Under Fallen Stars (23 page)

Across the brig, Tynnel looked at him but didn’t say anything.

“Are you well, lad?” Hullyn asked gruffly, leaning forward to drop a big hand across the young sailor’s shoulders.

“Aye,” Jherek croaked. “Fever took me. I’ll be fine.” The chills settled in then, racking his body. He wrapped his arms around himself.

“Here you go, lad. Have a sup of water.” Hullyn handed Jherek a metal dipper filled to the brim.

“Thank you,” Jherek said, taking it gratefully. With them traveling along the River Chionthar, freshwater wasn’t a problem. Over the days of their travel, they’d kept a barrel of water in the corner. Vurgrom’s pirates topped it off every day. Everyone knew they wouldn’t have done it on their own so the general consensus was that Sabyna had something to do with the arrangement.

“Damn blackhearts,” Hullyn grumbled. “What you need is a decent meal and some rest abed. Your melon’s coming along right fine, but being down here in this pestilence hole isn’t doing you any good.”

Jherek silently agreed. He drank the water slowly, enjoying the clean taste of it, but afraid his stomach would rebel if he gulped it down.

Food was another problem. The pirates weren’t as generous with it. Breezerunner’s crew complained about the lack of meals, but Jherek knew Vurgrom was intentionally half-starving them to keep them weak. All they got was a thin gruel twice a day. It was lowered in a big pot from topside, and the men used cups they’d been given to drink it. Even at that, there was never enough. Tynnel rationed it out himself, seeing each man got his share.

After slaking the fever-induced thirst, Jherek thanked Hullyn again and passed the dipper back. He tried not to think about the dream, but there was nothing else to think about. He’d dreamed about sharks before-every sailor did-but this was twice he’d dreamed about this monster shark.

Silently, he rested his head and forearms on his folded knees while he prayed to Ilmater, seeking solace in the Crying God’s words. Only there was no solace. He sat trapped, and that was unbearable.

The despair in the brig soaked into him, ground into him with the filth that had accumulated after days of captivity. A large kettle from the galley served as the communal chamber pot and the smell from it pervaded everything. None of them had been allowed baths.

For some, Jherek knew, that was no real hardship because they didn’t bathe often anyway, but he did. After having escaped his father’s ship when he was a boy and making his way to Velen, he took pride in his cleanliness and manners. Those had been acquired things, things the wolfish boy who had run Bunyip’s decks with sand buckets had never possessed.

The shark’s voice echoed in his mind again. Why had it warned him? And turn back from what? There wasn’t anything he could do about his present course.

He pushed the thought out of his mind but found himself occupied with the missing pearl disk. He’d been wrongfully given it and hadn’t made sure the old priest had taken it back.

Then he’d lost it.

“Hey,” someone said, “look.”

Attracted by the prospect of a diversion, Jherek glanced up. Above them, a rat clung to one of the iron bars covering the hold. Short black fur covered it except for the pale pinkish-gray tail, resembling any of the rats that were the bane of cargo ships. It wasn’t unusual to see them aboard ship after spending any time in a city. Most of the time they crawled along the hawser ropes and onto the vessels.

“Foul creature,” Aysel snarled as he stood.

The rat only eyed him curiously instead of running. The behavior gained it even more of Jherek’s attention.

Aysel limped over to the center of the hold and took off one of his dagger earrings. Gripping it in his hand, he leaped up the short distance and caught hold of the bar with the other hand. Jherek already knew first hand how strong the man was, so he wasn’t surprised when Aysel was able to hang onto the bar and prepare to strike the rat with the tiny dagger.

“Leave it alone,” one of the men said.

“To hell with you,” Aysel spat. “That there’s meat on the hoof, way I look at it.”

The thought almost turned Jherek’s already feverish stomach.

Aysel swung the dagger, but the rat hopped to another bar and avoided the blow. Instead of running, it stuck its nose down to the bar and walked along its length in agitation.

A chill touched Jherek as he realized what must be going on. Fighting the weakness and the fever that clung to him, he pushed himself to his feet and slammed into Aysel as the man prepared to strike again.

Aysel fell off-balance and started cursing. He pushed against the wall and came back at Jherek with the small knife clenched in his fist.

Jherek blocked the blow. “Don’t! You don’t understand.”

