The Halfling's Gem by R.A. Salvatore

Author:R.A. Salvatore [Ismeretlen]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi, pdf
Tags: Forgotten Realms (Imaginary Place), General, Friendship, Epic, Assassins, Fantasy, Good and Evil, Juvenile Fiction, Fantasy & Magic, Fiction, Fantasy Fiction, Drizzt Do'Urden (Fictitious character)
ISBN: 9780786942893
Publisher: Wizards of the Coast
Published: 2007-08-07T04:00:00+00:00

8

A Plain Brown

Wrapper The simple wooden structure at the end of Rogues Circle seemed understated even for the decrepit side of the sprawling southern city of Calimport. The building had few windows, all boarded or barred, and not a terrace or balcony to speak of. Similarly, no lettering identified the building, not even a number on the door to place it. But everyone in the city knew the house and marked it well, for beyond either of its iron-bound doors, the scene changed – dramatically. Where the outside showed only the weathered brown of old wood, the inside displayed a myriad of bright colors and tapestries, thickly woven carpets, and statues of solid gold. This was the thieves’ guild, rivaling the palace of Calimshan’s ruler himself in riches and decor.

It rose three floors from the street level, with two more levels hidden below. The highest level was the finest, with five rooms – an octagonal central hall and four antechambers off it – all designed for the comfort and convenience of one man: Pasha Pook. He was the guildmaster, the architect of an intricate thieving network. And he made certain that he was the first to enjoy the spoils of his guild’s handiwork.

Pook paced the highest level’s central hall, his audience chamber, stopping every circuit to stroke the shining coat of the leopard that lay beside his great chair. An uncharacteristic anxiety was etched upon the guildmaster’s round face, and he twiddled his fingers nervously when he was not petting his exotic pet.

His clothes were of the finest silk, but other than the brooch that fastened his wrappings, he wore none of the abundant jewelry customary among others of his station – though his teeth did gleam of solid gold. In truth, Pook seemed a half-sized version of one of the four hill giant eunuchs that lined the hall, an inconspicuous appearance for a silver-tongued guildmaster who had brought sultans to their knees and whose name sent the sturdiest of the ruffian street dwellers scurrying for dark holes.

Pook nearly jumped when a loud knock resounded off the room’s main door, the one to the lower levels. He hesitated for a long moment, assuring himself that he would make the other man squirm for waiting – though he really needed the time to compose himself. Then he absently motioned to one of the eunuchs and moved to the overstuffed throne on the raised platform opposite the door and dropped a hand again to his pampered cat.

A lanky fighter entered, his thin rapier dancing to the swagger of his stride. He wore a black cape that floated behind him arid was bunched at his neck. His thick brown hair curled into and around it. His clothes were dark and plain but crisscrossed by straps and belts, each with a pouch or sheathed dagger or some other unusual weapon hanging from it. His high leather boots, worn beyond any creases, made no sound other than the timed clump of his agile stride.

“Greetings, Pook,” he said informally.

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