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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 roqm,” 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.”
    Mri shuddered. “Whoever … whatever … they were, they’re gone now.” She moved to a table