“Come in, come in. Don’t stand out there in the cold.”

John Irenum did not think the cool night breeze constituted cold, but neither did he want to argue with the maid. He nodded and stepped into the mayor’s home.

“May I take your cloak?” the middle-aged woman asked.

John shrugged off his thin cloak and also unbuckled his sword belt. Though the maid had never asked for it in his many trips to the mayor’s house, Jerathon had told him repeatedly he did not want anyone at his table to be wearing a weapon.

“They’re waiting for you in the dining room,” the maid said before disappearing into a back room to store John’s belongings. The captain walked quickly through the house, realizing he was late, and paid little attention to the fabulous home.

Jerathon was indeed waiting for him, as were the rest of the dinner participants. The invite was not uncommon, and John had gotten used to the special treatment. Of course, the mayor’s fondness for the single man was primarily because he had an unwed daughter. Ellen was the only child of the mayor and his wife. Most men in Jerathon’s position would regret not having a son to take up his family name and continue his leadership role.

Ellen was aware of this. She also knew that her father loved her and would trade her for nothing. This knowledge made her much more formidable than she would have been if brothers had surrounded her. She was independent and a free-thinker but not rebellious. She knew how things worked and would never be slighted.

It was this free-thinking and unwillingness to accept the role common to most women in the town that had kept her unwed. She was not stunningly beautiful, but she was far from homely. At the age when most girls were being courted, she had gone to school. As the only child of the mayor, this was not unusual, but she pursued her education for reasons other than tradition. She took a genuine interest in her father’s job and was willing and able to offer him advice on several occasions.

The men of Garrilport saw this and felt they would rather marry a woman they could more easily bend to their will and passed Ellen over. John had heard the phrase: “A woman is either a daughter, a wife, a widow, or a whore.” While John disagreed with the statement, he could understand that Ellen’s unwillingness to fall neatly into one of those categories made her less desirable to the men of the town. She was closer to 30 than 20 and was fast escaping “daughter” status. Also, Ellen’s father tended to scare men away.

John nodded to Ellen and Esther, her mother, as he took a chair at the table. One other man sat at the table, Torril, one of Jerathon’s aides. “Good evening.”

“Glad you could make it,” Jerathon said, glancing at the tall grandfather clock in the corner of the large room as he spoke. John knew he was late and decided not to try and come up with a lame excuse.

The butler came out of the adjacent kitchen and prepared to set the feast in front of them. “I hope you’re hungry, Captain,” Jerathon said. The mayor insisted on always calling John by his title whenever his daughter was present. John doubted it was by accident.

“Actually, I might have to trim down my appetite tonight.”

“Don’t even pretend you are going on a diet. I won’t hear it.”

“He does appear a little chunky, Father,” Ellen quipped.

“Ellen!” her mother scolded, but John knew it was in jest.

“No,” John chuckled, “it’s nothing like that.” He really did like her. “I had a large lunch today – something I usually don’t do.”

“Where did you eat?” Ellen asked. She was not one to take a backseat to any conversation. John hardly noticed anymore, but Esther gave her a stern look.

“The Golden Bell,” he responded.

The response of the others at the table was one of shock and lived up to John’s expectations. “I didn’t know we paid you that well,” Torril said. The aide looked at his boss, but Jerathon said nothing, knowing more was coming.

John obliged. “Remember two days ago when I told you about the man I saw foil a pickpocket?”

“Vaguely,” Jerathon replied. “Most of what you say, I tune out and consider myself a smarter man for it.” Ellen laughed at this. John noticed that Esther gave her daughter another stern look but totally disregarded the actual comment. This was the double standard Ellen was fighting, and John applauded her for it.

“I followed him this morning to see what he did. He entered the restaurant, and I followed. It turns out he knew I was following him and had set up a nice trap to bring me out in the open. He bought me lunch, and we had a nice long talk.”

“And did he warrant your earlier suspicion?” Jerathon asked, thinking he did remember their conversation a few days ago.

