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.Those who earned their living with hard labor and skilled crafts were more likely to sleep and rise with the sun.Bronwyn heartily wished that she were one of them.She was not surprised to see that the lights in her shop were still burning.She unlocked the door and stepped into the warm, appealing jumble of curiosities and treasures.Her assistant, a white-haired, rosy-cheeked gnome woman who went by the name Alice Tinker was studying an emerald ring through a jeweler’s glass.She looked up when Bronwyn entered, not bothering to lower the glass.The result—one normal gnomish eye, one magnified to a size more fitting to a blue-eyed beholder—set Bronwyn back on her heels.Alice laughed merrily and set down the glass.“Busy day we had, eh?”“Aye,” Bronwyn agreed on a sigh.“Did you have time to sketch the piece I sent through?” So tired was she that the words sounded muzzy even to her own ears.“That I did.I’ve matched the color with some bits of amber we had hereabouts, and I’ll use that as a guide to add the proper tints on the morrow.”Bronwyn nodded.She kept a portfolio of such sketches, a record of the rare pieces that passed through her hands, under lock and spell-guard in her safe.Some of the drawings she did herself, but most of the work fell to Alice’s small, capable hands.The gnome was a positive treasure.She kept the shop and wrote up sales while Bronwyn was out adventuring and making deals.The two of them were a true team, and the success of Curious Past belonged to them both.To be sure, Alice tended to treat her employer like her own oversized child, but Bronwyn was willing to overlook that single lapse.“Tomorrow will be soon enough,” she agreed and turned to the stairs that led to the chamber she kept over the shop.“Oh! One thing more,” Alice called after her.“That young bard was in earlier, looking for you.Says it’s important he talks to you at your earliest convenience.Something about a necklace.”That would be Danilo, of course.Again, tomorrow would be soon enough.“Fine.Good.” Bronwyn said, and staggered up the stairs.Alice followed her to the base of the stairs, her fists planted on her hips and her brown, apple-cheeked face filled with motherly reproach.“Look at you, child! Dead on your feet! I keep telling you to take some time off, laze around the shop a bit.”Ignoring the gnome’s continuing harangue, Bronwyn climbed up to her chamber, intending to fall face first onto the bed and hoping she could stay awake that long.But when she reached the chamber, all thoughts of sleep fled.In the center of the room, leaning on his staff and regarding her with a somber, measuring gaze, stood the most feared and powerful wizard in Waterdeep.Bronwyn gaped at Khelben Arunsun, the Master Harper who ultimately directed her activities, but whom she had never met.She considered herself well versed in the custom and protocol of a dozen races and threescore lands, but for the life of her she could not decide which of three equally compelling responses she should chose:Should she bow, flee, or faint?* * * * *Two men, both clad in the purple and black of Cyric’s clergy, strolled through the villa’s garden.A bright moon lit the white-pebbled path.Though it was still early spring, the air was scented with the fragrance of a few timid flowers.Three fountains played merrily into tiled pools.“I have been hearing interesting things about you,” Malchior said, slanting a glance at the man who had been his most talented and promising acolyte.Dag Zoreth inclined his head in acknowledgment—and evasion.His mentor knew too much about him, had made a study of the family from which Dag had been torn.Some of this information he had recently shared: the location of the village from which Dag had been stolen, the rumors of power inherent in the family bloodline, the current post held by his illustrious father.He often wondered what else Malchior knew.He also wondered how the priest got that livid cut down his left cheek—and he envied the man who had put it there.“It would appear that you have a more intriguing tale to tell,” Dag commented, raising a finger and tracing a line down his own cheek.The older priest merely shrugged.“You recently traveled to Jundar’s Hill and rode alone into the foothills along the Dessarin.I am curious, my son, what prompted you to take such chances just to visit the site of your home village?”So that was it.Word had reached Malchior faster than Dag had expected.“I, too, am curious,” he said.“What you told me of my past intrigued me, but there are still many holes in my story.I sought to fill some of them.”“And did you?”“One or two.” Dag turned a stony gaze upon the older priest.“You told me that the raid was the work of an ambitious rival paladin.But the men who attacked were Zhentarim soldiers.Looking back from where I stand, I can see that plainly.”This clearly took Malchior aback.“How is this possible? You were a child.”“I know,” Dag said simply.“The matter is between me and my god.”There was little Malchior would say to counter this pronouncement.For several moments they walked together in silence.“This villa, your new responsibilities,” he began, “these things you have earned.I have something more for you.A gift.” He paused to add weight to the coming words.“You are not the last of Samular’s bloodline.Your sister also survived that raid and is alive and well.”Dag froze, stunned by this revelation.It did not occur to him to challenge Malchior’s words; indeed, as the realization sank home, he wondered why he should be so surprised.He remembered the Cyric-given vision, the bold and curious little girl diving headlong from the small window to investigate the coming raid.His sister Bronwyn, dimly remembered as the bane of his young existence.Of course.He had been spared—why not the girl?A sister.He had a sister.Dag was not certain how he felt about this.Vaguely he remembered his father’s deep, disapproving voice lamenting the little girl’s bold ways—and wondering why her older brother was not half so intrepid.“How is she? Where is she?”“In Waterdeep,” Malchior answered.He grimaced and touched the livid cut on his face.“And trust me, she does well enough.I met and spoke with her earlier this very night.”So that was Bronwyn’s work.The years had passed, but still she had the courage to act when Dag held back.This did not please him, but the discomfited expression on Malchior’s wounded face most assuredly did.“For a paladin’s daughter, she is quick with a knife,” Dag commented with dark amusement
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