“And I to mine!” Pook shot back, straightening in his chair. “I know not what connection this elf and barbarian hold to you, Entreri, but they have nothing to do with my pendant!” He collected himself quickly and sat back, realizing that the confrontation was getting too dangerous to continue. “I could not take the risk.”

The tension eased out of Entreri’s taut muscles. He did not wish a war with Pook and he could not change what was past. “How?” he asked.

“Pirates,” Pook replied. “Pinochet owed me a favor.”

“It is confirmed?”

“Why do you care?” Pook asked. “You are here. The halfling is here. My pen—”

He stopped suddenly, realizing that he hadn’t yet seen the ruby pendant.

Now it was Pook’s turn to sweat and wonder. “It is confirmed?” Entreri asked again, making no move toward the magical pendant that hung, concealed, about his neck.

“Not yet,” Pook stammered, “but three ships were sent after the one. There can be no doubt.”

Entreri hid his smile. He knew the powerful drow and barbarian well enough to consider them alive until their bodies had been paraded before him. “Yes, there can indeed be doubt,” he whispered under his breath as he pulled the ruby pendant over his head and tossed it to the guildmaster.

Pook caught it in trembling hands, knowing immediately from its familiar tingle that it was the true gem. What power he would wield now! With the magical ruby in his hands, Artemis Entreri returned to his side, and Rassiter’s wererats under his command, he would be unstoppable!

LaValle put a steadying hand on the guildmaster’s shoulder. Pook, beaming in anticipation of his growing power, looked up at him.

“Your reward shall be as promised,” Pook said again to Entreri as soon as he had caught his breath. “And more!”

Entreri bowed. “Well met, then, Pasha Pook,” he replied. “It is good to be home.”

“Concerning the elf and barbarian,” Pook said, suddenly entertaining second thoughts about ever mistrusting the assassin.

Entreri stopped him with outstretched palms. “A watery grave serves them as well as Calimport’s sewers,” he said. “Let us not worry about what is behind us.”

Pook’s smile engulfed his round face. “Agreed, and well met, then,” he beamed. “Especially when there is such pleasurable business ahead of us.” He turned an evil eve upon Regis, but the halfling, sitting stooped over on the floor beside Entreri, didn’t notice.

Regis was still trying to digest the news about his friends. At that moment, he didn’t care how their deaths might affect his own future or lack of one. He only cared that they were gone. First Bruenor in Mithril Hall, then Drizzt and Wulfgar, and possibly Catti-brie, as well. Next to that, Pasha Pook’s threats seemed hollow indeed. What could Pook ever do to him that would hurt as much as those losses?

“Many sleepless nights I have spent fretting over the disappointment you have caused me,” Pook said to Regis. “And many more I have spent considering how I would repay you!”

The door swung open, interrupting Pook’s train of thought. The guildmaster did not have to look up to know who had dared to enter without permission. Only one man in the guild would have such nerve.

Rassiter swept into the room and cut an uncomfortably close circle as he inspected the newcomers. “Greetings, Pook,” he said offhandedly, his eyes locking onto the assassin’s stern gaze.

Pook said nothing but dropped his chin into his hand to watch. He had anticipated the meeting for a long time.

Rassiter stood nearly a foot taller than Entreri, a fact that only added to the wererat’s already cocky attitude. Like so many simpleton bullies, Rassiter often confused size with strength, and looking down at this man who was a legend on the streets of Calimport—and thus his rival—made him think that he had already gained the upper hand. “So, you are the great Artemis Entreri,” he said, contempt evident in his voice.

Entreri didn’t blink. Murder was in his eyes as his gaze followed Rassiter, who still circled. Even Regis was dumbfounded at the stranger’s boldness. No one ever moved so casually around Entreri.

“Greetings,” Rassiter said at length, satisfied with his scan. He bowed low. “I am Rassiter, Pasha Pook’s closest advisor and controller of the docks.”

Still Entreri did not respond. He looked over to Pook for an explanation.

The guildmaster returned Entreri’s curious gaze with a smirk and lifted his palms in a helpless gesture.

Rassiter carried his familiarity even further. “You and I,” he half-whispered to Entreri, “we can do great things together.” He started to place a hand on the assassin’s shoulder, but Entreri turned him back with an icy glare, a look so deadly that even cocky Rassiter began to understand the peril of his course.

“You may find that I have much to offer you,” Rassiter said, taking a cautious step back. Seeing no response forthcoming, he turned to Pook. “Would you like me to take care of the little thief?” he asked, grinning his yellow smile.

“That one is mine, Rassiter,” Pook replied firmly. “You and yours keep your furry hands off him!”

Entreri did not miss the reference.

“Of course,” Rassiter replied. “I have business, then. I will be going.” He bowed quickly and spun to leave, meeting Entreri’s eyes one final time. He could not hold that icy stare—could not match the sheer intensity of the assassin’s gaze—with his own.

Rassiter shook his head in disbelief as he passed, convinced that Entreri still had not blinked.

“You were gone. My pendant was gone,” Pook explained when the door closed again. “Rassiter has helped me retain, even expand, the strength of the guild.”

“He is a wererat,” Entreri remarked, as if that fact alone ended any argument.

“Head of their guild,” Pook replied, “but they are loyal enough and easy to control.” He held up the ruby pendant. “Easier now.”

Entreri had trouble coming to terms with that, even in light of Pook’s futile attempt at an explanation. He wanted time to consider the new development, to figure out just how much things had changed around the guildhouse. “My room?” he asked.

LaValle shifted uncomfortably and glanced down at Pook. “I have been using it,” the wizard stammered, “but quarters are being built for me.” He looked to the door newly cut into the wall between the harem and Entreri’s old room. “They should be completed any day. I can be out of your room in minutes.”

“No need,” Entreri replied, thinking the arrangements better as they were. He wanted some space from Pook for a while, anyway, to better assess the situation before him and plan his next moves. “I will find a room below, where I might better understand the new ways of the guild.”

LaValle relaxed with an audible sigh.

Entreri picked Regis up by the collar. “What am I to do with this one?”

Pook crossed his arms over his chest and cocked his head. “I have thought of a million tortures befitting your crime,” he said to Regis. “Too many, I see, for, truly, I have no idea of how to properly repay you for what you have done to me.” He looked back to Entreri. “No matter,” he chuckled. “It will come to me. Put him in the Cells of Nine.”

Regis went limp again at the mention of the imfamous dungeon. Pook’s favorite holding cell, it was a horror chamber normally reserved for thieves who killed other members of the guild. Entreri smiled to see the halfling so terrified at the mere mention of the place. He easily lifted Regis off the floor and carried him out of the room.

“That did not go well,” LaValle said when Entreri had left.

“It went splendidly!” Pook disagreed. “I have never seen Rassiter so unnerved, and the sight of it proved infinitely more pleasurable than I ever imagined!”

“Entreri will kill him if he is not careful,” LaValle observed grimly.

Pook seemed amused by the thought. “Then we should learn who is likely to succeed Rassiter.” He looked up at LaValle. “Fear not, my friend. Rassiter is a survivor. He has called the street his home for his entire life and knows when to scurry into the safety of shadows. He will learn his place around Entreri, and he will show the assassin proper respect.”