Crimson Shadow, The - R. A. Salvatore Page 0,65

first, but the halfling had obviously known about the pendulum trap! Muttering with every step, Luthien entered the apartment.

Oliver was over to the left, fidgeting with an oil lamp. The halfling added some oil and finally got it going, though its glass was gone and its frame had been bent and charred.

Something powerful had hit the place. Every piece of furniture was smashed down and blackened, and the layers of carpets had been burned away to clumps of worthless rags. Smoke hung thickly in the stagnant air, though no traces of any heat remained.

“A magical fireball,” Oliver remarked casually. “Or an elvish hot wine.”

“Elvish hot wine?”

“A bottle of potent oils,” the halfling explained, kicking aside the remains of what looked to have been a chair. “Topped with a lighted rag. So very effective.”

Luthien was amazed at how well Oliver seemed to be taking the disaster. Though the light from the battered lamp was dim, it was obvious to Luthien that nothing remained of the place’s contents, and obvious, too, that some of those contents had been quite valuable.

“We will find no sleep this night,” Oliver said. He opened one of his saddlebags and fished out a plain, less expensive suit of clothing.

“You mean to start cleaning right away?” Luthien asked.

“I do not wish to sleep out in the street,” Oliver replied matter-of-factly. And so they went to work.

It took two days of hard labor to clean out the debris and air out the smoke. The friends left periodically during that time, back to the Dwelf for meals, and to the stables to check on their mounts. Each time, they found groups of children hovering about and in their apartment when they returned—curious waifs, half-starved and dirty. Luthien didn’t miss the fact that Oliver always brought back a good part of his own meal for them.

Tasman offered them a much-needed bath at the Dwelf that second night, and afterwards, Oliver and Luthien donned their better clothes again and went to the place that they could now rightly call their home.

Bare walls and a rough wooden floor greeted them. Oliver had at least purchased a new lantern, and they had retrieved their bedrolls from the stable.

“Tomorrow night, we begin our furnishing,” the halfling announced as he crawled into his bedroll.

“How fare our funds?” Luthien asked, noticing that Oliver’s pouches seemed to be getting inevitably smaller.

“Not well,” the halfling admitted. “That is why we must begin tomorrow night.”

Then Luthien understood, and his expression aptly reflected his disappointment. Oliver wasn’t planning on buying anything. They were to live the lives of thieves from the outset.

“I had planned a burglary on a certain merchant-type’s house,” the halfling said. “Before events put me out on the road. The merchant-type’s guards remain the same, I am sure, and he has not moved his valuables.”

Luthien continued to scowl.

Oliver paused and stared at him, the halfling’s mouth turning up into a wry smile. “The life does not please you,” he stated as much as asked. “You do not think thieving an honorable profession?”

The question seemed ridiculous.

“What do you know of the law?” Oliver asked.

Luthien shrugged as though the answer should have been obvious—at least as far as stealing was concerned. “To take another man’s property is against the law,” he answered.

“Aha!” the halfling cried. “That is where you are wrong. Sometimes to take another man’s property is against the law. Sometimes it is called business.”

“And is what you do ‘business’?” the young Bedwyr asked sarcastically.

Oliver laughed at him. “What the merchant-types do is business,” he replied. “What I do is enforce the law. Do not confuse the law with justice,” Oliver reasoned. “Not in the time of King Greensparrow.” With that, the halfling rolled over, ending the conversation. Luthien remained awake for some time, considering the words but uneasy nonetheless.

They made their way across the rooftops of the grand houses in Montfort’s upper section, Luthien in his cape and Oliver wearing a tight-fitting but pliable black outfit and the harness Brind’Amour had given him underneath his purple cape. Cyclopians, mostly Praetorian Guards, walked every street, and a couple were up on the roofs as well, but Oliver knew the area and guided Luthien safely.

They came to a waist-high ledge, three stories above the street. Oliver smiled wickedly as he peeked over, then he looked back to Luthien and nodded.

Luthien, feeling vulnerable, feeling like a naughty child, glanced around nervously and pulled his crimson cape up higher about his shoulders.

Oliver took the small puckered ball and the fine line out