XXIII. THEODERUS

Theoderus had many faults. In his own mind, the worst of these was a disorderliness that, despite his best efforts, crept into everything he did. He cleaned his rooms and organized his papers and materials the way any right-minded dwarven craftsman would, but something always ended up misplaced. And the misplaced thing would invariably be the worst possible thing to misplace.

This kind of carelessness had altered the course of his whole life. He had been a student of wizardry in Earthfast–a promising student, equally skilled at smithwork and dweomerwork, whose masters forgave his occasional sloppiness. Genius sometimes imposes that infirmity on those it favors, after all. Still, knowing what they knew, these masters shouldn’t have encouraged Theoderus’s interest in special munitions. But they did. The result was a fantastic explosion that leveled the southern tunnels of Earthfast, accomplishing in minutes what a century of orcish sieges could not. Theoderus’s exile was inevitable.

The wizard really should have been more careful with his materials, but–unknown to him and to everyone else but one–the fault wasn’t entirely his. Back then, the Red Wizards were just beginning to establish their enclaves across Faerun. They coveted efficient magical smithing techniques as well as efficient magical smiths. One of the apprentices in Theoderus’s workshop was a Thayan spy in quest of trade secrets and talented personnel. The spy placed two crates of volatile substances close to the forge fires, rightly anticipating that when Theoderus closed up, he would restore one crate to its proper place and completely neglect to do anything with the other. When Theoderus went into exile, the spy went with him. Eventually he led him into his Thayan lords’ service.

Now Theoderus had another disaster on his hands. He had been told to make several experimental pieces with a cursed sigil whose purpose he wasn’t allowed to know. Basic divination revealed little about the sigil’s enchantment, and Theoderus knew better than to pry any further than that. All he knew was that no one was to try on or use anything inscribed with it.

Several days ago, he inadvertently gave a parcel with the experimental goods to one of his customers. The customer returned the items promptly. How glad he’d been when that happened!–How mortified, too–How ashamed of his mistake, but glad no harm had come of it. The cursed equipment hadn’t even been lifted from the crate. He went back to work on several pieces destined for Jemel Ganza’s Four Quarters Warehouse. When he finished these, he wrapped them in coarse felt and placed them on his workbench besides the cursed pieces–also wrapped in coarse felt. If Tymora smiled on him earlier, she grimaced now, cringing at his stupidity.

This morning, Theoderus received an outraged note from Ganza. Four people were dead, the note said, and the Four Quarters Warehouse was haunted.