The group stood as he neared, each reaching for a shovel or pick, and a fourth appearing from behind the pile.
Regis fought his instincts, reminding himself not to slow, not to show any concern.
“Now, what’ve we got here?” asked the nearest of the group.
“A visitor to your fair city, bound for One-Eyed Jack in search of a room,” Spider answered pleasantly.
“Jax, you mean,” the man corrected. “Jacks, then,” the halfling agreed.
A second man came up beside the first, holding his shovel like a battle-axe diagonally across his chest.
“Have ye enough coin, then?” the first asked. “Would I seek a room if I did not?”
“Enough for the room and for the toll?” asked one from the back, and only then, at the sound of her voice, did Regis realize that it was a woman.
“I see no signs for any toll, nor was any mentioned by the guards at the southern gate,” the halfling answered casually.
“Don’t need no signs and don’t see no guards, eh,” the first man said, and he hoisted his pick-axe up over his shoulder, and moved near enough to bring it down onto Regis’s head.
“Aye little one, open yer purse and we’ll let ye know if it’s enough to get you across,” said the brute with the shovel.
“Hmm,” Regis mumbled as he considered his options. He had some coins in his pouch, and many more in the secret compartment below it, which this crew would never find. It probably wouldn’t cost him more than a few silver to get across.
A few silver and more than a bit of his self-respect.
“No,” he said. “I do not think a long while to realize ees Regison I will pay any toll.”
“Wrong answer,” said the woman from behind.
“Kindly move aside,” Regis said, and he lifted his left arm, throwing his cloak back over his left shoulder and revealing his fabulous rapier. “Ah, ye runt!” said the first, moving to strike with his pick-axe.
But Regis was quicker, his right hand sweeping across to grab his rapier and draw it in one fluid motion, and his left hand coming across the other way right behind the lifting blade, moving just under the right fold of his cloak, where his third weapon sat ready just in front of his right hip, the holster angled back toward his center for an easy and quick draw.
Out went the rapier and out came the hand crossbow, unfolding as it went, and as Regis’s rapier tip went against the throat of the man with the pick-axe, just under the chin, his hand crossbow aimed out perfectly toward the man with the shovel, leveled for his face.
“Once I politely asked, but now I insist,” Regis said. “Move aside.”
The two men glanced to each other. Regis prodded with the rapier, drawing a bit of blood.
“Ye know what Ship ye’re threatening, do ye?” the woman protested.
“I know that one High Captain might find his crew short three men and a woman,” Regis answered. “Unless any of you survive the fall, of course, and the swim in those most-unappetizing waters below.”
That last part seemed to have a great effect, he noted, with the blood draining from the woman’s face.
“I’ll not ask you again,” Regis assured them.
They moved aside and Regis crossed the river, his grin from ear to ear.
Bolstered by his bravery, the halfling confidently strode into the tavern known as One-Eyed Jax a short while later. He was surprised by the spelling of the name, thinking, of course, that the place had been named after the two particular cards in a standard deck, but he just shrugged it off, realizing that few up here could even properly spell, likely, and fewer still would understand the difference between “Jacks” and “Jax.”
Barely inside the door, many eyes turning to regard him, he threw back his cloak and swept the water droplets from his beret. He knew that he cut a heroic figure, quite dashing, and didn’t try to hide that in the least. Boldness would get him through, he reminded himself continually, as it had on the bridge. He could not, would not, appear the least bit vulnerable.
He wore three weapons on his belt, which had been looped with a blue sash to match the color of his hat. His rapier sat on his left hip, the hand crossbow in front of his right, and his dagger in a new scabbard just behind the hand crossbow at the side of his right hip. He wore a black leather sleeveless vest and a white shirt, unbuttoned in the front just enough to reveal an undercoat of soft cloth lined with glistening mithral strands. His breeches were light brown and his boots, high and fashionable, shined of black leather to match the fine material of the vest, and indeed, had been crafted by the same leatherworker, one considered, and certainly priced like, the finest in all of Baldur’s Gate.
As he pulled off his riding gloves-leather, but dyed blue to match the hat and belt sash-he scanned the room, nodding politely at those who seemed most interested. Tucking the gloves into his belt, he moved to the bar to ord of the DesaiIcreoner some wine and inquire about a room.
“And how long might you be staying, master?” asked the barkeep, an attractive young woman with gray eyes and rich brown hair just a shade lighter than the halfling’s.
“Master Topolino,” he answered, and he tipped his beret to her. “Spider Topolino of Aglarond. And I would like the room until I find an appropriate caravan setting out for the North.”
“Mirabar? Auckney?”
“Icewind Dale,” said Regis. “I am bound for Ten-Towns.”
She put the glass of wine before him on the bar. “And what business might you have in that forsaken place?”
“My own,” he answered, thinking it strange that anyone living in Luskan at this time would label anywhere else in all the world as “forsaken.”
“Good enough for ye, then,” she replied. “Just making conversation.”
Regis offered her a smile. “My apologies,” he said. “I am unused to friendly conversation. The north road has precious little of it now, I fear, where more oft must I speak with my blade than my charm.”
