Mistshore

CHAPTER 6

Icelin sat on the floor across from Sull, who nursed ale in a glass the length of his forearm. Working Ruen's dice between her fingers, Icelin said, "I think we should join them." She nodded to a pair of men throwing dice near the rear of the tent. A third man stood beside a painted board with chalk markings. The dice clattered off the board, with one man hurling curses at the numbers, while the other threw back more ale and collected the pile of coins on the floor.

The other tent patrons were more subdued, playing cards or huddling in circles with their own drinks. Lamplight glowed all over the room. Icelin's eyes were already watering from the smoke and the stench of so many unwashed bodies packed into the close quarters.

Sull eyed the dicers. "How do you want to play this, lass?" "Try the game, I suppose," Icelin said. "Might be we'll have to give them some coin before they'll help us."

"Do you even know their game?" Sull asked skeptically. "I've been watching," Icelin said. She yielded to the smoke and closed her eyes. "They roll pairs. Highest roller gets to buy points on the board-one copper per point, up to two." She opened her eyes and pointed to the dice board, where the man running the game was putting up marks with a stubby piece of chalk. "He can use those points to add or subtract from his next roll. Lowest roller that round picks a target number. They both roll again. The closest person to that number wins the pot. But if the winner isn't the man with the points, the low roller gets the pot plus all the copper his opponent spent on points to the runner-the man at the board. Side bets could be-*

Sull thunked his glass on the floor. "You could tell all that from across the room?"

"I memorized the numbers being rolled," Icelin said. "The rest was just putting together the rules of the game."

"They've been rollin' since we came in. How many numbers did you memorize?"

"All of them."

Sull nodded slowly. "Is this somethin' you do often, breakin' down dice games for your own amusement?"

"Not if I can help it," Icelin said. The numbers were already crowding her head, putting a dull ache at her temples. She rubbed them absendy. "The problem is that I memorize everything I see and hear. I can't not."

Sull raised an eyebrow. "How long have you had this gift?"

A gift. That's what everyone called it. Icelin was long past being amused by the notion. "Almost ten years now."

It had also been ten years since the headaches started. The blinding, heavy pain came whenever she was in a crowd, or had too many facts vying for space in her head. Schooling had been a chore. Brant had taken on the task of teaching her himself, but they'd had to move slowly. She was quick and eager to learn, but there was only so much information she could be exposed to in a day, before the load threatened to overwhelm her.

Not until she started studying the Art did she discover how to bind away the information in her mind. Ndzun, her teacher, had shown her how, and had saved her going mad from the constant headaches.

It turned out storing information was no different than storing a spell once you'd memorized it from a book. Icelin had simply set aside a specific place in her mind for the facts to rest until they were needed.

"Picture your mind as a vast library," Nelzun had described it at the time.

"No vault can hold all of what rattles around in my head," she'd complained. But her teacher had only smiled indulgently.

"Once you have walked the halls of Candlekeep, with permanent wide eyes and slackening of the jaw, you may feel quite different," he'd said. "But let us stay in more familiar territory. Picture a building like your great-uncle's shop, but with an infinite number of levels.

"Follow a winding stair, up and up until you reach the place where magic dwells. Can you see it? Be playful, be mysterious, whatever suits your nature."

Icelin remembered squirming. "But I don't see how-"

"A red, plush carpet, so soft you can sink your feet right in." Her teacher had carried on as if she hadn't spoken. "Gold brocade curtains that shine in the sunlight, a fireplace covering an entire wall. And on the others: row upon row of bookshelves-empty now-but soon to be filled with the wonders of the Art. Everything you will ever learn or discover will be housed on these shelves.

"Picture a large wingback chair with leather cushions. Draw it before the fire and find upon the seat a single book-a very old, worn tome. The leather is cracked, the pages heavily browned by fingerprints of students who long ago became masters. Open the book. See what secrets lie inside."

When Icelin had opened her eyes, her teacher had presented her with a book exactly like the one he'd just described. It was to become her first and only spellbook. Icelin had been fascinated, and had loved her teacher from that day on. She would have done anything, mastered any spell, to please him.

Better that she'd never opened that imaginary room in her mind. She hated the thought of it now.

"Come on," she said to Sull. Distraction was better than a locked door for keeping memories at bay. "We're wasting time."

She approached the group of dicers and cleared her throat. No one paid her any heed. She cast a pointed look at Sull.

"New player, lads!" the butcher boomed.

Three heads turned to regard Icelin with a mixture of curiosity and annoyance.

Hesitandy, Icelin let her hood fall back and held out Ruen's dice. Suddenly she didn't feel so confident. She felt exposed, naked under the gazes of the rough men.

She cleared her throat again so her voice would be steady. "I've been told these are lucky dice," she said. "Do you gentleman mind if I throw with them?"

"No outsiders," one of the men snarled. "You throw our bones or none, girl, 'less you'd like a private game." He leered at her.

Sull stepped forward, but the man who'd been chalking the board spoke up.

"You're not welcome at this game," he said, watching Icelin closely. His eyes fell on the dice she held. "You should try the shore. There's a woman there, prostitute named Fannie Beblee. Give your dice to her. She'll get you what you need."

"My thanks," Icelin said, and to Sull, "Let's go."

The men resumed their game while she and Sull headed for the tent flap. She glanced back once and saw the man in the red coat watching them from behind the makeshift bar. He looked away quickly.

When they were outside, Sull said, "Awfully accommodatin' fellows. Oh yes, I feel much more secure under their direction."

