Vraggen made no comment but Dolgan snorted a laugh. Unlike Azriim, the big man never seemed to change his clothes. His ring mail, sweat stained brown tunic, leather trousers, and calf high boots might as well have been a uniform.

As for Alkenen, he looked every bit an itinerant peddler of the Heartlands. His pockmarked, road-worn face sported a few days' growth of wispy beard. The sun and rain had long ago faded his weathered overcloak, once probably blue, to an indeterminate gray. His worn leather shoes had soles as thin as a vellum sheet. Perhaps he'd seen thirty winters, perhaps he'd seen fifty. Vraggen couldn't tell. Funny that such a fool could find himself in the middle of such important events.

Alkenen's cart looked much like most peddlers', a sturdy wooden box on four wheels. A "roadship," Vraggen had heard them called. Goods were stored for travel inside the walk-in main compartment, accessible from a narrow door in the back, and rotating slats were built into the cart's sides. When turned down and locked into place, the slats could serve as display shelves. Alkenen had already done so and upon his shelves stood a dizzying array of goods—glassware knick-knacks, statuettes of wood and bronze, sterling pendants, old clothing, leather goods, used weapons, tools, even kitchen pots.

"We gonna stand here all day and stare at the cripple, or take care of business?" Dolgan asked. "I'm getting hungry."

Vraggen didn't think Dolgan meant he was hungry for food.

"We'll try my way first," Vraggen said to the big Cormyrean. "No need to draw attention unnecessarily. If that doesn't work, we'll remove him to an isolated alley and you'll get your chance."

Dolgan grunted acquiescence, but obviously hoped the peddler would need convincing.

Vraggen said, "Let's go," and started across the street.

As they wove their way through the thick crowd, Azriim flipped a copper penny up to a fat apple vendor sitting on the driver's bench of his cart and plucked a green sour from the back. The vendor gave a nod and the copper vanished.

Alkenen saw them coming and must have sensed their intent. Perhaps he thought them guildsmen looking to chase him off. As they approached, he rose from his stool and tried to hobble into the safety of his cart. Dolgan and Azriim darted forward, intercepted him, and boxed him in against the side of the cart, near the driver's bench. Alkenen's draft horse, a road worn gray nag, idly chewed at a quarter-bale of straw set near it.

Wide-eyed and breathing fast, Alkenen swayed on his uneven legs. To maintain his balance, he steadied himself with one hand against the cart.

He looked fearfully at Azriim and Dolgan and asked, "What's this now? I'm an honest businessman. I'll summon the Scepters if need be."

He made wet sounds when he spoke, as though speaking caused his mouth to fill with too much spit.

Azriim took a loud bite of his apple, glared at the peddler, and said nothing. Dolgan took a step nearer Alkenen, fairly blotting out the sun. The peddler sank back and tried to meld with the wood of his cart.

Vraggen, ignoring the peddler for the moment, walked up and surveyed the peddler's goods, looking for the globe.

"What's this about?" Alkenen asked again, his voice quaking.

"Shut up," Dolgan said, in his deep, threatening voice. Alkenen did exactly that.

Vraggen looked carefully at each of the shelves in turn, but did not see the globe. He saw only the mundane wares of a mundane man, with the occasional item of modest value hidden in the mix—something Alkenen had fenced from a petty thief while in Cormyr, no doubt. Here a jade dragon figurine brought from the east, there a tarnished silver serving set lifted from a noble's manse.

"What is it that the sirs require?" the peddler asked, hopping awkwardly on his deformed leg and warily eyeing Dolgan. "Alkenen has wares of every sort." He nodded at Azriim. "Even clothes for the sir, who is obviously discerning."

Azriim took another chomp of the green sour and eyed the peddler darkly. After he swallowed, he said, "You'd have to pay me to wear your common trash, fool. You've been told to keep your mouth shut, so do so. And don't refer to yourself in the third person. It annoys me."

Dolgan smirked, though Vraggen doubted the Cormyrean knew what "third person" even meant.

Obviously discomfited, Alkenen swallowed whatever reply he had thought to make. The sucking sounds continued nevertheless.

After a time, the peddler asked in a very small voice, "Are you guildsmen?"

Vraggen snatched the jade dragon figurine from the shelf and turned from the wares.

"No," he said, trying to keep the distaste from his expression. Vraggen approached the wretch. "My name is Vraggen, and we are not working for any guild. What we require of you is a particular item. Failing that, we require information regarding its whereabouts. Provide us with that, and we can all be friends."

He held out the jade figurine, and Alkenen took it, eyes wide.

Vraggen indicated Dolgan and Azriim with his eyes then winked conspiratorially at Alkenen and said, "These are good men to have as friends, peddler. As am I."

He did not need to say that they were bad men to have as enemies. Alkenen understood.

"No doubt," Alkenen said, managing an uncomfortable smile. The dragon figurine vanished into the pocket of his trousers. "What item do you seek?"

Vraggen gave a satisfied smile and backed off a step.

"First things, first."

He nodded to Azriim and Dolgan and they seized Alkenen by the arms. Alarmed, Alkenen began to struggle against their grip; a feeble attempt.

"W-wait," he sputtered, spraying spit. "No!"

Vraggen began to incant a spell that would cause Alkenen to believe that Vraggen was a trusted friend, a trusted friend to whom he would not lie or tell half-truths.

It took only a moment to tap the Shadow Weave and complete the spell. When he finished, an immediate change came over Alkenen. He blinked and shook his head in confusion. Perplexed, he looked at Azriim and Dolgan, who still held him by the arms.

"Vraggen, what's going on? Call off the muscle, eh?"

Vraggen smiled as sincerely as he could manage and said, "Of course, old friend. My apologies." He looked pointedly at Azriim and Dolgan. He could not resist. "These two are thick, and often misunderstand my directives."

Azriim swallowed whatever comment he might have made, but his glare bored holes into Vraggen.

"Release him," Vraggen commanded, and they did.

Azriim bit into his apple, still staring. Vraggen ignored him and put an arm around Alkenen.

"Now, old friend. The item I'm looking for is a translucent globe of quartz, grayish in color. About so big, with many small gemstones inset. You would've purchased this item from a bearded warrior, a member of an adventuring company out of Cormyr who called themselves the Band of the Broken Bow."

Alkenen rubbed his scruffy beard and said, "I remember that warrior. A few months ago, right? Big fellow, lots of weapons, but needed hard coin. A drinker, I think. Sold that globe to me on the cheap."

"That's precisely the item," Vraggen said, and tried to keep the intensity out of his voice. "Where is the globe now? It's very valuable to me and I will pay you handsomely for it."

Alkenen sucked in some renegade spit dribbling down his chin and answered, "Sold it. If I'd a known you—"

Vraggen grabbed the peddler by the shirt and slammed him against the cart.

"Sold it! Sold it? To whom?"

Vraggen could hear the mockery in Azriim's voice when he said, "Do attempt to control yourself, Vraggen. I know I'm 'thick,' but isn't he your old friend?"

Vraggen shot Azriim an angry stare. The half-drow merely chewed his apple and smiled. Vraggen turned back to Alkenen. The peddler was wide-eyed and too stunned to breathe. Even the sucking sounds had ceased, and a stream of spit dribbled from the side of his open mouth. Vraggen came back to himself.