“Probably more than I had thought, though I don’t think it’s anything you need to worry about.”

“Good,” Jerathon said, filing the information into the corner of his mind he used to throw all the other useless junk he was bombarded with each day.

The meal was in full swing now, and the mayor moved to more important business. “I met with the merchants today, and they expressed immense dislike at the tax proposal we presented them.”

John nodded as if he knew precisely which tax proposal Jerathon was referring to. The captain came over to the mayor’s house maybe twice a month, and Jerathon always wanted to talk about stuff that did not concern him. Only in the last few visits did John realize that inviting him merely gave the mayor cover to present the ideas with his daughter present. More often than not, she was the one who ended up giving meaningful advice but was friendly and clever enough always to present the idea as if it were John’s.

“The sailors and tradesmen have complained that the docks are too congested with residential buildings and want to move everyone south along the river. This costs money, and we only have one means of revenue.”

John now did remember and also understood all the problems that went along with the proposal.

“We tried to explain that the tax hike would only be temporary,” Torril jumped in, “but they didn’t want to hear it. The only avenue we have left is to place tariffs on the incoming shipments, but that would hurt the dock workers, and they’ve already agreed to take upon themselves the cost of the warehouses they are proposing once we move the homes out of the area. I can’t see hitting them twice.”

“What if you moved the docks instead?” Ellen asked.

Torril shook his head. “No good. The docks are at the widest part of the river now, and they need to stay there. Moving them south instead would not work.”

Ellen turned to John. “Is there anything wrong with moving the docks to the other side of the river?”

John shook his head. “I don’t see why we couldn’t. We’ve always talked about putting new homes over there, but I don’t see why we couldn’t put the warehouses there instead.”

“Good idea,” Torril said to John as if he had thought of it.

“What about bridges?” Jerathon asked. “That has always been the thing keeping us from expanding before. The ships that come out of our shipyards are often very tall, and any bridge we build will have to be equally tall.”

“Why not go under the river?” Ellen offered.

“How?”

“Are there sewers dug near the river?” Ellen asked.

“Yes, there are,” John replied. “I don’t see why one section couldn’t be cleaned out and extended to the other side. It would be far cheaper than building a bridge.”

“Let me get this straight,” Torril started, putting his silverware down as he thought. “We don’t need to relocate all the people living in the dock area. All we need to do is to set up zoning for the other side of the river and allow the dock workers to build their warehouses. The only cost on our part would be to extend the sewer and clean it up.”

Torril outlined the plan and then looked up at John for clarification. John was putting forth minimal effort into this conversation and wasn’t entirely clear about the plan himself, but he nodded.

“We’ll need to get in touch with the engineers to determine how deep we need to dig,” Torril continued, “but I don’t see how anyone could reject this proposal. Everyone gets what they want, and we start populating the other side of the river. Good idea, John.”

“Thanks,” he replied but was too embarrassed to meet anyone else’s eyes. He just kept his attention on his plate, wishing just once that the ideas he was credited with at these dinners could be his own.

Ellen enjoyed the cool morning air as she walked through the streets of one of the smaller sections of town. The buildings were not as tall here, and there was barely any pedestrian traffic to speak of. She was headed to her favorite fabric shop and was taking her time.

Her mind was full of things this morning. Last night had brought no surprises, but she thought about John Irenum more than usual. He was not typical of the other city guards that served under him. Most were cocky and headstrong, bragging and telling stories so far from the truth it was laughable. John was not an expert on everything and did not pretend to be. She liked that.

Ellen paid little attention to her surroundings as she walked down the street, but her surroundings paid quite a bit of attention to her. Trevor sat on the flat roof of a nearby building and watched Ellen coming down the street, a sickening grin spreading across his face.

