IV. BLACKALBUCK’S SWAP SHOP
When the coast turned black, they knew they were approaching Melvaunt. The city was famous across Faerun for its shroud of sooty air, the result of smoke from many smithies mingling with ever-present coastal fogs. Once they disembarked and began wandering the streets, they were in it. More obvious from the outside than the inside, it was nevertheless everywhere. It made the stone buildings, narrow lanes, and people look gloomy. It robbed everything of color. It stung eyes and made the party reluctant to breathe too deep. The weather was cold, and early snow lay here and there, but nowhere was it pristine. A thin layer of oily ash had settled over every drift.
They soon found the marketplace. It was noon, and people crowded its lanes and stood at its stalls. Beyond the section of the market where mundane (and some magical) goods were bought and sold was the section where humans and demihumans were exchanged for money. It was the first time either Ystrien or Graddick had witnessed such a thing–people in cages, people talking about what made other people valuable, people buying people. Graddick did not know if he was duty-bound to intervene. He put his hand to the hilt of his sword. Ystrien touched his shoulder. “More harm would come of it than good, cousin.” Nearby, Vahaea was examining some fine fabrics.
“I used to sew, to make things. Drapes, coverlets, cloaks,” she mused. “I haven’t for a while.”
***
The High Morninglord’s contact, Ulblyn Blackalbuck, a halfling, ran a shop adjacent to the marketplace. When the trio found him, he was talking to another halfling. Ulblyn had thick, reddish sideburns and the kind of gentle eyes that can harden into contempt an instant. The other looked like a young human girl but for her smileless lips. Her skin was pale, her lank hair dun.
“Yes. Devil’s Fire,” he was saying to her.
“I see,” she said. Her voice sounded too deep for her tiny body. No one knew the accent.
When Ulblyn noticed the three newcomers he took a step back. He smiled as he did so–he was a shopkeeper, after all–but his readiness told them he was familiar with trouble and eager to fight it.
Ystrien made his introductions quickly and declared that he had been entrusted with a message and package from Lathander’s church in Selgaunt. Then he offered Ulblyn those items. The shopkeeper seized the letter and read it quickly but did not open the package, much to Ystrien’s disappointment. (The novice had understood that part of his trial was not letting his natural curiosity get the better of him, but he had expected he would at last learn what was inside.)
“Thank you,” said Ulblyn. “Cuatala,” he said to the other halfling. “The gods have given us just what we needed, and just in time.”
“Them?” asked Cuatala, looking over the knight, the novice, and the woman.
“Them,” agreed Ulblyn.
