24 Kythorn, Middark

Arvin banged at the shutters of the Lorin’s workshop. After a few moments they opened. Lorin’s apprentice-a slender boy in his teens with mouse-brown hair as fuzzy as frayed rope-stared out at Arvin, yawning.

“Is Lorin here?” Arvin asked. Silently, his fingers added, I’m Guild.

The apprentice shook his head. “He’s out on business.” He stressed the last word, adding a wink to it, then yawned again.

“When will he be back?” Arvin asked, irritation rising in him.

“I dunno. Maybe tomorrow morning. Maybe the next day.”

Arvin hissed in frustration. Tymora wasn’t with him tonight, it seemed. Should he wait-or try to find another locksmith? The trouble was, Lorin was the only one he knew for certain was Guild. “Fetch him,” he demanded. “At once or I’ll-”

Only at the last moment did Arvin realize what was happening. It was the mind seed again, intruding upon his thoughts, stirring up his emotions like a nest of spitting vipers. With an effort, Arvin forced himself to calm down. “Sorry,” he apologized, rubbing his temple. “But it’s important. Can I leave something here for Lorin?”

“What?” the apprentice asked.

“A key-one I’d like him to identify, if he can. I’ll pay well for whatever information he can provide.” To back up his words, he passed the apprentice a gold piece.

The apprentice suddenly wasn’t sleepy any more. He pocketed the gold piece and held out a hand. “Leave the key with me.”

Arvin shook his head. “You mustn’t touch it,” he cautioned. “It came from the pocket of a dead man-a man who died of plague.”

The apprentice’s face paled. He drew back from the window, and for a moment Arvin worried that he’d slam the shutter in Arvin’s face. But after a moment’s fumbling inside the workshop, he reappeared. “Plague,” he said with a shudder. “No wonder you’re so edgy.” He held out a ceramic jar, which he uncorked. “Put the key in this.”

“Good idea.” Arvin summoned the key into his gloved hand and dropped it inside the jar, which the apprentice hurriedly corked.

“Tell Lorin I need the information as soon as possible,” Arvin instructed. “It’s urgent. The life of a Guild member is at stake.”

The apprentice nodded, his eyes serious. “I’ll tell Lorin about it as soon as he gets back,” he promised.

“Thanks.” Turning away from the window, Arvin set off down the street, seething with barely subdued frustration at the delay. It was unacceptable, intolerable…

He’d walked some distance before he realized that he was hissing-and that worried him. The mind seed’s hold was intensifying. Arvin was thinking more and more like a yuan-ti-reacting like one, too. His dreams, crowded with Zelia’s memories, were no longer his own. Even in his waking moments it was difficult to hold on to himself. He never knew when he was going to lose control, when the mind seed was going to twist his thoughts and emotions in a direction that frightened him. His mind was like a tiny mouse half-swallowed by a snake. Squeal though the mouse might, it was only a matter of time before its head disappeared down the serpent’s throat.

Arvin wet his lips nervously then grimaced as he realized what he’d just done. At least he was still noticing the odd mannerisms.

He wandered the streets with no clear destination in mind. What he really needed was someone to talk to-someone in whom to confide. He had dozens of associates among the Guild, but that was all they were-customers and contacts. Naulg was the only one Arvin could call a friend. There weren’t any women to whom Arvin could turn. Wary of ever getting too close to anyone, he’d never formed a permanent bond with a member of the opposite sex. He’d rarely slept with the same woman twice, let alone become a lover and confidant to one.

Yet he needed help-that much was clear.

Nothing, it seemed, could dislodge the mind seed. Wizardry had failed, prayers had failed, and there was no known potion that would work against it. Then his footsteps slowed as he realized there was one form of magic he’d not yet tried.

Psionics.

From childhood, he dimly remembered his mother once mentioning that psionic powers could be “negated.” Presumably, this was a process akin to a wizard or cleric dispelling a spell. If Arvin could find a psion-one who was willing to help him and who was powerful enough to counter the mind seed-perhaps he could free himself from it. But where was he going to find a psion? In his twenty-six years in Hlondeth, Arvin had only met one, other than his mother. Zelia. Was there really no one else, or had Arvin just not recognized the subtle signs?

The secondary displays, for example. Zelia and Nicco had both recognized Arvin as a psion by the ringing sound they’d heard when Arvin had manifested his charms. Zelia had attributed the secondary display to the fact that Arvin was untrained, implying that more powerful psions didn’t produce any such telltale traces. But what if she’d been lying? On several occasions, Arvin had noticed her eyes flashing silver as they “reflected” the light-even when the light was behind her. Was that a secondary display, too?

As Arvin thought about it, he realized there was someone else who had produced something that might have been a secondary display when working his “magic”-Tanju, the militia tracker. When Tanju had tried to view the inside of the enormous pot Arvin had fallen into, Arvin had heard a low humming similar to the drone that Arvin’s distract power produced. He’d assumed Tanju had been humming to himself, but the noise might have, in fact, been an involuntary secondary display. And there was the bundle of crystals Tanju had been carrying…

With a start, Arvin realized he knew what they were: a “crystal capacitor,” a device for storing psionic energy. The capacitor was charged using a complex series of asanas, which directed energy from the muladhara up into…

Arvin shook his head. He was doing it again. Linking, thanks to the mind seed, with Zelia’s memories and drawing information from them.

He saw that his wanderings had carried him to the vicinity of Zelia’s rooftop garden. He could see the tower between the buildings up ahead. How in the Nine Hells had he allowed himself to wander so near to it?

He turned abruptly, intending to stride away in the direction from which he’d just come and nearly collided with a man who had been walking a few steps behind him. The fellow had his neck craned to look up at the buildings ahead of him and saw Arvin only at the last moment. He gave an irritated hiss-which made Arvin take a second glance at the fellow. All Arvin needed was to run afoul of a yuan-ti. But this fellow appeared wholly human-and he had four chevrons branded into his arm. Yuan-ti were never called for militia service.

Muttering his apologies, Arvin walked on. He’d gotten no more than a few paces before a hand reached out of the shadow of a ramp to grasp his arm.

A hand covered in fine green scales.

“Zelia!” Arvin gulped as she stepped out into the street. “What a coincidence. I was just heading back to the tower to look for you.”

Her lips crooked in a smile. “I can see that,” she said. “Obviously you have something to report, something important enough to have come in person, rather than using a sending.” She stared unblinkingly at him. “What have you learned?”

Arvin thought furiously. What could he tell Zelia? “You were wrong about the flasks,” he began. “They don’t contain plague.”

Zelia merely stared at him. “No?”

“They contain a potion.”

“What kind?”

“One that transforms humans into yuan-ti. It comes from the Serpent Hills, possibly by way of Skullport. A contact of mine saw a flask similar to the ones the Pox carry, a few months ago in a potion seller’s shop. He tried to buy it, but before he could, it was purchased by a slaver.”