Trevor had still not fully recovered from his failed pick attempt on Reillon’s magically locked door, but that did not mean his boss was hesitant to push him back into service. Quinton was planning his ascent to power, and his thieves and ruffians would play a significant role in that rise. He wanted to instigate an operation of terror. His men would hit the town and hit it hard. The people would scream to the mayor for relief, and Quinton planned on being the person to offer it. The town council would reward him with power, and then, with his mage’s help, he would strike, taking all that had not been given to him and more.

Trevor cared little for his boss’s high aspirations but did enjoy his role in the first part of the plan. He knew who Ellen was and who her father was. What better way to get the mayor’s attention than to attack his own daughter! While he was at it, he might as well have some fun too. As he moved to the side of the roof to get into position, he hoped Billy was keeping up his half of the task.

The young pickpocket saw Ellen at a distance and understood Trevor’s birdcall to mean that she was their target. “Help, help!” he cried as he ran up to Ellen.

The young woman stopped as she watched the child run toward her. “What’s wrong?”

“Please, ma’am, you’ve got to help me. Please, hurry!” Billy tugged hard on Ellen’s arm, and she took a few hurried steps after him.

“What’s wrong?” she repeated. “Why do you need help?”

“He might die, miss, he might die. We have to hurry.” Billy half-dragged, half-led Ellen into a dead-end alley. “You have to help me.”

Ellen thought it best to go slow, but something in the young boy’s voice kept her trotting after him. It was not until she saw a man slumped against the alley wall hidden behind a large dumpster that she recognized the urgency. She released herself from Billy’s grasp and quickly stepped past the child and over to the fallen man.

Trevor moved like a snake, his left arm snapping out from his slumped position and latching onto Ellen’s wrist. His other hand held a wicked dagger, and as he pulled her toward him, he pressed the weapon into the soft skin just beneath her ribcage. “Scream, and it will be the last noise you make.”

Ellen was not trained in any type of fighting. The action she saw regularly was intellectual in nature. She knew there was nothing she could do here that would not result in pain and possible serious injury. Hopefully, all this thief wanted was her money. Hopefully.

Trevor found it difficult to look away from his prey now that he had her within reach, but he glanced over her shoulder to Billy. “Go stand guard. I don’t want to be interrupted.”

Billy swallowed hard and nodded. He dashed away from the scene behind him. He did not totally understand what Trevor planned beyond robbing the woman, and he did not want to know. He had seen the men in Quinton’s organization bring women into their rooms several times, and the noises they made behind closed doors had always scared the young boy.

Billy had also seen some of the older pickpockets come of age and have women in their rooms. He hoped he never had to do any of that. As it was, he did not enjoy this part of his job, but he had been assigned to Trevor, and he would do as he was told. He did not want another whipping.

The more Billy thought about what Trevor might do to the woman, the faster he ran, and as he came out of the alley, he ran smack into someone else. “We have to stop running into each other like this,” the man said as he grabbed onto Billy’s shoulders to keep the young boy steady.

The man’s grip became much stronger, for as Billy looked up into his face, the young thief’s knees went limp, and it was all the man could do to keep Billy from falling over. Entreri smiled at the kid’s reaction. He had not received that look in a long time, bringing back old memories. Entreri had instilled weak knees in more than his fair share of victims, which only made his job easier.

The assassin lowered himself to look Billy in the face. The kid showed admirable constitution by not fainting dead away. “I, I, I, d-did what you said. A-a-and I g-got beat for it.”

“That’s good,” Entreri said with a cheery tone, making Billy wonder which of his sentences the man was happy about. “Now, you can do something else for me, and perhaps you’ll get beaten again.” Entreri decided to add that last bit just to illustrate how much control he had over the situation. He had blatantly told the kid that he would probably get punished for helping the assassin, yet Billy was nodding furiously anyway, knowing that punishment at the hands of one of Quinton’s men was a far better thing than the horrors he saw in Entreri’s eyes.

“Where is the woman you led into that alley?”

Entreri had seen Billy’s encounter with the woman and had recognized him as the pickpocket from several days ago. It was not Entreri’s goal to end crime in this city, but he did want to find out as much about it as possible. If not to join it, then to make sure he could always avoid it.

