As she glanced in Arvin’s direction, he noticed her eyes. They were sea-green flecked with yellow. As they met Arvin’s they emitted a flash of silver, momentarily reflecting the lantern light like those of a cat. Aware that she was staring at him, Arvin hastily averted his eyes. Yuan-ti often slummed at the Coil, but when they did, they came in groups and looked down haughtily on the “lesser races” who frequented the place. What was this woman doing in the tavern on her own, quietly sipping an ale? She, like Arvin, seemed to be waiting for someone.

If she’d been human-and wearing even a scrap of green-Arvin might have worried that he was the object of her search. The druids of the Emerald Enclave usually stuck to the wilderness, but were known to occasionally enter a city to sniff out wizardry-and Arvin’s craft required him to work with wizards on a regular basis. He did so only at arm’s length, through a middler, but the druids would hardly believe that if they discovered the ensorcelled twine in his shirt pocket.

This woman, however, seemed to have no interest in Arvin. After her brief scrutiny of him, she no longer glanced in his direction. She was obviously looking for someone else.

A second glimpse of yellow attracted Arvin’s attention to the tavern entrance-Naulg. Small and dark-haired, Naulg had eyebrows that formed an unbroken line over his squared-off nose. He had a big grin on his face-and one arm firmly around the waist of a doxy who snuggled tightly against his side. With his free hand, he reached up and rubbed first the inside corner of his right eye, then the outside corner-the sign that he was looking for somebody. It was an unnecessary formality, since he and Arvin had known each other for years, but Arvin played along. Placing an elbow on the table, he rested his chin on his fist and raised his little finger so that it touched his lips. I’m your man.

Naulg shoved his way through the crowd, dragging the doxy with him. He found an empty chair at a nearby table, dragged it over, and sat in it, pulling the woman down into his lap. As they settled themselves, Naulg waved for two ales, one for himself and one for Arvin. He insisted Arvin join him in a drink. The doxy looked impatiently around as if she’d rather complete her business with Naulg and move on to the next tumble.

Despite the perpetual frown his heavy eyebrows gave him, Naulg was a likable fellow, with his easy grin, boldly colored shirt that drew the eye, and generous nature. He and Arvin had met when both were boys at the orphanage, during Arvin’s first year there. Naulg had shared his meal with Arvin after a larger boy had “accidentally” knocked Arvin’s trencher out of his hand. He’d been the only one to show friendship toward Arvin without wanting something else in return. They’d developed a close bond immediately and cemented it by twining their little fingers together like snakes.

Naulg had run away from the orphanage a year later-and had never been caught. His escape had been an inspiration to Arvin through the years that followed, and Arvin had always wondered to where Naulg had fled. After Arvin’s own escape, he’d at last learned the answer. It was ironic that both men had wound up under the thumb of another, even more repressive organization-though Naulg didn’t seem to see the Guild that way. To him it was a game, an adventure. To Arvin, the Guild was a rope around his wrist-one that kept him as bound to Hlondeth as a slave was to his master.

The doxy’s shrill laughter jerked Arvin sharply back to the present. Staring at her, he decided that she would make a better rogue than Naulg. She was pretty, with fluttering eyelashes and long dark hair that coiled in soft waves around a milk-white face, but there was something about the hard glint in her eye that told Arvin she could hold her own. He disliked her immediately-perhaps because of the faint odor that clung to her-a ripe smell that reminded Arvin of spoiled meat. Of course, the smell might have been coming from Naulg, who was scratching absently at the back of his neck, revealing a large sweat stain in the armpit of his shirt.

“It’s finished, then?” Naulg asked, ignoring the distraction of the doxy nuzzling his ear.

Arvin reached into the breast pocket of his shirt and pulled out a leather pouch that had been sewn shut with small, tight stitches. Keeping it hidden under his palm, he slid it across the table, leaving it beside Naulg’s mug.

Naulg prodded the pouch with a finger and watched it bulge as the coil of twine inside it twitched. “Are there words that need to be spoken?”

Arvin shook his head. “Just cut the stitches and slip the pouch into a pocket. It’ll do the job.”

The doxy whispered something in Naulg’s ear. Naulg laughed and shook his head.

“Be patient, woman. We’ll be alone soon enough.” Then, to Arvin, “Good. The middler already has your coin. You can collect it any time. I’m sure the goods will perform as promised.”

“When will you be… using it?”

“Tonight,”-his grin broadened and he winked at the doxy-“much later tonight.”

He picked up his ale and raised his mug to salute Arvin; his wide, sweeping gestures suggested he’d already had one too many.

Arvin nodded. He could guess what the twine would be used for-assassin vine almost always went for the throat-but maybe Naulg had something else in mind. Maybe he just meant to use it to bind someone’s wrists.

Arvin twitched his mouth into a grin and covered his discomfort with a hearty joke. “Just be sure you don’t let pleasure get in the way of business.”

Naulg laughed. ‘ “Idle hands make merry,’ ” he quipped.

Arvin smiled. “You mean ‘mischief,’ ” he said, correcting the motto that had been drummed into them at the orphanage. Then he tsked. “Brother Pauvey would weep for you.”

“Yes, he would,” Naulg said, suddenly serious. “He would indeed.” He paused then added, “Can we talk later?”

Arvin nodded. “I’d like that.”

Naulg shifted the doxy from his lap and rose to his feet, slipping the pouch into a trouser pocket. The doxy staggered slightly, as if she’d had too much to drink, but Arvin noted the quick, sharp glance she gave the pocket where Naulg had stored the pouch. If she was a rogue, as Arvin suspected, one quick stroke of her hand would see it gone, especially if Naulg was… distracted.

Arvin had labored for two full tendays to make the twine-and he’d spent good coin on the spell that kept the tendrils of assassin vine fresh after their harvesting. Braiding them had been like working with writhing snakes; if he’d let one go even for a moment, it would have coiled around his throat. If the twine disappeared, would Naulg demand a replacement?

As Naulg headed for the door, doxy in tow, Arvin decided to protect his investment. At least, that was what he told himself he was doing. He waited until the pair were halfway up the ramp then rose to his feet.

Hlondeth by night was a city of whispers. Its cobble-stoned streets had been worn smooth by the endless slither of the serpent folk. High above, the ramps that spiraled up the outside of buildings to join viaducts that arched across the street were alive with the slide of scales on stone. Soft hisses of conversation whispered out of round doorways and windows. From the harbor, a few hundred paces away, came the crash and sigh of waves breaking against the seawall, rhythmic as breathing.

The streets alternately widened and narrowed as they curved between the city’s circular, dome-roofed buildings, continuously branching into the Y-shaped intersections that were unique to Hlondeth. Cloaks rustled against walls as people squeezed against buildings in the narrower portions of the street, making room for Naulg and his doxy to pass.

The buildings on either side of the street they were walking along glowed with a faint green light-a residual glow left by the magics used to quarry the emerald-colored stone from which Hlondeth had been built. Its light, not quite bright enough to see by, gave a sickly, greenish pallor to the doxy’s skin, making her look even less appealing than she had in the Coil.