Baldur's Gate II Shadows of Amn (4 page)

The red-haired man smiled, showing yellow teeth turning gray, and said, “How’d you know that?”

“I’ve been here before,” Abdel said, looking around and having to squint even in the dim light. “I guarded this place once with a man named Kamon who I later had to kill.”

“You know where we are then?” Yoshimo asked him. “Where are we?” Minsc asked the little rodent he was carrying.

Abdel answered for the animal, “Athkatla. We’re in the city of Athkatla—in the realm of Amn.”

Minsc looked up and chuckled, said, “You’re naked.” He looked back down at the little animal and said with a laugh. “He’s naked, Boo.”

Abdel sighed and looked down at his grimy, bruised body. The arrow wounds had not only stopped bleeding but had begun to close and didn’t hurt at all anymore. He looked at the two fingernails that had been torn off and saw, with no small surprise, that they had both begun to grow back. Abdel was only now feeling like he had any time to think, and he wondered at the sudden speed with which he seemed to be able to heal.

“We shall have to find some clothes for you, my friend, and maybe find some help,” Yoshimo offered.

“Help?” Abdel asked absently, then turned his gaze over a city he remembered as rough and unforgiving but still ruled by law. “Good idea.”

Abdel tried a number of different hand postures, various walks, or a combination of both to try to cover the fact that he was walking down the street stark naked, but eventually he just had to resign himself to the fact that, regardless of where he put his hands, he was walking down the street stark naked.

The streets weren’t very busy, and as they proceeded, Abdel started to get his bearings. He’d visited the city more than once. They were north of the Alandor River, which cut through the middle of the city to the Sea of Swords, flowing from some mountain source to the east. The warehouse was set against the wide strand in what the locals called—with typical Amnian imagination—the River District. Most of the activity in the city, even this time of day, would be concentrated around the terraced marketplace called Waukeen’s Promenade. That was across the river. Abdel wanted to find some clothes before he tried to go there. As he thought back to his days guarding the warehouse, he remembered a local dive not far to the east, on the way to the single bridge that spanned the river between the River District on the north bank and the appropriately titled Bridge District to the south.

“There is a tavern not far from here,” Yoshimo said.

“The Copper something?” Abdel asked.

“The Copper Coronet,” the Kozakuran replied. “You know it?”

“I know taverns,” Abdel admitted.

“Good,” the pale woman said quietly as she dragged Jaheira and the other woman through the storm drain, “he likes long hair.”

Jaheira struggled against the woman’s viselike grip but succeeded only in pulling out some of her own hair. She stumbled and grunted in pain when her head was jerked up, but she found her feet again and fell more than walked along the round stone tunnel. It was difficult to believe that this woman could manage to drag another woman, let alone two women, by the hair through a tunnel she couldn’t even stand up in, but this stranger was doing just that. Jaheira tried to trip her on more than one occasion, but the woman avoided her feet easily, not even seeming to notice the attempts.

The other prisoner was a pretty young woman, maybe not even twenty years old. Her face was stained with dust and tears, and her eyes were sunken and exhausted. She was hanging just at the edge of consciousness, as if sleepwalking. Like Jaheira, the other captive’s hands were tied behind her with rough, scraping rope.

“Who are you?” Jaheira asked the powerful woman for the third time since she’d regained consciousness in the stranger’s less than tender care.

“Silence,” the woman said.

Jaheira was vaguely aware that someone was following them, but she couldn’t turn her neck enough to see behind her.

“Why are you doing this?” she asked, ignoring the woman’s command.

The pale woman laughed—not an unpleasant sound, surprisingly—and said, “I can rip your tongue out of your mouth and feed it to my rats, if you’d like.”

“Just—” Jaheira started to protest, but stopped when the woman’s powerful hand came away from her hair, and she stumbled to the slimy, damp stone. The woman slapped her hard across the face with the back of her hand, and Jaheira fell back. Her head spun, and she was aware of a spreading numbness on her face and a cold wetness soaking into her tattered shift.

Someone with ice-cold hands grabbed Jaheira roughly from behind. His hands found her breasts, and she stiffened at the coldness of his touch. He hoisted her to her feet to face the glowering woman. Jaheira turned her head to try to see the man who was holding her this way, but he shifted his grip, pushing her forward. She heard a ringing click in her right ear like bone snapping against bone.