“T-T-Trevor is in there.”

That was all Entreri needed to hear. It did not exactly answer his question, but the long-time resident of Calimport had already guessed the nature of this encounter. He had half a mind to walk away from the situation. After all, what concern was it of his if some woman he did not know got raped? It was probably happening at least a dozen times back in his home city.

Entreri looked at Billy. “Stay here.” Billy nodded furiously, and Entreri knew it would take a dark elf with a ready crossbow aimed at the kid’s heart to make him move.

Entreri entered the alley for no other reason than exposure. He was getting bored with his life as a carpenter and wanted some action. He had already interfered with the thieves once and had made his mark on Billy, but the young pickpocket did not carry the weight that this “Trevor” probably did.

Entreri did not want to lose his edge, and the only way to do that was to keep in his trade. Whatever came out of this encounter would do far more to get him back in than if he had kept walking.

As he walked down the shaded alley, it was hard to believe he would ever lose his edge. With his dark cape shrouding him, he was invisible to all but a hawk. He was no more than a mobile shadow as he crept up on the pair in the rear of the alley.

Trevor had started the encounter on a strictly professional level, and Entreri saw Ellen’s valuable gold pouch lying on the dirty ground. The meeting had then escalated beyond professional as Entreri saw the woman’s jacket and the majority of her torn skirt lying next to the pouch.

As long as Trevor had his dagger at the ready, Ellen wisely kept her mouth shut. She could easily see that Trevor was sick enough to do what he wanted regardless of the condition of her body. But as long as Trevor kept his dagger at the ready, he only had one hand to work with. And while Ellen did not cry out, neither did she make it easy for her attacker.

Entreri toed a stone and launched it at the dumpster. The thud echoed in the alley, and Trevor quickly threw Ellen beneath him as he stood in a crouch. He glanced toward the mouth of the alley, and then his eyes scanned the rest of the alley before returning to his task, counting the noise as nothing.

Entreri sighed as he realized he was too well hidden to be seen even after the stupid thief had been alerted. This guy would not last one minute in the streets of even Waterdeep, to say nothing of Calimport. The next rock took the thief in the back.

Entreri stepped from the shadows and was spotted immediately. “What do you want?” Trevor asked. “Leave. This does not concern you.” He stood with his dagger in front of him, looking as scary as possible.

Entreri was worried for a moment that the woman would try to attack the thief with his back turned. Entreri knew there would be little he could do to protect her if she did. Ellen wisely kept still, gathering what remained of her clothes about herself. “I want a piece,” Entreri said bluntly.

Trevor looked down at the gold pouch and then at the woman behind him. He smiled. “Of what?”

“You,” Entreri smiled back.

Trevor launched himself at the assassin, who stood a little more than fifteen feet away. Entreri waited until the last second and sidestepped the hurried attack, and pulled Trevor’s leading arm into the wall behind him. Entreri’s enchanted dagger would have sunk deep into the hardwood. Trevor’s cheap blade broke.

Entreri could have easily shoved the thief’s head into the wall too, but the assassin wanted the man to report this fight back to his superiors in detail. If Entreri had sent Trevor’s head into the wall, it was likely the man would not even remember his own name. Instead, Entreri stepped away from the thief, allowing him to draw his short sword.

“I don’t know who you are, but I’m giving you one more chance to leave before I spill your blood.”

Entreri said nothing but raised his arms in an inviting gesture. Trevor accepted the offer. Still without a weapon drawn, Entreri spun away from the attack, his cape flaring out as he did, hiding his sidestep. Like a bull trying to attack a gladiator, Trevor charged through the cloth to hit only air.

Being played with did not sit well with Trevor, and he stopped his charge, dropped to his knee, spun about, and thrust at where Entreri had just been. Entreri easily avoided the attack but did not move out of the short weapon’s range. Trevor attacked repeatedly, stabbing his blade out at Entreri’s elusive body. The assassin did a little jig in the alley, nimbly avoiding each lumbering thrust. He ended the dance with a nasty kick that took the thief under the chin.

