The wary look in Drin’s eyes softened. He leaned forward and scooped up the coins. “Let’s move to a quieter table,” he said. “One where we won’t be overheard.”

Arvin smiled.

They moved to a table at the back of the Terrace, well away from the other customers. When they settled into their chairs, Drin continued. “I can’t tell you much,” he said. “I’ve only seen a flask like that once before, in a ‘teashop’ in Skullport, a few months ago. The man behind the counter said it came from the Serpent Hills.”

Arvin hissed softly to himself. The Serpent Hills lay far to the northeast, up near the great desert. Once the area had been the seat of a mighty kingdom, but now the yuan-ti who lived in those desolate hills were forced to ally with lesser reptilian races just to survive. The yuan-ti kept vowing to retake what had once been the capital of their kingdom, but the humans who had unwittingly encamped upon the ruins stood in their…

Arvin shivered, suddenly uneasy. Once again, the information had come from nowhere; it had just popped into his mind. He had never traveled beyond Hlondeth, yet he was able to picture the hills, the river that wound its way between them, and the enormous stone arch that spanned it-part of a coil that reached from one bank to the other…

He wrenched his mind back to the present. “How much do you know about the potion the flask contained?” he asked Drin.

“Only what the seller told me. That whoever drank it would be able to perform ‘mind magic’ that would duplicate a yuan-ti’s innate magical abilities.” He paused, and the creases in his brow deepened still further. “I sensed that there was something he wasn’t telling me, but I was still interested in buying.”

“Did you?” Arvin asked.

Drin shook his head. “I was outbid by another buyer, a yuan-ti slaver by the name of Ssarmn. Apparently he’s someone big in Skullport-someone you don’t refuse. The seller told me I shouldn’t be angry at being cut out of the deal, because the potion had an additional, undesirable effect on humans. It turned them into yuan-ti. Permanently. And there was more. Once the potion took effect, anyone who was transformed by it would unquestioningly obey any true yuan-ti who happened to give orders.”

Drin sat back in his chair and shrugged. “I thought the seller was trying to pacify me, so he wouldn’t lose my business; we’ve had dealings with each other for years. But maybe he was telling the truth. Is that what happened to your friend? Did he sprout a tail and grow scales?”

“Nothing so obvious as that,” Arvin said. “At least, not yet. His saliva turned venomous, but otherwise he appears human.”

Drin stared at Arvin then nodded. “Where did he get the potion?”

“He was forced to drink it. By a cleric.”

“One of Sseth’s?”

Arvin shook his head. “No. The cleric was human.”

“Why did he force your friend to drink it, then? Did he think it would make your friend obey him?”

“I’m not sure,” Arvin said. He thought back to what Kayla had said about the old sailor-about him instantly obeying the cultist’s command to attack. That compulsion could equally have been produced by a clerical spell. If what Drin had just said was true-if the potion in the rattle-shaped flasks compelled its victims to obey yuan-ti, but not humans-Naulg wouldn’t necessarily be a mindless servant of the Pox. Arvin just might be able to free him, even with the potion in Naulg’s system.

Unless a yuan-ti showed up at an inopportune moment.

Arvin was starting to have a clearer picture of what was going on-and why Osran Extaminos was involved. He was tricking the Pox into transforming the humans of Hlondeth into his willing servants. With an army of thousands at his disposal, Osran could easily snatch the throne away from his sister and would wind up ruling a city filled with complacent citizens.

A city of slaves.

“Did the seller in Skullport say whether there was a countermeasure that could negate the potion?” Arvin asked. “A counter-potion, for example?”

Drin shook his head. “If there is, I don’t know of it.”

Arvin sat back, disappointed. He wet his lips. “Thanks for the information,” he told Drin.

The potion seller rose to his feet. “Glad to give it,” he said, giving Arvin a knowing wink. “I hope it helps your ‘friend.’ ”

24 Kythorn, Evening

Arvin walked through the night with his hands thrust into his trouser pockets, oblivious to the people who passed him on the narrow streets. At long last he had the information Zelia wanted, but he couldn’t give it to her, thanks to the geas Nicco had placed on him. Nor was he any closer to finding Naulg. None of his contacts in the Guild had seen the Pox, or heard any word of them-or smelled them.

In a short time-it was fast approaching Middark-the rebels would be making their assassination attempt on Osran Extaminos. Arvin toyed briefly with the idea of trying to reach Osran first, to see if he could charm information about the Pox out of the yuan-ti prince. But trying to sneak into the palace on the same night as an assassination attempt would be nothing short of suicidal.

No, there had to be another way to find the Pox, something Arvin hadn’t thought of yet. If only Tymora would smile upon Arvin and cause him to cross paths with another of the cultists, he might be able to learn where they were hiding. He wouldn’t make the same mistake as last time. This time he’d follow the cultist rather than try to question him. Asking questions had only caused him to lose his warehouse. Someone was sure to have noticed the stench of the corpse by now and called in the clerics to…

Arvin slowed, suddenly realizing something. He’d questioned the cultist, but he hadn’t searched him. There hadn’t been time. For all Arvin knew, there might have been something on the body that would lead Arvin straight to the cultists. And thanks to Zelia, Arvin had a tool he could use to search the body from a safe distance.

Arvin hurried to his warehouse. It didn’t take him long to get there-the streets were emptying of people as Middark approached. He passed the public fountain and turned into the intersection his warehouse fronted. He saw that the front door was still shut-and unmarked. He bypassed it, holding his breath as soon as he caught the rotten odor coming from behind the door, and made for one of the barred windows, instead. Leaping up, he grabbed the bars, supporting himself, and peered in. The corpse-or rather, what was left of it-was still tangled in the magical rope. It lay on the floor just inside the door. The cultist’s tunic was disheveled, but Arvin could see that it had at least one pocket.

He concentrated, drawing psionic energy up into his “third eye.” He sent it out and saw a streak of silver light flash toward the corpse. As soon as it touched the pocket Arvin gave it a mental yank and heard the fabric tear. Three items spilled out: a leather sling, a lumpy-looking pouch that probably contained sling stones-and a key.

Immediately, Arvin coiled his mental energy around the key. He yanked, and the key lifted in the air and sailed toward the window. Springing back from the wall, Arvin landed on the street below, pulling the key out between the bars. It landed with a dull clink on the cobblestones at his feet.

Arvin stared at it, his heart racing. This was no ordinary key, intended to fit the door of an inn or warehouse. It was made from a peculiar reddish metal, was as long as Arvin’s index finger, and had teeth that were an odd shape. They were jagged and triangular, instead of square. It probably opened a lock that was equally unusual. Possibly the door to whatever building the Pox had chosen for their hiding place.

Arvin carefully picked it up-with his gloved hand-and spoke the glove’s command word, sending the key into extra-dimensional space. Then he set out for the artisan’s section of the city. That was where Lorin, the Guild member he’d purchased his belt buckle from, had his workshop. Lorin was a master locksmith; if anyone knew what lock this key fit into, he would.