“No!” the woman said sharply, and Jaheira realized she was speaking to the man holding her.

“But this one is so warm,” the man said, his voice low and sibilant, cool against Jaheira’s neck, “so sweet.”

Jaheira gasped and looked at the woman, who caught her eyes and smiled in a way that made Jaheira blush. “She is at that,” the woman said, “but I need her for more than blood … for now.”

“Will I have her then?” the man asked eagerly.

“No,” the woman said, letting her eyes trail up and down Jaheira’s body, “I’ll want her for myself, I think.” The word “vampire” appeared in Jaheira’s head like an explosion, and she gagged at the feeling of the thing’s cold breath on her.

“Where are you taking us?” Jaheira heard herself ask. She’d never felt this powerless but couldn’t make herself submit.

The woman smiled, seemed almost charmed by Jaheira’s defiance. “Your friend is very special,” she said. “I suppose you know that.”

Jaheira looked at the woman, still hanging by the hair in the slim vampire’s iron grasp, and said, “I don’t know this woman.”

“I wasn’t talking about her,” the vampire said.

It wasn’t a difficult thing for Jaheira to realize she was talking about Abdel. Being the son of Bhaal, the killer of Sarevok, and the enemy of the Iron Throne, Jaheira didn’t have much trouble believing that Abdel had enemies even he didn’t know about, but why this vampire, why the Shadow Thieves, she couldn’t fathom.

“He got away didn’t he?” Jaheira asked, finding a flicker of hope. “He got away from you.”

The vampire took a deep breath in, and Jaheira was surprised when the vampire’s ample bosom moved out and up, was surprised that the undead thing really took in air or needed to breathe at all.

“Will he come for you?” the vampire asked her, though Jaheira could tell by the look in her eyes that she already knew the answer.

“He will,” Jaheira said simply.

“And if not for you,” the vampire said, glancing down at the young woman now passed out on the damp stone at her feet, “he’ll come for this one.”

“Who is she?” Jaheira asked, then breathed in sharply when the man grabbed her tighter, hurting her, arching her back against him.

The vampire woman hit her again with the back of her hand, and the sound of the blow rang through Jaheira’s head with a snap that warned of a broken jaw. The half-elf’s eyes blurred, and she felt as if she was falling, though the cold man was still holding her firmly.

As she lost consciousness again, she heard the vampire say, “I will drain you slowly, bitch.”

The man behind her sighed, and the vampire woman said to him, “You know what to do. I have other places to be.”

It was called the Copper Coronet, and it looked as bad, and smelled as bad, as Abdel remembered. He’d been there several times but had made no friends. He had not a single coin and nothing to barter with, so he knew he’d have to rely on something that was always in short supply in a place like this: charity.

“Oy,” a drunk old man sitting near the door exclaimed when Abdel strode confidently into the tavern with Minsc and Yoshimo in tow, “whatta we got ‘ere?”

“Hey, now,” the bartender barked, a look of stern disapproval crossing his distinctly ugly face, “what kind of place you boys think this is?”

“We were waylaid,” Abdel said, looking the barkeep directly in the eyes. “They stole everything.”

“You ever learn how to use those muscles?” the old man asked incredulously, then coughed out a series of guttural grunts that might have been a laugh.

Abdel ignored the old drunk but nudged Minsc when the madman started talking to his pet again. The red-haired man looked up, but was curious, not embarrassed. “Alas,” Yoshimo broke in, speaking first to the old drunk, then to the dark, swarthy barkeep, “our enemies had muscles too, and the aid of more than one wu-jen.”

“I need clothes,” Abdel said, clearing his throat uncomfortably. “I need clothes, maybe something to eat, and some water, and I need to speak with Captain Belars Orhotek as soon as one of your boys can fetch him here.”

The barkeep looked at the sellsword blankly for a long time, so long in fact that Abdel narrowed his eyes to peer at the man, checking to see if he was still alive or had died, staring, on his feet.

“Did you—” Abdel started to say but was stopped by the barkeep’s loud whoop of laughter. Tears streamed out of the man’s eyes, and he quickly lost the rhythm of his breath and started gasping between body-wracking guffaws. This did not make Abdel happy, but short of strangling or pummeling the bartender, he had no idea what to do.

“Indeed,” Yoshimo started to say, “it is amusing, but—”

“Easy there, stranger,” the barkeep said, glancing back and forth between Yoshimo and Abdel. “Word travels faster in Athkatla than you do, boys, and the three of you are hard to miss. Her name’s Imogen, right?”