“Then might be you need to be more charming,” said a man beside him, but rather playfully, he noted, so he laughed and told the barkeep to buy the man a drink on his tab.
“You’ll not need your blade in here,” the barkeep explained.
“You are the owner?”
“Me?” the woman said with a laugh, one that was shared by all others near enough to hear. “No, no. Just a drink-maker and coin-taker.”
“And a pretty eye-full to be enjoyed by the crews,” the man beside Regis added, lifting his glass in toast to her.
Others joined in and the barkeep curtsied and gave a little smile, then moved to the other end of the bar to the call of some other patrons.
“But you beware, little friend, that it’s just an eye-full,” the man warned. “Serena’s spoken for, by One-Eye himself, and he’s not one you’re looking to anger, no matter how well you can work those pretty weapons you carry.”
“One-eye is a man, then?” Regis asked. “I had thought it a card in a deck.”
“Not a man,” the other patron said cryptically, and the others nearby chuckled.
The halfling left it at that. He moved to a table near the blazing hearth and ordered some food, and was quite pleased at the quality, as he was at the quality of his room when he went up to the second story to retire for the night. He found the posting board at the foot of the stairs, but there was only one caravan listed, and it was bound for Port Llast in the south and not to Icewind Dale.
“They’ll be another before the season’s turn,” Serena called out to him when she noted his disappointment as he stood before the board.
He smiled at her, tipped his hat, and bowed gracefully, then climbed the stairs, knowing full well that more than a few patrons were likely talking about him in the common room below.
He set a trap upon his door, using a shim stuck into the top crease of the jamb to hold a vial of acid he had brewed. Anyone coming through uninvited would be in for a painful surprise.hat playthings we be,” an moisture im
/> He moved his small bed to the corner across the room that would be most sheltered by the inward swing of the door, then laid his hand crossbow out in easy reach. He re-coated the loaded dart in poison, and set another nearby, nodding approvingly at his handiwork. He had served the Grinning Ponies in many capacities. He was their finest housebreaker when they needed to gather information in places like Baldur’s Gate, and also served well as the group’s alchemist, providing potions of healing and speed and heroism, and this poison he had learned to brew. It was not as effective as the drow sleeping poison it had replaced, for he had no access to the mushrooms unique to the Underdark, but he had found a substitute fungus that grew in the forests around the Crags. The poison might not put anyone of considerable constitution to sleep, but it often made an enemy’s movements sluggish, and as an added benefit, the clever Spider had added some particularly nasty pepper juice that made the small puncture wound of the tiny bolts feel as if it were brought about by a hot poker.
Quite a fine distraction, and thus an advantage, he had learned in fights against those so bitten by his clever weapon.
Before he settled in, tanned the room, peering closely at every crack in the wall through the magnifying prism of his ring in search of secret doors or murder holes.
Still, despite his thoroughness and precautions, he didn’t sleep much that night, fully expecting an ambush, and more than that, trying yet again to reconcile himself to these two very different identities, Spider and Regis. In the south and the east, he had been Spider Parrafin and then, after his flight from Delthuntle, Spider Pericolo Topolino, and hadn’t he made a grand name for himself!
But with Ten-Towns looming before him, not so far and not so long, was he to remain Spider? Or to be Regis again? He laughed as he considered that he had given his pony the same name Bruenor often used for him.
“A little of both and neither of one, then,” he decided, and he tried to sleep. But of course, moving from his contemplations only reminded him of his vulnerability and the potential for an ambush, and with that unsettling thought in mind, his sleep came in fits and starts.
No ambush came, however, and the halfling went downstairs the next morning to find a smiling Serena and a fine breakfast set out for guests of the inn.
What a collection those guests proved to be; ragamuffins, one and all, road-weary, or more likely sea-weary, cast-offs looking for work wherever they might find it. Regis sat in the far corner of the common room, near the hearth and close enough that he could leap through one of the few windows in the place if need be. He had his back against the wall, and kept his head up while picking through his food, his eyes scanning.
It occurred to him that any of the dozen others in the room would kill him for the price of a few pieces of silver.
That realization sent his thoughts back to the heady days of Captain Deudermont, when the goodly man tried to wrest control of the City of Sails from the pirates and the Hosttower of the Arcane. Deudermont had failed miserably, and his loss was Luskan’s loss, as was clearly evident by the decay in both structures and citizens. “Alas …,” Regis heard himself whisper.
All but a couple of the inn’s guests departed soon after the morning meal, but others entered, particularly after Serena took her place behind the bar.
Regis just sat back and watched. Knowledge was his most important ally. In in his previous existence momentcreonformation would keep him alive.
He was no less careful that night, no less attentive the next day, and no less careful the third night at the inn.
The following morning, soon after breakfast, One-Eyed Jax filled with patrons, all milling around.
Regis dared to move to the bar, where Serena warmly greeted him.
“Ah, Master Spider, but you’ve found the gumption to come out of your corner,” she said. “I told you already, you need not be afraid in here, and will not be needing your weapons.”
