Chapter 31. Poison

rescent Blade seized the late arrival of Uriel Ninnocha as her opportunity to sneak away from the servants and retrieve her stash of tools from a nearby roof top.  She had acclimated them to her ways by displaying a penchant for evening walks around the sleeping garden before turning in for the night.  With any luck, her appearance in the yard after dark would draw no comment.

It was much simpler than she had hoped.  She slipped outside unseen while the elementalist and her small entourage of rugged looking mercenaries were being fussed over outside the great house.  The round gate was soon closed behind her as she ducked into the shadow of a doorway while wrapped in a flowing cloak of deep forest green wool.  She waited there for a moment, listening to the sounds of voices pitched higher by delight and relief.  She heard Master Bei’s gentle and eloquent voice speaking Tyrian as if it were his native tongue.  No one had missed her and she was alone.  Moving quickly, for she only had a short time before the servants remarked her absence, she crept toward the alley and climbed swiftly up the rough bricks to the rooftop of a neighboring house.  Feeling around below the eaves she rediscovered the leather pouch she had stashed there over a week ago with her poisons and smallest set of daggers.  Sliding it down the front of her loose gown, she climbed part way down the coarse wall and landed on the icy street with hardly a sound.

Once more she waited in the shadows of a doorway, watching the round gate of Crystal Palm’s compound.  Crescent Blade could not believe her luck.  The door swung open and Uriel and Morisedd reappeared, this time with a half dozen servants trailing them with a large chest carried in their midst.  She slinked toward the open gate, dashing inside a moment before a servant drew it closed behind him.  Sliding into the shadows of the sleeping trees, she watched them move back to the warmth of the house.  While their eyes were turned toward the brightness of the open door, she skirted the edge of the yard and headed for the back garden, arriving moments before the Mai came looking for her.

“Miss Lhan!” exclaimed Mai, hurrying toward her, “Please, you will catch your death in this cold.”

“I was having my walk, the cold air clears my head.”

Mai frowned but Crescent Blade submitted to her protests and followed her through the servant’s entrance into the warmth of the kitchen.  Most everyone was either in bed, or preparing to sleep and she noticed Mai had her gray gown draped over a long woolen shift.  She followed the young woman toward her humble little room and collided with Pendaran as they rounded the corner.  The leather pouch flopped to the tiles beneath her feet and she narrowly avoided bumping heads with him as he knelt to pick it up.  Fortunately, she was faster than him and was clutching it protectively to her breast when he stood up.

It was the first time she had come this close to the fox-haired Tyrian and he towered over her, his strange green eyes sharp and steady as she met his searching gaze.  He apologized sharply in Canthan, the words clipped but precise, his grasp of her native tongue taking her off guard.

“No, it is I who must apologize, Master Kai,” she replied, bowing low to him for her place in the household was well below Zhou’s adept.  Crescent Blade wished he would stop looking at her, she feared somehow he could read her mind, or had recognized her for what she was.

“Bag? In bag, young girl?” he asked and she wondered what he had detected when it had pressed against his chest.

“My brush and comb,” she offered, “and color for my lips and cheeks.  Bottles of perfume.”

She realized he was trying to translate what she had said for his head tilted as if listening to someone behind him.  He was not so great at her tongue after all.  She performed a brief pantomime of painting her lips and combing her hair.  He nodded gruffly, unreadable, but she feared, unconvinced.

“Know you,” he replied, “Where I know you?”

The hair of her nape rose and she feared he had witnessed her killing the summoner.  She did not like the way he was looking at her but she refrained from touching the charm against the inside of her thigh to make sure it was there.  If it wasn’t, she was doomed in any event, and if it was, she dared not give it away.

“I was captured by the bad man who called demons,” she said quietly, hoping he would assume her discomfiture was as a result of recalling a traumatic event, “Master Bei helps me, lets me stay here.”

He considered for a moment and she was uncertain he fully understood what she had said.  Frowning, he nodded to her politely.

“Sorry you hurt by demon man.  I go,” he said sharply, then moved past she and Mai without a backward glance.  He walked gracefully up the stairs at the end of the hall and vanished from sight.  Mai giggled foolishly.

“Peng Ren is very handsome,” she said, blushing.

“He looks like a fox spirit,” Crescent Blade replied, “Why did he stare at me like that?”

Mai shrugged.

“He likes you, maybe.”

“Does Peng Ren seek the company of servants in his bed?”

“One can only hope,” Mai sighed, “but no, his wife is fierce and proud.  He always obeys her.”

Crescent Blade scowled.  Did no one around this place have any vices?  Even so, the look he had given her was not one of sexual tension.  He had recognized her somehow and she hoped that memory stemmed from an innocuous meeting that would not reveal her true identity.  Mai yawned hugely, unable to hide her eagerness to go to bed.  Crescent Blade feigned nonchalance and lead the way back to her room, thanking Mai for turning down her sheets and banking the fire in the grate prior to their arrival.  They treated her like royalty and at that moment she was not feeling particularly deserving. 

She stared at the door for a few moments after Mai departed.  Rising silently from the bed, she tested the latch and made sure it was locked and she would not be disturbed.  Spreading out the contents of the pouch, she selected a small blue glass vial and gingerly cracked open the lid to ensure the antidote was still viable before she dared to open the phial of venom.  The smallest amount in her blood stream or carelessly insinuated would prove life threatening, if not deadly.  In any event, she would be paralyzed within a minute, barely long enough to score her flesh with the counter agent.  Placing the antidote and a razor sharp knife beside it on her bedside table, she now dared to bring her small collection of poisons into the light, spreading them out until she found the one that long consideration had revealed to be the ideal choice. A small scratch and her target would be rendered immobile in moments.  She could then draw him to a secluded location to finish her work.

She tipped the bag so that its final item landed in her hand, a gold ring with an ornate scorpion engraved upon its surface.  With infinite care she drew back the engraved cover barely the thickness of a coin and revealed a spring-loaded spur tensed within its deep bezel.  Holding her breath to steady herself, she opened the small phial of priceless venom and allowed a luminous blue droplet to flow into the indentation around the armed razor, bathing it completely.  Now was the moment she dreaded.  She slid the concealing faceplate with its ornate engraving back over the tiny blade knowing that at any moment it might spring loose and pierce her fingertip.  It clicked softly back into place, a tiny sound that told her it was safely contained until the fateful moment she flipped the catch open with her thumb.

Trembling, she donned the ring, emotion tightening in her throat as she carefully resealed the bottle of poison and put everything back inside the pouch.  Only a small silver blade shaped like a crescent moon remained outside of it and she ran her finger along its dull edge as she uttered a prayer to Grenth for guidance and justice.  She took one of her hair ribbons from the side table and looped it around the hilt and quillons before securing it against the inside of her upper arm, concealed now by the long flowing sleeve of her night gown.