"Sounds like a lovely fellow," Sull snorted. "But you can't blame him for being angry over losing his hat."
"Oh, but you see, Kersh didn't tell the rogue that to get his precious hat back, Kersh had to gamble away half his wage for all the month of Ches," Icelin said. "The rogue got wind of it though, and this is the important part. Go on, Kersh. Tell him what Morleth said."
Kersh sighed. "He apologized, told me that he appreciated my looking after his hat, and said that if I ever needed a favor in return, I should go to Mistshore."
"Mistshore?" the butcher echoed incredulously. "That's the worst section of the city. He wanted to send you to Waterdeep's bowels to reclaim a favor?"
"At the Dusk and Dawn Inn," Kersh said. "I was to inquire at the dicing rounds."
"Those were his exact words," Icelin said.
"You would know." Kersh rolled his eyes.
"Except it's bollocks and cream," said the butcher. "Even if you were to brave the joutney to the harbor, how's this thief goin' to be any help to anyone when he's locked in a cage?"
"He's not in a cage," Icelin said. Kersh glanced down and saw her leaning against the slime-clad piling, looking like a smug queen surveying her holdings. "He escaped not six nights after he got his hat back. He's the only man who has ever escaped from Waterdeep's dungeons."
"You think because he offered me a favor he'll help you hide from the Watch?" Ketsh shook his head.
"And the elf," Icelin reminded him. "All I need is permission to call in your marker."
"Icelin, he's dangerous-dangerous and strange. You don't want to get tangled up with someone you can't trust, not when I'm here to-" he stopped, cursing under his breath.
"I would trust you with my life," Icelin said softly. "But folk have been turning up dead around me today, and I don't want you joining them."
"Then what's the butcher doing here?" Kersh asked, a little sullenly.
"Noisome baggage, but I can't shake him," Icelin said. "Please, Kersh. Give me your marker and let me be gone."
Reluctantly, Kersh reached into his coin-purse and pulled out a pair of cracked dice. They fit comfortably in his hand, clicking softly together. It had been years since he'd examined them, but for some reason he always carried them close. He handed them down to Icelin's cold fingers.
"Thank you," she said.
The butcher leaned in to look. "Are those bosoms where the sixes should be?"
"They are," Kersh said. "He handed them to me, clasped my left hand between both of his for a breath, then he nodded, like he was satisfied with a shift in the weather. He said, 'enjoy a long life, friend,' and smiled like he was having some jest. But
I could have sworn, by any god you'd care to name, that he was serious-relieved, almost. That part of the story I never told to anyone, not even you, Icelin."
Kersh went about his patrol as usual that night. When he was finished, he headed back to the barracks to report to the rordan on duty.
Icelin was his friend. He would lay down his life for her, and he would not sit idle while she wandered the most dangerous paths of Waterdeep.
Mistshore was a product of neglect more than anything else, but it had grown into a rotting infection on the back of an already struggling city. Waterdeep's harbor had become a steadily growing source of pollution and despair over the last century. The water had turned murky brown, and the breeze that blew off the harbor was rank with filth.
Ships had been scuttled haphazardly on the north shore of the old Naval Harbor; their owners were dead, gone, or content to leave them to the poisonous waters. One atop another, they'd gradually stretched wooden talons out into the brown harbor, forming their own private continent. The landscape on this strange plain could shift dramatically from day to day, with old wreckages dropping off into the depths and fresh tangles being added to the pile.
No one knew who it was that first discovered you could live on the floating, twisted wreckage-if living was what it could be called-but since then the newly christened Mistshore had become a beaching ground for wreckage of a different sort: the poorest, most desperate folk of Waterdeep.
Mistshore had earned such a dark reputation that the Watch patrols rarely visited the place. Their efforts to restore order on the battered harbor had earned them several slain officers and grief from the rest of the city, who preferred that Mistshore be left to its own devices. Kersh thought it comforted them in some way to have all the worst elements in the city confined to one area. As long as the violence didn't bleed over into the other wards, the people were content.
But Icelin was striding right into the center of the chaos. Worse, Kersh had sent her there.