Trevor came up hard and fast and executed an excellent forehand thrust and backhand swipe combination. Entreri avoided the thrust and spun out of the way of the swipe. As the assassin swept by the thief, Trevor felt a sharp pain in his arm. He turned to face Entreri, but the dark fighter held both his empty hands out to see, his dagger back in its sheath as if it had never been drawn.

Entreri was back up against the wall, and Trevor did not contemplate the phantom wound too long. The next attack was also easily avoided, and as Entreri stepped past his attacker, he thrust his dagger a little deeper into the thief’s side before returning it to the concealed sheath.

Trevor felt the soul-wrenching tug of the awful blade this time, and his fear only increased as he turned to see Entreri still apparently unarmed. “What are you?”

Entreri just smiled as he wondered what must be going through the man’s mind. He advanced this time, as Trevor was now against the wall. The sword absorbed little of Entreri’s attention, and he paid it no mind as Trevor swung it in front of him. The assassin had punched the man twice before the sword even came close to Entreri, and when it did, Entreri was so near that only the hilt hit him in the shoulder.

With his prey up against the wall, Entreri worked his magic. His two fists punched up and down the helpless man’s body as they took turns with the deadly dagger. Entreri hit him in the face with his right hand as his left pricked him in the gut. He then switched the blade, punching him in the shoulder with his left and stinging him in the leg with his right.

Trevor saw and felt both fists attacking him but was at a loss to explain where the mysterious energy stealing stabs originated. Regardless of where they came from, they had the desired effect. Trevor dropped his useless weapon and soon followed it to the ground.

Entreri sheathed his dagger with its identity still unknown and stooped to pick up Trevor and his weapon. The assassin pinned the man to the wall with his forearm and placed the lousy short sword at his neck. “I am not one to be trifled with. You will leave and not look back. Is that understood?”

Trevor nodded weakly, his eyes trapped within the black pupils of his tormentor. “You will pick up your little pickpocket on the way and never return to this part of the city. This is my town, understand?”

The man nodded again. Entreri stepped back and returned the thief’s weapon by thrusting it into its sheath and then pointed toward the open end of the alley. “Go.” Trevor went.

The thief’s loyalty was not in doubt, and Entreri turned his attention to the other occupant of the alley. Ellen was as frightened of Entreri as Trevor and Billy had been combined, for not only had she witnessed exactly what Trevor had, but she now thought she was next.

Entreri saw the fear in her eyes and did not advance. Instead, he tossed a half-full coin pouch toward her. It landed next to her own. “It belonged to your attacker,” Entreri said. The theft had been easy. “Buy yourself some new clothes.” With that, Entreri turned and left.

“Thank you,” Ellen wanted to call out when she realized his honorable intentions, but she was still too unnerved by what had happened. Ellen took a moment to gather herself and her thoughts. Her jacket was torn and dirty, but it was salvageable. Her skirt now showed a bit more leg than she wanted, but she would not catch too many strange looks if she tore it to make it look even. She had been on her way to a fabric store anyway.

Ellen took much longer to gather her thoughts. It was just now dawning on her how close she had come to being raped. It was also clear how easy it would have been for the second man to complete the job. Instead, he had given her money and asked for nothing in return.

As she rose, she felt a sharp pain shoot up her leg from what must be a twisted ankle. “He could have at least asked if I was okay.” She picked up her two coin pouches and limped out of the alley.

Quinton looked at Trevor and could not believe what he was being told. Trevor could hardly believe it himself. This far removed from the incident that morning, Trevor could barely believe his story either. Still, every time he closed his eyes, he saw Entreri staring back at him, his black orbs promising the worst kinds of death imaginable, and he knew his memories were accurate.

Quinton had talked with Billy and knew this was the same man that had hit him before. Under normal circumstances, he would focus himself on the task of finding this phantom warrior, but he had more important things to worry about. He would be the most powerful man in the city in a few days, and a hundred such men could not dethrone him.

