Mari and Caledan turned from the main avenue and picked their way down a narrow lane, trying to avoid the rivulet of foul water that trickled down the middle. The city was not so crowded here. The rank scent of rotting fish hung on the air; gulls cried out raucously above. Between ramshackle warehouses, Mari caught a glimpse of a flat, silvery surface, the Chionthar River. The two reached the end of the lane, finding themselves before a dilapidated building fashioned from the overturned hull of a barnacle-encrusted galleon. The Barbed Hook.

Mari and Caledan exchanged looks. Making an assault on a Zhentarim lair by daylight had its risks, but Zhents tended to do their work under cover of night. They were used to fighting in the dark and to resting during daylight hours. With luck, that would give Mari and Caledan the advantage.

Caledan gestured to the door of the tavern, his grin almost like that of old. "After you, my lady."

"You're too kind," she replied dryly. She sauntered casually toward the door.

And kicked it in.

The two Harpers stepped through a cloud of splinters and dust into the murky interior of the tavern. A dozen coarse faces gaped in surprise at the sudden intrusion. Quickly, surprise gave way to anger. "Harpers!" someone shouted.

"You forgot to take your badge off again," Caledan said in annoyance, jabbing a finger at the silver moon-and-harp brooch pinned to Mari's jacket. "Now they know who we are."

"Oh, bother," she replied with mock exasperation. "I suppose that means we'll have to kill them all."

Caledan bared his teeth in a nasty smile. "Why, I suppose you're right."

A brawny sailor launched himself forward, ready to snap Caledan's neck with his big, callused hands. In one fluid movement, Caledan crouched down, drew a dagger from his boot sheath, and spun inside the sailor's reach. As he rose, he deftly plunged the blade inward just beneath the other's sternum, angling it upward until it pierced the man's heart. The sailor collapsed to the floor like a side of beef falling from a meat hook. Caledan wrenched the dagger free and gestured with its crimson tip. A one-eyed dockhand leapt over a table, bellowing as he unsheathed a rusty short sword.

"Your turn, Mari," Caledan said graciously.

"Why, thank you." She dodged a wild swing of the dockhand's sword, then whirled inside the circle of his arms. "Care to dance?" she asked demurely. She grabbed the wrist of his sword arm and gave it an expert twist. Bones snapped audibly. The dockhand howled in pain as the short sword clattered to the floor. She spun him around in a dizzy circle, then let go. The dockhand careened backward against a wall covered with dusty fishing trophies. He stared down in dull wonder at the serrated snout of a swordfish protruding from his chest, then had the sense to realize he was dead. His eyes rolled up in their sockets as he slumped on the end of the fish's sharp proboscis.

Mari turned around in time to see the bony, hooknosed man who stood behind the bar reach down and pull something out of a hidden recess. With a quick move, the man threw the object in Caledan's direction. Metal glinted dully. Caledan lifted a black-gloved hand, snatching the thing in midflight.

"I don't recall ordering this, barkeep," Caledan said good-naturedly. "Mind if I return it?"

With a flick of his wrist, he sent the object hurtling back toward the barkeep. A second later, the bony man took a step backward, clutching feebly at the knife embedded in his throat before collapsing over the filthy surface of the bar.

Hands on her hips, Mari gazed at the rest of the tavern's occupants. "All right, who's next?" she asked sweetly. "No pushing, please. I promise, each of you will be killed as promptly as possible."

There was a second of silence. Then came a scraping of chairs and a clattering of boots as the remaining customers departed hastily out the tavern's door. In moments Mari and Caledan were alone save for three rapidly cooling corpses.

"I have to admit, you certainly know how to clear a room." Caledan commented.

Mari shrugged. "It's a talent. Now let's get moving. This isn't over yet."

Caledan nodded, following her through a dim archway into the back room. After a few minutes searching, they spotted the corner of a trapdoor, hastily hidden beneath a stack of old ale casks. The two pushed the casks aside and crouched down to examine the iron door. It was locked.

Caledan looked up at her. "Can you… ?"

Mari cut him off. "With my eyes closed." She began rummaging in a leather pouch.

"I think we're beyond the stage where you need to show off to impress me," Caledan noted acidly. "With your eyes open will do just fine."

"As you wish." Mari slipped a pair of thin wires—one bent, one straight—into the trapdoor lock. Carefully, she began probing, constructing a mental image of the lock's interior. The mechanism was of good but not exceptional construction. Four minutes was all she would need, five at most. Her brow furrowed in concentration.

It was then that the screams began. The sounds echoed up from beneath the trapdoor, muffled shrieks of terror and agony. Mari and Caledan stared at each other. More screams drifted upward. Something in them made Mari's blood run cold.

"I won't tell you your business," Caledan said hoarsely, "but you just might want to hurry it a bit."

She nodded silently, bent over her task. After what seemed hours, the lock sprang open. Caledan pulled up the trapdoor. Silence. The screams had ended. All the two could see was a square of perfect blackness.

Mari swallowed hard. "You know, I got to enter the tavern first. I think you should lead the way here. It's only fair."

"How thoughtful of you." Caledan gripped the edges of the trapdoor and lowered himself through, disappearing into darkness. A moment later he whispered, "There's a ladder."

Taking a deep breath, Mari followed. In the blackness, her hands found rusted iron rungs bolted to the rough stone wall. In moments she reached the bottom. They were in some sort of low tunnel. The musty air was cold, and she sensed Caledan's nearness only by the heat of his body Hunching over, they moved swiftly down the passage. Tomblike silence pressed in from all sides.

The tunnel ended abruptly in a door. A thin line of ruddy light glowed above the sill. Slowly, Mari turned the door handle, which creaked softly. She tensed her body, then threw the door open. Crimson torchlight spilled outward like blood. The two Harpers leapt through the doorway, daggers drawn.

The Zhentarim were all dead.

With caution, Mari and Caledan moved into the long subterranean chamber. It took Mari several moments to count up the corpses, for they were all horribly mangled. Stray body parts were strewn haphazardly across the room, and the floor was slick with blood. She clamped her jaw shut, trying not to retch. Seven, she decided at last. There had been seven agents of the Black Network in the underground lair. And someone had slain them all. Or something.

Caledan knelt beside one of the corpses and touched a finger to a gory puddle on the floor. "However they died, it happened only a few minutes ago."

"The screams we heard," Mari said with a shudder. "Those were their death cries."

Caledan wiped his hand on the dead man's tunic, then stood. "I can't say that I'm sorry. I wanted the scum dead myself. But I'm more than a little curious to find out who managed to do my job before I had the chance."

Mari shuddered. "Whoever… whatever… they were, they're gone now." She moved to a table littered with sheaves of parchment. The ones on top were illegible, spattered with blood, but those below were unstained. Several showed schematic drawings of the interior of the High Tower. Mari realized that they were plans for an attack. "Look at these, Caledan. The Zhents were plotting to take over the city. These plans prove—"