Abdel’s jaw fell open, and without thinking he said, “Imoen.”

“Imoen, then,” the barkeep said. “Anyway, I know where she is and who’s holding her, but information costs in Athkatla.”

Fire rose in Abdel’s blood, and his head throbbed. The barkeep’s eyes went wide, and he took a step back, suddenly not confident that the bar would keep him safe from the massive sellsword.

“I need to make a living,” the man said, “and your lady friend has made some very, very powerful enemies. If they know I sold them out, they’ll be… unhappy with me, if you know what I mean. I might need to pick up stakes, right? Make a fresh start in a new town.”

“How could you possibly—?” Abdel started. “I suggested this place for a reason, my friend Abdel,” Yoshimo interrupted. “This man is Gaelan Bayle, and there is little that might go on in—or under—this city that escapes his notice. He demands a stiff price, because his information is always correct.” Abdel glowered at Yoshimo and said, “I’m no fool, Kozakuran. What’s going on here?”

“Yoshy-boy brought you here because he knows I know what’s going on around here, Abdel Adrian, Son of Bhaal, Savior of Baldur’s Gate, friend of the missing Imoen who was taken by Shadow Thieves who were none too happy about your late half-brother’s bandying their not-so-good name about the Gate … oh,” he said, “does that sound like I might know what I’m—”

Abdel was over the bar and standing in front of the barkeep in less than the time it took for Yoshimo to blink. Abdel’s hand was coming up toward the startled man’s face, and before Gaelan could duck, Abdel pulled the punch short.

“You can tell me who you are now and what you want from me,” Abdel snarled, “or I’ll do something I’ve been trying not to do so much of lately.”

Gaelan just nodded. “Listen,” he said, “I’m just a guy who keeps his ears open and knows people who know people who know people. I can tell you where she is, not because I’m a swell guy but because you’re going to pay me ten trade bars—fifty thousand gold pieces—for the information.”

Abdel had to laugh, but the force of it made his already aching head sting. “Look at me,” he said, “and ask yourself if you think I have that kind of treasure at my disposal, you gutter wretch.”

“Hey,” Gaelan said, smiling nervously, “you seem capable enough. Your little miss is alive and will be for long enough that an enterprising young man like yourself could scrape up the coin.”

“But fifty thousand …” Abdel said. “I could buy a ship for that.”

“Just what I had in mind myself, truth be told,” Gaelan admitted.

“It does seem a bit much, Master Bayle,” Yoshimo offered.

“Who asked you?” Gaelan grunted, then turned back to Abdel and said, “Take it or leave it, son.”

“Holy snakes and eggs!” a woman’s voice exclaimed.

Before Abdel could even glance at her, he blushed and tried to turn around and cover himself. This made the bartender laugh even harder, and a red-faced Abdel hoped the man would choke.

“I think she saw everything, Boo,” Minsc muttered. “Not that it’s hard to—”

“Minsc!” Abdel roared.

“What are you boys … ?” the woman asked. Abdel heard her soft footsteps approaching. She’d come in from behind a curtain that led into a dark storeroom in the back of the bar. The bartender’s laughing was beginning to settle down, and the old drunk was in the process of passing out. “What kind of place do you think this is?”

“Boy says he was robbed, Bodhi,” the bartender said, rubbing his pink, watering eyes.

“Were you now?” she asked Abdel’s back.

“Yes, ma’am,” Abdel answered quickly. “I need clothes, food and water, and word sent to Captain Orhotek. Please.”

“I’ll give you some of Gaelan’s clothes,” the woman said, ignoring the beginnings of a protest from the barkeep. “You can work for some food, but I doubt Captain Orhotek himself will be coming to your rescue. Maybe you just need to sleep it off tonight?”

“I need to speak with someone,” Abdel insisted, “there are Shadow Thieves about.”

The bartender Gaelan chuckled at this and said, “No foolin’?”

“That’ll do, Gaelan,” Bodhi said. “Go get him some clothes.”

“Like this one, eh, girl?” Gaelan grumbled as he passed through the grease-stained curtain into the room behind the bar.

“I must go,” Yoshimo said suddenly. Abdel looked at him, but the Kozakuran wouldn’t return his gaze. “I will find you if you need me, my friend. Best of luck.”