VII. SKULKING

“I’ll think about it. But I need to know where they came from. I need papers. And I only want women.”

“In an hour. Give me an hour. I’ll have everything you need.”

“Maybe. No promises.” The man left the inn. Corwyn shook his head, puffed, and stood up. Then he went behind the bar, said something to the barmaid, walked down a small corridor, and disappeared through a door. Ten minutes passed and he did not reemerge. The party hadn’t heard everything, but they’d heard enough. The enslaved people were close, perhaps in this very building.

***

Vahaera leaned over the bar. “Selgaunt is the place. It is the place. I’m a mercenary, you know. You get to see the world; you get to see coin; you get to see people’s worst sides. My employer there was one Lady Mora Sourgyl. A famous beauty, the young wife of a much older man, as sometimes happens. She had dark, wild eyes and an ethereal face–more elven than mine. You look just like her.”

A customer interrupted Vahaera and the barmaid, tapping his cup. The barmaid turned away from the fascinating half-Drow only reluctantly. 

::Do it now.::

Vahaera surveyed the barroom. She whispered some words softly to herself and brushed the air in the direction of the tavern’s front door. Something shattered. Had someone thrown a rock through the tavern window? Several folks ducked. Others looked around. Two men whose sober vigilance Cuatala didn’t like leapt to their feet and rushed out. Sure enough, she thought, Corwyn had security. 

The hin slipped through the crowd while Vahaera’s cantrip distracted them. She crept behind the bar and barmaid (once again the recipient of Vahaera’s flattering tales), down the corridor, and into the door where Corwyn had gone. On the other side was a trapdoor. 

***

When everyone was back at the table, there was some debate about what to do. Should they wait? (“We’ve waited long enough,” said Ystrien. “Corwyn or his undercover guards might become suspicious. Besides, I hate waiting.”) Barge into the back room? (No, for obvious reasons; “Well, I dislike all this skulking,” grumbled Graddick.) Sneak in later when the tavern was closed? (No: the slaves might be sold, and Cuatala said that somebody–perhaps Corwyn himself–slept in a loft near the trapdoor.) “Leave it to me, then,,” declared Vahaera. She stood and approached the barmaid.

“Listen–I mentioned I was a mercenary. Well, my companions and I had an appointment with your boss–Mr. Jaffe, I believe. He hired us through our captain, sight unseen. Was he here earlier? He was? Oh, of course!  I thought that was him! He looked busy, or we would have introduced ourselves. I really  thought he’d be back by now.” In a lower voice, she continued: “We’re to be posted downstairs. We know what’s down there. Would you mind if we went down there after him?”