The rest of his men had successfully mugged and assaulted several wealthy and prominent members of the city. So far, no blood had been shed. That was all about to change.

Parnid looked at the quiet house from across the street. Ever since Trevor had failed in his lock-picking attempt on Reillon’s door, Parnid had taken over the top spot among Quinton’s dedicated men. Draick was Quinton’s right-hand man, but the trained fighter was also a member of the city guard, and his time was split between the two organizations.

Fredrick Strum’s house was not as big as most council members’ homes, but this one was relatively young. He had been voted onto the council, not because of his wealth or experience but because most people in the city viewed him as the most brilliant man they knew. His grandfather had been one of the men who had designed the locks that had created the Garril River. His father had been on the council until a tragic boating accident had killed him. Now he was on the council, and most believed he would be the next mayor after Jerathon retired.

Unfortunately, that was never going to happen. Fredrick Strum was about to die.

“Are you ready?” Reillon asked as he stepped up behind Parnid. The thief was still not comfortable with the willowy wizard, but he knew that, unlike in the sewer, they were on the same side in this battle and every one hence. He nodded. “Let us proceed.”

It was night, but streetlights abounded around Fredrick’s home. This was an affluent section of town, and several people were about. Despite what Reillon had promised earlier, Parnid was worried about the light.

“Trust me,” Reillon spoke up, “no one can see you. You are invisible.”

Parnid looked down and could still see his entire body, but he noticed he left no shadow as he moved under a streetlight. The two moved up the steps to the front of the modest home. Before Parnid could attack the lock with one of his many tools, Reillon waved his hand in front of the knob, and the thief heard the bolt snap open.

Parnid threw a look up at the tall mage. Was there anything this guy could not do? Just a month ago, his best tricks were making eggs disappear, a sleight of hand trick that Parnid could do twice as convincingly. Now he could summon fireballs, make people invisible, and unlock doors with a wave of his hand.

Parnid shook off any fear he might have and pushed open the front door. The entry was quiet and empty. The pair moved through it and into the furnished living room. The house was small, but the young couple knew how to fill it. The furniture was elegant, and several expensive paintings hung on the wall.

This room was a thief’s dream, but Parnid quelled his desires and moved through to the dining room and the master bedroom. Parnid motioned for Reillon to stay back as the thief entered alone. Both men knew whom Quinton had placed in charge of this mission, and the mage obeyed the instruction.

It took Parnid no more than thirty seconds, and he reappeared, wiping his dagger on a confiscated pillowcase. “They have two children upstairs,” Parnid said. Quinton had made it clear that everyone in the house was to die. Parnid had not wanted to kill the wife and wanted to kill the children even less.

Reillon noticed this and looked up at the ceiling, above which the children slept peacefully. He motioned with his right hand and looked at Parnid. “It is taken care of.”

Parnid looked at him skeptically and moved toward the stairs. “I wouldn’t go up there,” the mage said, but Parnid ignored him for the moment. He smelled an acrid odor halfway up the steps and saw a greenish haze creeping down the hall. Parnid reconsidered and decided to trust the mage. Poor kids.

The pair moved back through the house toward the front door. Parnid looked longingly at the thousands of coins worth of decoration that adorned the room but kept his greedy hands in check. He was just about to leave when something caught his eye that he couldn’t pass up. On the mantle above the fireplace was an exquisite crystal sculpture. It was a miniature ship consistent with the dozens of vessels that the city produced each month. It symbolized the city’s prosperity, and a similar sculpture was given to each of the council members when they were voted in.

“I don’t think you’ll be needing this anymore,” Parnid said as he moved around the end tables and sofas to get to the mantle. He scooped the item off the wooden shelf and placed it in a pouch in his jacket in a practiced gesture.

Reillon did nothing, knowing that Quinton had said to kill the family and nothing more. The act seemed innocent enough. The two men moved silently out of the house and down the street, unseen by all.