As Alias and Dragonbait strolled down the hall, they spied the half-elven servant girl leaning over the railing, staring down at the lobby. Alias leaned against the railing beside her. The girl backed away in surprise, but her escape was blocked by the saurial. Alias turned back to look at her and smiled. "Are you the child," she asked,"who delivered the letters and breakfast?"
The girl gulped. "Mercy," she said, nodding, then added, "My name is Mercy."
"Well, Mercy, it's customary to wait for a tip," Alias said, pressing, not a copper or silver, but a gold coin into her hand. "Part of this is your tip, but part is also payment for services to be rendered. I want you to keep a lookout on our room. К anyone goes into it who shouldn't, I want you to tell me afterward. Will you?"
Mercy gulped again and nodded, her eyes wide with fright. Alias could tell that the girl was glancing nervously at Dragonbait.
"You look the way I must have the first time I saw Dragonbait," Alias said. "I was so frightened, I threw a dagger at him. Fortunately, I missed." "What did he do?" Mercy asked.
"Well, he dropped the puppy he'd just rescued, and ran off."
"Do you like puppies?" the girl asked Dragonbait in astonishment. The saurial nodded solemnly.
"I knew you two would have a lot in common," Alias quipped. She looked back down the railing. "So, is that the servant from House Dhostar?" she asked, jerking her thumb in the direction of the foyer, where a man stood with his back to them.
"His name's Kimbel," Mercy whispered, obviously anxious that the man not overhear her. "Kimbel what?" Alias asked.
"Just Kimbel," Mercy replied. "He doesn't like puppies." With that pronouncement the servant girl slipped around Dragonbait and made off down the corridor, disappearing up a back staircase.
Dragonbait hissed, and Alias turned her attention to her companion. The paladin stood stock-still, with only the very tip of his tail twitching. He was glaring at Kimbel as if he might bore a hole through the servant with his eyes. Alias recognized the signs. His shen sight had detected something he did not like. She studied the servant's back. Kimbel was a slender,almost spidery man. His hairline receded several inches, and what remained of the graying blond hair was pulled back into a severe bun at the nape of the neck, held in place by two long silver hairpins, which Alias guessed could be used as weapons in a pinch. His shirt, trousers, and vest were simply but expensively tailored, all in black. The vest was decorated with silver studs in a geometric pattern. On another man the outfit might have appeared dashing, but it hung tdb loosely on Kimbel's spare frame.
"I take it that not liking puppies is not Kimbel's only failing," she said in Saurial, grateful to have words that could not be overheard.
Dragonbait rested his hand on the hilt of his sword. Alias could detect the just-baked bread scent of his anger and a whiff of the violetlike scent that he used to commu nicate danger. -? "What color evil are we talking here?" she asked.
"Purple," the paladin whispered, though he could not be overheard.
Alias felt a knot in her gut. Purple evil was the most disturbing to her. Purple evil took pleasure in the pain of others. Purple evil liked to be the inflicter of that pain.
Just then, Kimbel turned around and looked up at them. He wore pince-nez, with darkened lenses that hid his eyes, giving him an inhuman look.
Dragonbait, Alias realized, would be very uncomfortable with this man as an escort. She wasn't thrilled with the idea either. "We should accompany him anyway," she said, "so you can check out the croamarkh with your shen sight." Dragonbait nodded curtly, steeling himself to the task.
Kimbel stood motionlessly, watching the pair descend the stairs and approach him. Alias spotted the trading badge of the Dhostar household pinned to the lapel of his vest, but it wasn't until they stood directly before him that the servant showed them any recognition. Then he bowed very low at the waist, his back as stiff as iron. Alias sensed no respect in the servant's action. The display was intended to prop up the fa?ade of Kimbel's gentility.
When he stood erect again, Alias worked at suppressing a shudder. His clean-shaven but weak chin, and the flat eyes behind the darkened glasses, gave him a snakelike appearance.
"Alias, I presume," he said, his lip curling upward in an approximation of a smile. "I am Kimbel, servant to House Dhostar. I have been instructed to await your reply."
"We'll speak to your master. Where can he be found?" Alias asked.
"He is at the Watch Docks, overseeing the customs arrangements. I have a carriage waiting outside to take you to him." He spun about and strode from the inn. Alias and Dragonbait followed at a deliberately leisurely pace.
The carriage, pulled by four black horses, was a huge, black monstrosity that, though capable of holding eight comfortably, was unable to negotiate Westgate's smaller streets. The house trading badge, a wagon wheel topped by three stars, was painted on the doors. According to the briefing Elminster had given Alias, the design granted by the Westgate city council to family Dhostar required the wheel color be tawny, but the ones marking the carriage had been gilded. Apparently Luer Dhostar liked to show off his political power.
Dragonbait found the carriage ridiculous and would have preferred to walk or even run, but he wasn't about to leave Alias alone with Kimbel. Before he would climb in, though, he studied the driver for a full minute, assuring himself that at least that servant harbored no evil intentions. He sat beside Alias, facing the front of the carriage.
Kimbel folded himself into a corner facing them. Dragonbait, using ordinary vision, stared at him, trying to gather more information, but the servant sat rigid, making no attempt at conversation, betraying nothing of himself. Alias kept her eyes on the view outside the carriage.
The city in daylight bustled with activity. In order to keep the main thoroughfares clear for carriages, the law required expensive and limited permits to load or unload wagons on those streets. To circumvent the fees, brute force had become the means of transport on the wider avenues, which were consequently crammed with milling legions of porters lugging boxes, urns, wicker baskets, crates, and passengers in riding chairs in an ever-milling dance. Added to the crush were shopkeepers trying to hustle customers into their establishments and vendors pushing carts or toting backpacks and hawking the wares they offered.
The carriage passed Mintassan's, but there was no sign of the sage. At one cross-street Alias caught a glimpse of people gathered around a dancing minotaur. Down another she thought she saw a street theater group performing atop a hay wagon, but the carriage moved too quickly for her to notice if Jamal was among the actors.
They came out to the Market Triangle, and Alias had a momentarily unobstructed view of the bay and the harbor, as the northern sections of the city sloped gently down to the sea.
The harbor was a tapestry of sails attached to ships from all over the Sea of Fallen Stars, cogs from Aglarond and Thesk, red cedar galleys from Thay, caravels from the Living City and the Vilhon Reach, strangely carved crafts from Mulhorand and Chondath, and carracks from nearby Cormyr and Sembia. Westgate was a major port on the Inner Sea. It stood at the entrance to both the Neck, the channel leading to the Lake of Dragons, and the northernmost caravan route to the west. It was also one of the few cities that did not belong to a larger kingdom, so there were no national politics influencing the city's trade with the outside world. Trade was the city's reason for being.
The carriage followed the road down the peninsula that sheltered the western half of the harbor from the bay and pulled to a stop at the end of the Watch Dock. The driver hopped down, unfolded the stairs, and opened the door.