Kersh entered a low-ceilinged building that housed the Watch garrison. Passing through with a wave to comrades he recognized, Kersh kept going, ascending a short flight of steps to a separate complex. Torches clung to the walls on either side of his path. The soot piles they left on the stone gave the air a dense, pressed-in feeling.
Or maybe that's your conscience prickling you, Kersh thought. He knew Icelin was innocent; it was the elf that worried him. Icelin would need the protection of the Watch, whether she wanted to admit it or not.
Turning down a south hall, Kersh stopped in front of an iron-bound wooden door. He rapped twice on the solid planks.
"Come."
The gruff voice sounded much deeper than Taythe's-the rordan who worked the night watch. Kersh felt a sinking in his gut.
He entered the small office. A broad table dominated the center of the room, lit by flickering candles that dribbled pools of white wax down the table legs.
A gray-haired man stood hunched behind the table, surveying a crinkled map spread out before him. A bronze, boxed compass sat at his right elbow. He looked up when Kersh entered the room.
Kersh swallowed and immediately saluted, tapping his forefinger against his temple. Gods, he'd come looking for a superior officer and found the commander of the Watch himself.
The Watch Warden of Waterdeep, Daerovus Tallmantle, surveyed Kersh through steely, narrowed eyes. A gray moustache draped the lower half of his face. In Waterdeep he was known as the Wolfhound, and Kersh could well see why. He moved around the table with a graceful, predatory air, despite the years on his body.
"Well?" the Warden asked, knocking Kersh from his stupefied staring. "What have you, lad? Don't lurk in the door. Close it behind you."
Kersh shut the door and came to stand in front of the table. Now that he was here, before the Watch Warden, he felt even more the betrayer. Icelin would never forgive him.
"I have news," Kersh said, "on the whereabouts of Icelin Team."
The Warden nodded. "Your patrol spotted her?" "Not my patrol," Kersh said, "myself alone." "Did you apprehend her?"
Kersh felt his throat dry up, but he was an honest man. "I did not. I spoke to her, and I let her go."
The Wolfhound sank slowly into his chair. He leaned back, crossing his arms. "So you've a tale to tell me about why you acted thus. Out with it, lad."
Kersh had expected fury from the Watch commander. He hadn't counted on the man's cool-eyed assessment, which, by its sheer weight, was harder to bear than any shouted censure.
"I believe Icelin Team has been wrongfully accused of theft," Kersh said. He relayed to the commander the whole tale, as Icelin had told him from under the bridge. He didn't have her gift of memory, but he thought he recalled the details as near perfect as he could manage.
"Do you believe her?" the commander said when he'd finished. "Do you think this elf, Cerest Elenithil, is responsible for Brant Team's murder?"
"I do," said Kersh. "I believe he has a personal vendetta against Icelin, and that she needs our protection."
"You have no proof that your friend isn't spinning her own tales," the commander pointed out. "Her name is known in this barracks, and among many in the Watch."
Kersh felt a flare of indignation. "That does not exempt her from our protection, should her claims prove true."
"You don't believe the murder of a Watchman should warrant our enmity?"
Kersh felt his face flush with shame and something else. Righteous indignation, he might have called it, though he'd never thought himself capable of such emotions. However you termed it, the wrongness sat bitterly in his mouth. "There was no murder," he said. "It was an accident, as all involved are aware. Blame the gods if you will, but no man or woman should be punished for the fell magic that has gripped this city since the Spellplague."
The Warden gazed at him steadily. Kersh felt his heart hammering against his ribs, whether from anger or fear of a reprimand, he couldn't say. He'd never been so bold before.
"As it happens," the commander said softly, "I agree with you, lad."
Kersh offered a quiet prayer of thanks. "I want to take a patrol into Mistshore." He spoke faster, planning it out in his head. "I should never have let her go. She could be killed-"
The Warden held up a hand. "Before you break ranks, lad, and start leading your own parrols, hear me out. You say she intends to seek out this thief, Ruen Morleth?"
"That was her intention when she left me," Kersh said.
"Then our solution resides with him."
Kersh kept his mouth from falling open with an effort, but he couldn't keep his tongue from moving, not now that it had got going. "He's an escaped criminal; he's not to be trusted with her safety. How can you consider such a thing?"
