grunted.

"Of course," said Sefris. "Anyone could."

Her movements a fluid blur, she snatched her chakrams from her pockets and threw them one after the other. Miri was impressed. She'd trained hard to learn to nock, draw, and loose her arrows rapidly, but she would have been hard-pressed to send a pair of them flying as fast as that.

The razor-edged rings thunked into the target's torso.

The one-eared orc spat. "That's not as good as my throwing. Last round, I hit both the eyes."

"I needed to warm up," Sefris replied. "I'm ready to play now."

"We already have a game going on," the goblin said.

The small, bandy-legged creature wore a royal-blue velvet cape that was both bloodstained and considerably too large for it. Presumably it had stolen the garment off a corpse.

"Begin a new one," Sefris said. "Unless you're afraid to play against someone who knows how to throw a knife."

"Why should we start over?" asked the orc. "We throw for gold. Have you got any?"

"Not much," Sefris said.

"Then stop wasting our time, before we decide to use you for a target."

"What I do have," the monastic continued, "is myself. If I lose, I'll do the wi

The offer shocked Miri and likewise silenced the crowd for a heartbeat or two. Then the onlookers started to laugh and babble.

"You say 'anything,' " said the orc. "It's liable to be just about anything. Anything nasty."

"What do I care about warm-blood females?" growled the lizard man.

"You could rent her out," said the one-eared orc. "The place is full of folk who'd relish a go at a fresh, clean human woman, even if she is bald. Not that you're going to win. I am."

"I take it my wager is acceptable," Sefris said.

"Yes," said the orc, leering. "There's just one thing. You challenged us to a knife-throwing contest, so you'll have to use knives, not those rings."

It pulled a pair of daggers from its boots, tossed them into the air, caught them by the blades, and proffered them hilts first

If Sefris felt dismay at the substitution, she didn't let it show.

She examined the knives, and then said, "These will do. What are the rules?"

"You throw two times every round," said the orc. "Hit the black, and it's a point. Hit the red, and it's five. Miss the red three turns in a row, and you're out. First one to three hundred wins."

Sefris nodded and asked, "Who starts?"

"Maidens first," the orc said with a grin.

Miri saw that the whole tavern was watching the bout, which meant it was time to sneak away. But she couldn't, not just then. She couldn't bring herself to abandon Sefris until she felt confident that the monastic had at least a reasonable chance of holding her own against the other players.

Sefris threw the daggers as quickly as she'd cast the chakrams. One pierced the target's heart, and the other, its throat She was equally accurate the following round.

Of course, even if she was victorious, it wouldn't necessarily mean she was out of danger. The losers might resent the humiliation and decide to molest her anyway. But for the moment at least, she was safe. The spectators perceived she had such a good chance that some of them were betting on her, and everyone wanted to see how the contest would turn out

Miri would do her best to return before the end, so that whatever happened, Sefris would have a comrade to help her escape harm. For surely, wager or no, the monastic had no intention of submitting herself to the brutality of a gang of ruffians and goblin-kin, nor as far as Miri was concerned, did honor require that she should.

The ranger skulked along the wall until she reached the doorway, then slipped through. On the other side was a corridor with chambers opening off to either side. Storerooms held beer barrels and racks of wine. Blocks of ice, an expensive commodity in the Border Kingdoms with their warm climate and lack of mountains, cooled the larder. Rather to Miri's relief, none of the red-and-white hanging carcasses was human, the menu she'd noticed earlier notwithstanding. Inside the steamy kitchen, a fat cook in a stained apron screamed curses and beat a cringing goblin assistant about the head with a ladle.

And that was it. The hallway didn't seem to go anywhere else. Yet the yuan-ti had sworn that the reclusive Naneetha Dalaeve lived somewhere on the premises.

If so, Miri had to find the mage's personal quarters quickly, before someone else stepped into the corridor and spotted her. Knowing that spellcasters sometimes used illusions to hide that which they wished to remain private, she peered closely at the sections of wall around her, and when that failed to yield results, she ran her hands over the brick.

At first that didn't work, either, but then roughness smoothed beneath her fingers. Once her sense of touch defeated the phantasm, her vision pierced it a moment later, and she was looking at an oak door.