“I understand plenty!” Roaring in rage, Aysel tried another blow, this one coming from underneath.

Jherek stepped outside the blow and slapped Aysel’s hand away. From the corner of his eye, he spotted one of the pirates approaching the hold. The man had a cutlass in his hand. When he spotted the rat, the pirate swung the blade.

“Jump!” Jherek said.

The rat flung itself from the iron bar, dropping into the brig. The pirate’s sword knocked sparks from the iron. Reaching out, Jherek caught the rat in his arms.

The pirate leered down into the hold. “See you bastards are keeping proper company, ain’t you?” He cackled at his own joke and walked away.

Aysel came at Jherek again, but Captain Tynnel caught the man roughly by the neck and yanked him off his feet. Aysel fell against the wall, squalling in anger.

“Don’t move,” Tynnel ordered Aysel.

“Bastard took my rat,” Aysel said.

“That’s no rat,” Tynnel said calmly.

In the next instant, Jherek had both arms full of lithe feminine flesh.

XIII

“Leaving, are ye? And just like that? With no fare-the-well?”

Pacys looked up from securing his backpack and saw Khlinat standing in the doorway. The dwarf had been generous enough to loan him the couch while they searched for the boy. The old bard had put the bedding away and packed his things. “Yes. I was going to leave a note.”

Khlinat’s eyebrows climbed. “Oh, and ye are in a hurry too.”

“Yes.”

“Do ye know where the swabbie is?”

“No, but I’ve found out where I’m supposed to be,” Pacys replied. He pulled the backpack up and settled the straps over his shoulders. “I have to trust that our paths will intersect again as they’re supposed to.”

“I’ve continued poking me nose into places around the city, but I’ve yet to find a solid lead.”

Pacys shook his head. Music raced through his mind again, traveling chords. “I don’t think you will. However he got out of the city, he’s not here any longer.”

“Aye, and I know that’s true enough.” He looked troubled. “Where are ye off to?”

“I don’t know. While I was at the church, I got a vision. It told me where to go, but not where I’d be going. I guess I’m supposed to figure that out after I get there.”

“Ye make this sound mysterious.”

“The gods do tend to move in that manner,” Pacys said.

Khlinat ran a hand through his tangled beard. “Ye going to be all right on yer own?”

“I always have been.” Pacys rummaged in his coin purse, trying not to notice how light it was for a man possibly traveling a great distance. “I know you’ve not been able to work at the shipyards since you’ve been injured. Let me pay you for letting me bed here.”

“Faugh, and that would be a laugh. Don’t think yerself so high and mighty, old bard. I’m a steady working man and no traveler from place to place depending on the generosity of strangers. I’ve got silver enough to do me awhile.”

Pacys closed his purse, knowing it would be better to keep his meager coin as long as he could. As long as he stayed within a civilized area he had no doubts about being able to sing for enough to eat and put a temporary roof over his head, but if he was out in the wilderness things might be different.

“I got a question to ask ye,” Khlinat said, looking a little uncomfortable.

“Yes.”

“While ye are out and about, who’s going to watch yer back? I mean, it’s going to be powerful hard to find the swabbie if yer fertilizer for some lonely patch of forest.”

“I’ve always watched out for myself,” Pacys answered.

“Aye, but things seem to have greater stakes at the moment. I’ve a mind to go with ye meself, kind of keep ye out of trouble and it away from yer door. If ye would have me.”

Pacys looked at the dwarf, realizing the warrior’s nature that resided in the short, powerful frame. Despite missing a leg and the wounds he’d suffered only three days ago, Khlinat seemed prepared to leave during the next drawn breath.

“I don’t know how far I’d have to go,” the old bard stated. “Nor how long I’ll be gone.”

Khlinat nodded. “Something put me there where that boy was. I still feel its pull on me now. I never been a coward, no dwarf worth his salt is, but that night with that boy, I felt like I was fighting the good fight, the kind a warrior would want to sell his life at if blood price was demanded for participation. I ain’t too willing to let that feeling go. Losing me leg, I’ve felt like half a man for a lot of years. With him, facing them sahuagin claws and jaws, a true axe in me hand, I felt like me old self. I want that back.” He paused to clear his voice. “I ain’t one to go begging, but if ye will have me, I swear by the anvil and hammer of Moradin to look over ye, be the shield over yer back should ye need it till I see ye clear of this mess.”

