Jarlaxle nodded and considered the tale for a short while. Then, on a sudden impulse, he reached over and plopped the hat atop the dwarf's hairy head.

"Hey, now!"

"Yes," Jarlaxle said, nodding with admiration. "It suits you well."

As he spoke, the drow dropped a hand into his pouch, feeling the broken pieces of Idalia's flute and wondering how much it would cost him to get it repaired.

He winced just a bit, because he realized that Athrogate couldn't likely blow a note.

But he looked back to the empty stair, where Artemis Entreri had gone, and he reminded himself that sometimes you just had to play the hand you were dealt.