Elaith laid the papers down on the table. Interesting, he mused. There was a connection here, an important one that nonetheless eluded him. As he was wont to do when thinking, the elf toyed with a small ornamental dagger, twirling it idly between dexterous fingers. He did not miss the effect this action had upon the fence.

Jannaxil's eyes followed the jeweled dagger's path, watching each flash and twist with an expression of horrified fascination. Yet the fence's hands rested calmly on the table, pudgy fingers spread wide as if ready to reach for profit, despite the risk.

Greed. Elaith liked that in a human. Jannaxil, one of Waterdeep's best fences, had that quality in abundance. Squat and shrewd, the fat little man could deal with the worst the Dock Ward had to offer, yet he could discuss rare tomes with the most learned sages of several kingdoms. Elaith considered the man a valued contact and did business with him frequently. The elf intended to pay the asking price, but he saw no reason why he should not first amuse himself a bit.

"Very valuable," Jannaxil repeated, this time with less conviction.

"To whom?" the elf asked. "The Assassin's Guild?"

Jannaxil blanched and pointed to the papers on the table.

"That is a communication to Zhentil Keep. Those don't come from Waterdeep every day," he sputtered.

"A curiosity," Elaith allowed. The dagger's circling slowed.

"A bargain. They're worth much more than ten silver," Jannaxil insisted, scenting a potential sale.

The dagger resumed its dance. "I don't see why."

"Well, there's probably a reward for the papers."

"Who would offer such a reward?"

"The Lords of Waterdeep might like to know that someone from the city is billing the Black Network for the services of a 'Zhentarim enforcer,' " suggested the fence. He invoked the powerful but mysterious council who ruled the city, hoping to strengthen and legitimize his selling price. After all, there wasn't a broad market for stolen papers of this sort.

"The Lords of Waterdeep?" Elaith broke into geuine laughter. "Will you tell them about this or shall I?"

The human colored a dull red. Unnerved and embarrassed, he muttered, "All right, then, take the papers. You've got more use for the Zhentarim than I do."

As soon as the words left his mouth, Jannaxil realized his error. Too late. Without faltering or missing a spin, the circling dagger flashed toward him. A scream echoed through the empty shop.

Elaith was known for his utter disdain of the evil rulers of Zhentil Keep and the members of the dark network that used the black-walled city for one of its prime bases. To the elf this was less a matter of conscience than of style: the Zhentish and the Zhentarim had neither. Despite the insult and the hurled dagger, Elaith's smile never wavered.

"I will take those papers. Thank you for your generous offer." With leisurely movements, the elf moved the sheaf safely away from the bloodstain that was beginning to spread across the table. He tucked the papers inside his cloak and rose to leave. Then, almost as an afterthought, he reached for the hilt of his weapon.

The dagger stood upright, deeply embedded in the wood, and it pinned Jannaxil's left hand firmly to the table.

Elaith curled his fingers around the grip and leaned toward the fence's terrified eyes. Sweat poured down Jannaxil's face as he stared up at Elaith, every bit as mesmerized as if the elf were truly the serpent for whom he was named.

The moon elf slid a gold coin beneath the fingers of the maimed hand. "You may need this for a cleric," he observed.

Chuckling at his own cruel joke, the elf wrenched the weapon free and turned to go. A second, anguished scream followed him out into the alley behind the Books and Folios.

Book Street was busy at midday, and Jannaxil's screams had drawn a crowd to the front door of the book shop. Elaith could hear the Waterdhavians, muttering and exclaiming over what might have happened and what they ought to do about it. The alley was also occupied, as were many alleys in the Dock Ward, by an assortment of scoundrels plying their dark trades. Even the blackest rogues fell back into the shadows at the elf's approach.

"There's a healthy demand for rare books today," Danilo noted, pointing toward the small knot of people gathered under the modest sign for Serpentil's Books amp; Folios.

"Most of them are leaving," Arilyn said, noting the wary expressions on the faces of the onlookers and the rapidly diminishing size of the crowd. "Whatever happened in there seems to be over."

The shop itself was an unassuming building fashioned of sandstone blocks. The only extravagance was a richly carved door of some exotic dark wood. As Arilyn drew closer, she saw that the door had in it a second, smaller door, which closed over a window cut near eye level. This small door stood ajar to reveal shelves and cases displaying the merchant's wares, but the door itself was securely bolted. Arilyn rapped loudly on the jamb.

"We're closed," came a voice from the back. "Come back another day."

"My business can't wait."

"Well, it'll have to!"

Arilyn balled her hand into a fist and knocked again, louder this time. The last two people who lingered near the shop exchanged uncertain glances and drifted off.

"Go away!"

"As soon as my business is concluded, I'll be happy to."

Muttering, a short pudgy man came out of a back room and lumbered to the door. Despite his rather undignified size, the man strove for a suave appearance. His clothes were carefully tailored dark garments, over which he wore an open scholar's robe of sober black to emphasize that he was both a successful merchant and a learned man. His black hair had been oiled and smoothed into place, and his round face was wreathed in fat. At the moment he appeared pale and drawn, and one hand had been clumsily wrapped in layers of gauze. His eyes swept disdainfully over Arilyn's peasant boy disguise. "What business of yours could be so important?"

"I'm looking for Jannaxil."

"What do you want with me?"

Arilyn held up the charcoal sketch she'd made of the thief Barth. "Do you know this man?"

The merchant's small eyes narrowed into slits. "He does not look like the sort who purchases books. Neither do you, for that matter. Go away, and don't waste my time."

"Now see here, my good man," Danilo said, his hand toying casually with his pendant so that the Thann family crest was prominently displayed. "We have excellent reasons for seeking this man, and I suggest you cooperate with us."

The nobleman's tone was haughty in the extreme, his stance the overbearing mien of one who was accustomed to obedience. Jannaxil responded with the instincts of a born sycophant. He shot back the bolt locking the door to the shop and ushered them in with murmured apologies and repeated bows that were as low as his pudgy physique permitted.

The fence led Danilo and Arilyn to a back office. The room was lined with shelves of rare books, many inlaid with precious stones and metals. Arilyn refused any refreshments and took the seat offered her in front of the merchant's oaken table.

Danilo refused both, preferring to lounge against a shelf laden with books.

"I'll just browse, if you don't mind," he said to Jannaxil.

"Of course." The fence took a chair behind the table. Arilyn caught sight of a small, jagged hole, made obvious by the polished wood. The fence casually moved an ink stand over the spot and dropped his bandaged hand onto his lap.

"What can I do for the Thann family?" he asked grandly. The unspoken addition "this time" echoed clearly in his tone.

Arilyn drew a gold snuffbox from the folds of her cloak and held it up. "Ever see this before?"