“I have learned the hard way to be vigilant,” he said.
“Aye,” she agreed. “And that would do you well in most corners of Luskan, and surely in Ten-Towns, when you get there.”
He tipped his blue beret, surprised and quite impressed that she had bothered to remember that little fact about his intended destination. “Busy day,” he said.
“Postings,” she replied, nodding to the board. “For crews, mostly. Many boats putting out to sea in the next tenday.”
“Any heading north?”
Serena laughed. “Might be one or two planning a stop at Auckney, but not to the dale, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“Only asking in jest,” Regis replied. “I have been there before, and know well the ice floes floating about to scuttle any who dare sail there.”
“You’ve been there?” Serena asked doubtfully. “And you’re from Aglarond, so you said.”
“Aye.”
“Quite the traveler, then. Have you even passed your teens?”
The halfling laughed and lifted his wine. “I am older than I look, I assure you.”
“Still, I would have thought that one of your … cut, would have gained some notice in coming through Luskan before, yet I’ve not heard tell of Master Spider Topolino until four days ago, nor have any that I’ve spoken to.”
“You have told others of me, have you?”
Serena shrugged. “Luskan’s full of eyes and full of ears. You made an entrance not often seen. If you hoped to escape notice, then know that you failed.”
Regis shrugged and lifted his glass once more. He hopped down from his seat and went to the board, waiting patiently for the taller folk perusing it to move aside, then took his place. Several postings had gone up that morning, mostly for crews, and only one for a caravan, but alas, to Mirabar and not to Icewind Dale.
“It will happen,” Serena consoled him when he returned to the bar.
Soon after, Regis was back in the corner, enjoying his lunch, the common room bristling with patrons. All seemed in a fine mood, and indeed, most of the groups within One-Eyed Jax that day were sharing parting drinks before putting back to sea. Regis enjoyed the spectacle and the many toasts, and found that he was more relaxed in the place now. Indeed, he spent most of his time looking out the window, and held his breath on several occasions when he noticed dark elves strolling by. At one point, a pair of drow came into One-Eyed Jax-and how the other patrons offered deference to them!
They took note of the finline-height: Icreonely outfitted halfling, their stares lingering on him, making him wish that he had dressed a little less colorfully and less richly this day. Indeed, one of the drow went to Serena and began a quiet discussion, and pointedly looked back his way as he did, making no effort to hide the fact that he was inquiring about Master Spider Topolino with the barkeep.
“Wonderful,” the halfling muttered under his breath, and he pondered going over to join the discussion openly.
Any thoughts of that went away almost immediately, however, when a tall red-haired man entered the room, flanked by several capable-looking brawlers. Clearly, given the parting crowd, men stumbling quickly to get out of the way, this was someone of importance.
The redhead moved to the bar and Serena rushed to serve him, and the dark elves toasted him and drained their drinks, then hastily departed.
Regis noted it all, trying to sort out the hidden relationships. When the redhead moved to the posting board by the stairway, Regis dared to return to the bar.
“High Captain Kurth,” Serena whispered to him, bringing him a drink. “I think you have found your caravan, little friend.”
Regis stared at the man, who held a posting in his hand, but hadn’t tacked it up yet, as he was reading the others recently placed. He was still focused there when the crowd in the common room went quiet once more, then gave a common “huzzah!” Regis looked all around in confusion, seeking the source of the cheer.
And then he nearly fell off his bar stool, for he realized that the patron of the establishment had entered. A drow, and not one-eyed,
Regis knew, though this one did indeed wear an eyepatch.
“Jax,” he whispered under his breath. “Jarlaxle?”
He noted with concern that the drow turned to him sharply upon mention of the name, and Regis huddled over his drink, silently berating himself for forgetting how keen drow ears might be, and how much keener still, likely, Jarlaxle’s would be.
Regis held his breath and didn’t dare look up as he heard the magically amplified sound of hard boots striking the wooden floor coming toward him.
CHAPTER 27
A CONFLUENCE OF EVENTS
The Year of the Narthex Murders (1482 DR) Icewind Dale
Not a smile greeted Catti-Brie when she walked into the Lone inn in the town of Auckney, a windswept, salty village nestled among the southern shores and high rocks of the Spine of the World’s westernmost peaks, overlooking the great ocean.
She moved to the main table and surveyed the menu items. “Lots of fish,” she said lightly to a nearby man, whose apron identified him as the cook or owner, or likely both.
“You get that when you live on the edge of the sea,” another man not far away answered, and with no warmth in his tone. Catti-brie turned to regard him, to find him staring at her body and surely not looking into her eyes.
“Three pieces of gold and take your pick,” the man with the apron said.
Catti-brie started a bit at the exorbitant price. “Three?”
“You came in with a caravan?”
“No, alone.”
“Three pieces of gold and take your pick,” the man repeated gruffly.
“I am not that hungry.”
“Three for a nibble, three for a stuffing,” said a woman’s voice from the other end, and Catti-brie turned to regard the speaker, who seemed a fit in age and demeanor for the owner and was likely his wife.
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