The Watch Warden almost smiled. Kersh could see the quiver in his moustache. "Ruen Morleth has never escaped from anything in his whole life."
This time Kersh did gape. "You know where he is?"
"Indeed. He is a fine thief and as crooked as they come, but he's also smart. Ruen Morleth is a survivor. He has contacts in Mistshore and the Warrens, and probably other places we aren't aware of. We made him a generous bargain: his freedom in exchange for access to those contacts in Mistshore. With Morleth as our agent, we can work within Mistshore, and none of our own men need die. It's a bargain both sides were more than willing to make."
"Why are you telling me this?" Kersh asked. He felt hollow, betrayed by his own ignorance.
"Morleth is many things, but he won't harm your friend," the Warden said, as if sensing his distress. "We'll contact him immediately. When he finds Icelin, he'll bring her in, and I'll see to her protection personally until this matter can be resolved to your satisfaction and mine," he said.
"How will you find him?" Kersh wanted to know.
"We'll attempt magical means. But as you know, such methods don't always function well within the city," the commander said. "Fortunately, we have other ways to get information into Mistshore. Go outside the door, lad, and call down to the commons. Then come back. I've work for you yet."
Kersh hastened to obey. He had no idea where the night would lead him. But when the Wolfhound spoke, he found himself eager to follow the man.
When he was alone, Daerovus Tallmantle spoke to the empty air. "You heard, I expect."
A figure stepped into view from nowhere and crossed the room. The train of her fine crimson cloak was last to appear from the empty air.
She had gray hair to match the Watch Warden, but hers was a frizzy mass gathered into a hasty tail at the back of her neck.
Her spectacles rode low on her narrow nose, held in place by a sharp upturn at its end.
"Will you want me to contact Morleth?" his assistant asked.
No one in the Watch or the Guard knew that the Warden employed the small woman as his spell guatd. Tesleena had been with him for years. She never seemed to mind staying in the shadows while he conducted the affairs of his post.
"Yes. See if the girl has made contact," Daerovus instructed. "If she has, we'll have to move carefully. We don't want to lose her. If all goes well-and I expect nothing less-she'll be brought in safely. I want this Cerest Elenithil summoned as well. Then we can determine guilt and innocence."
"And if Ruen Morleth is forced to aid us in this, you'll have the opportunity for a clear test of his loyalty," Tesleena pointed out.
"He will honor his end of the agreement," the Warden said, "or he knows we will hunt him down. But," he conceded, "I would just as soon know for certain that our contact in Mistshore is secure."
"Then I will leave you." The gray haired woman bowed briefly and vanished into the invisible world all wizards seemed to gravitate to.
Daerovus sighed and rubbed his eyes. "Where are you tonight, Morleth?" he said aloud, and chuckled. "You have no idea what interesting encounters you have in your future."
CHAPTER 5
Icelin had seen jaw-dropping wonders throughout her youth in the City of Splendors, and just as many sights that had convinced her of the worthlessness of some folk. She had never seen anything that inspired such measures of both emotions as when she first set eyes on Mistshore.
Adjusting the hood of her long cloak so that she could see a farther distance, Icelin took in the sprawling mass of wood, rigging, and moving bodies that swelled the harbor.
The place reminded her a little of Blacklock Alley: twisting, narrow corridors, broken here and there by the half-exposed bellies of ships that had been turned into living quarters or hawking grounds for vendors selling food and ale, or drugs and flesh. Torches lined the walkways. Small boys pushed past her with buckets of water, which they emptied onto the path. The saturated wood kept the torches' sparks from erupting into fire.
The wind blowing in from the sea was cold, and plucked uncomfortable holes in Icelin's cloak. The ait reeked of fish, stale sweat, and a prevailing, sunk-in pollution that arose from the harbor itself. Tainted forever, the brown, salty sludge clung out of stubbornness and spite to the wreckages of Mistshore, determined in time to drag the structures down into the depths.
Icelin stopped to make way for a grizzled man in a tattered cloak hauling a hissing, spitting cat under one of his arms. He paused long enough to offer her an open bag of half-rotted fruit that had obviously come from a refuse pile. Flies buzzed around the brown apples and pears.