Emotion choked the old bard. Riffs of music, carried on the unmistakable basso that marked many dwarven songs, echoed inside his head. “You truly feel that this is what has been put before you?”

“With all me heart,” Khlinat responded. “I went down to the apothecary and bought meself a dram of heal potion to get meself more right for if ye should have need of me. Don’t be telling me I wasted me coin.”

“Get your gear together,” Pacys said. “I’ve already wasted two days when I was supposed to be doing something.”

Pacys led the way into the Hall of Wonders, between the black doors that floated in the air in front of it. The white many-toothed wheels on the doors looked exactly as they had in his vision.

The Hall of Wonders sat on Windspell Street, across from the High House, its parent temple. Stone gargoyles clung to the roof on clawed feet. The building stood three stories tall and ran straight back, a hall as its name implied. It was immaculately clean and the windows were scrubbed, shining glass.

A watchpriest greeted them dressed in a wheeled hat and a robe with a sash at the waist that contained gears, locks, hooks, and bits of tin, steel, and wood. Pacys paid the priest eight silvers, the entry fee for Khlinat and himself.

The old bard’s feet made only slight noise against the waxed stone floor. Tall stone pillars ranged on either side of them under the vaulted ceiling. Between the pillars, display cases held the inventions and instruments for sale. Duplicates were kept and manufactured in the building’s cellar.

“Have ye been here before?” Khlinat whispered, overtaken with the expansiveness of the hall and the tidy surroundings.

“Many times,” Pacys replied. “I’ve purchased some musical instruments here over the years. While functional, I found them to be lacking in intrinsic quality. There’s nothing like an instrument you’ve made yourself.”

“Aye, and a certain satisfaction as well.”

Despite the attack on Baldur’s Gate only a few days ago, the Hall of Wonders still held numerous gnomes openly gawking at the displayed devices. Even Khlinat’s attention was captured by some of them.

“Ah, the Ironeater clan I’m from would like to see this place,” the dwarf said. “If they haven’t already.”

Halfway down the Hall, Pacys found what he was looking for.

The mirror was perfectly made, nine feet wide and nine feet tall, framed in red lacquered wood. The unblemished surface gleamed, offering a faultless reflection of the old bard, the dwarf, and the section of the Hall behind them.

Khlinat scowled at his image, running fingers through his tangled beard. “Ooch, now there’s an ugly brute for ye.”

“Gond Wonderbringer’s blessing be upon you,” an unctuous voice stated. “Is there any way I may be of service to you?”

Pacys glanced at the young priest that approached them, then looked back at the mirror. Except for its size, he didn’t see anything out of the ordinary about it. For a moment he doubted the vision he’d been given in Oghma’s temple.

“Tell me about this mirror,” Pacys requested.

“It is beautiful, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Pacys replied, “but Gond isn’t known for his taste in beauty.”

“I could disagree,” the young priest pointed out. “The beauty of the gifts Gond bestows upon us is not inconsiderable.”

“My apologies,” Pacys said. “Forgive me for being so blunt, but what I referred to was the fact that Gond never built anything that wasn’t functional in some way.”

“And you’re wondering how this is functional?”

“Yes.”

The young priest approached the mirror. “It was ground as all mirrors are, and polished to its present sheen here. The sand it was made from came from a fallen star in the Inner Sea. Chosstif, one of the High Initiates of the Mysteries of Gond here, paid mermen in the Inner Sea for its recovery, then had it shipped here fourteen years ago.”

“Fourteen years ago?” Pacys asked. The time frame fit in with Narros’s story of the Taker destroying the merman village. “I don’t recall seeing it when I was here before. The last time I visited was less than two years ago.”

“It was only just finished less than ten weeks ago,” the priest said. “It’s surely one of the largest undertakings we’ve ever done. Chosstif was moved by a vision from Gond himself and made to carry out the construction of this mirror. It has very special properties.”

“Like what?” Khlinat asked doubtfully.

The priest walked to the mirror and put his palm against it. “A mirror this size is usually hard to get from place to place. Yet, once you have one in your home, you must admit how much it brightens up the place. Purchasing a mirror this big is not much of a problem, but the transportation is. With Chosstif’s collapsible mirror, transportation is no longer as difficult.” He pushed gently.