"Copper a dozen," he hissed, sounding just like the cat.
He smiled at her, exposing an empty mouth and a scar across his gums.
Icelin started to shake her head, but the man was already moving off, a look of fear crossing his face. Icelin turned around to see Sull towering over her. His own cloak did little to hide his bulk, but the hood kept his bright red hair under wraps.
"You're going to draw more attention to us with that scowl than you would if we were both running around here stark naked," she said.
"I don't like this place," Sull said. He kept a hand on her shoulder, his eyes constantly moving among the crowd. "Shifts under my feet."
Icelin looked down. The rough walkway, reinforced to hold large numbers of plodding feet, was still a slanted, groaning mess. The wood had rotted or broken in places, allowing brown water to seep through when the wake kicked up. Anyone not minding his feet ran the risk, of tripping and falling into the polluted harbor. Sull's weight made the rotting planks creak and bow.
"We'll find better footing closer to shore," Icelin said. "We only have to be out here long enough to find the Dusk and Dawn."
The structure they stood on now was at least a hundred yards across and roughly the shape of an octopus. The central head was marked by smoke plumes rising in massive clouds to the sky. The largest concentration of people gathered around an immense, controlled bonfire. Wooden paths branched off at odd angles from this single head, ending at other wrecks and sail-covered remains of ships that would no longer be recognizable to their former owners.
"Should never have come here," Sull muttered. He eyed the controlled devastation like a fish that had suddenly flopped onto the dock. Icelin knew she wore a similar, gaping expression.
They moved through the crowd slowly. Sull's presence soon warned away any eyes that lingered on Icelin, so they stayed unhindered except for the occasional vendor.
A woman carrying a tray of brown glass bottles stepped int
o Icelin's path. Each small vial had a cork stopper and a crudely inked label. She brandished them like a barmaid passing out ale mugs. Icelin could see down the cleavage of her low-cut dress. Water stains blotted the peaks and valleys of its hem.
"Need a pleasure draught, young one?" the woman said, "or something a little more fatal?"
Sheer curiosity drove Icelin to pick up one of the bottles. She ignored Sull's disapproving grunt.
"That's a good choice, that is." The woman took the vial from Icelin and popped the cork. "My own special brew. Call it Grim Tidings." Her laughter boomed over the crowd. "Completely odorless," she said, holding it under Icelin's nose, "unaffected by alcohol or sugar, so you can put it in your lord's tea or strong drink, whatever his pleasure. Course, it won't be pleasurable for very long!"
"So it's poison," Icelin said.
"Should bottle the harbor water," Sull said. "It'll get you the same effect."
The woman laughed again. "Oh, you've got a nasty one here, don't you? He your bodyguard?"
"You could say that," Icelin said. A gust of wind kicked up. Icelin buried her freezing hands inside her cloak. "Why aren't there more fires?" she asked. "You'll freeze to death out here in the winter."
"Some do," the woman said, and shrugged. "You won't find much heat on the fringes, cept from the torches on the paths. Didn't used to be that way, and whole ships'd go up when some poor drudge was careless with the cooking embers. Only fire allowed now comes from the path torches and the Hearth," she said, pointing to the thick smoke plumes. "Largest fire pit offshore anywhere in Faerun."
Icelin heard the unmistakable note of pride in the woman's voice and marveled at it. "Who built the Hearth?" she asked.
"Same person who pays the boys to empty water buckets on the walkways, I expect," Sull said.
The woman nodded. "The gangs do it. The children are their children. The ones that enforce the rules are their enforcers."
"The gangs rule here?" Icelin said.
The woman chuckled. "You're round as a newborn babe, aren't you? No one 'rules' Mistshore. We're lucky to keep it floating. Everyone takes a little chunk of power, but no one wants it all. Who wants to be king of a rat heap? The ship's already sunk; we just haven't got the sense to get off. So we keep it floating, make coin, and everyone's happy." She smiled sardonically. "My power is bottles. So buy one or don't. But every breath I spend flapping with you, I lose coin. So what'll it be?"
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