"You think it's a trap?" Icelin said dryly.

"I think I won't be puttin' my cleavers away any time soon," Sull said.

"Aren't you the least bit curious?" Icelin asked, picking her way along the unstable wooden path to the shore. "About this Fannie Beblee? Or Ruen Morleth?"

"Least it gets us to shore," Sull said, "and off this stinkin' water."

"And we'll be able to fight better on land, assuming it is a trap," Icelin said.

"Now you're thinkin'." Sull clapped her on the back.

The shore, for all its stability, was not in much better shape than the floating parts of Mistshore.

Crude tents and lean-tos had been erected all along the shoreline. There must have been hundreds of the structures. Fires crackled in crudely dug pits, for there was little to burn here. In most cases a pot or spit hung over the flames. The meat on them was meager, consisting of rodents or small fish.

The people moved around in a sort of forced communal camp, talking or sleeping, huddled together for warmth. Icelin heard snores, hushed whispers, and a baby wailing in the distance.

She bent to speak to the nearest woman, who was stirring a pot of fat white beans in a watery broth. The lumpy mixture and its smell turned Icelin's stomach.

"I beg pardon, but I'm looking for someone," she said.

The woman ignored her and kept stirring the pot. The slow, rhythmic task absorbed her entire attention. Icelin might as well have been a fly buzzing in the air.

Sull put in, "Her name's Fannie. She's a friend of mine-"

Tinkling coins interrupted him. Icelin had pulled two silver pieces-nearly all of her remaining coin-from her neck pouch, drawing the woman's gaze from the pot as if by a mind charm.

"She's a prostitute," Icelin said, handing the woman the silver. "Fannie Beblee."

The woman curled her fingers in a claw around the coins. She pointed with her spoon to a spot south along the shore where two fires burned, one next to the other, then went back to stirring. The tents behind them were tied shut.

"Thank you," Icelin said. She straightened, but Sull remained kneeling next to the woman. Her expression had not altered throughout the whole exchange. Her eyes were lifeless, rimy pools sucked down in wrinkled, parchmentlike skin.

"We have to go, Sull."

The butcher reached into his apron and pulled out a small wrapped packet. He tore one end off and emptied the contents into the woman's soup pot.

The woman's stirring hand froze. She gazed up at Sull with a mixture of fear and hope swimming in her eyes.

"Not poison," Sull said, "but salt. Keep stirrin', and add this to the mix when it's ready." He drew out another packet and handed it to her. "Pepper grounds, and a few other spices I added to make a seasonin'. Works for potato chowder, so why not beans?"

Jaleigh Johnson

Mistshore

But the woman didn't seem to be listening to him. She opened the second packet and touched her tongue to the edge to taste the spices. Her eyes filled with tears. She seized Sull's hand and kissed it.

Sull's face turned bright red. "Oh, er, you're welcome." He stood up quickly, tripping over his own feet.

Icelin took the big man's arm to steady him, and they drew away from the fire. For a time, neither spoke.

"I would never have thought to do that," Icelin said. "I would never have guessed that she'd want spices. I just assumed coin would move her."

"Coin's more valuable, but easily stolen," Sull said. "Salt and pepper don't amount to much, but if I'd been eatin' that bean slop for as long as she has-and I'll wager my stock of good steaks that's all she gets-I'd be cryin' for somethin' to flavor it with."

"You really enjoy cooking, don't you?" Icelin said. They'd reached the closed tents, but she hesitated to approach. She felt like an intruder.

"Always have," Sull said. "My father taught me to hunt game. This was, oh, long before we came to Waterdeep, and my mother let me watch the right way of preparin' it. She was forever making up her own recipes. Lot of them amounted to a burnt tongue and watery eyes, but she could make some of those dishes sing. I learnt all the best fixins from her."

"Does she still cook?" Icelin asked.

Sull shook his head. "Ah, she died. Year or so after we came here. Birthed a second son for my father, but she was too old for it, and she didn't live to see 'im. The little one followed her."

Icelin nodded. "I'm sorry. What about your father?"

"He found another wife and lives, still," Sull said, "but doesn't know much of where he is or who he is, most days. He'll be gone by the winter, I think." He nodded to the tent flap. "You can't put this off forever, lass. Best get it over with."

"You're right." Reluctantly, Icelin approached the closest tent. She called out, "Fannie Beblee. Are you in there?"

For a breath or two, there was no movement or response from within the tent. Then the cloth flap shuddered and was torn aside by a small brown hand.

The woman who peeked out was so tanned Icelin could barely distinguish her from the darkness of the tent. She peered at Icelin through muddy brown'eyes. Her hair hung in graying, lank halves from a part in the center of her scalp. Sand grains sparkled in the tangled locks.

An angry dust devil, Icelin thought.

"Did you call Fannie Beblee?" The woman spoke in a rush, shoving the two names into one.

"I did," Icelin said, stepping forward. "We were sent here from the Dusk and Dawn. I have something to give you."

The woman's jaw hung slack. She clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth. "You come from Whalebone Court. A criminal's alley, that is. What you bring me from there that's any good?"

Icelin held Ruen's dice up to the firelight so the woman could see.

"The bosoms are on the bottom," Sull muttered. Fannie took the dice, pressing them between her two hands. Her face lit with a wicked smile.

"You bring me cursed dice," she said. "The boy is cursed."

"Ruen Morleth?" Icelin said. "What do you know about him?"

"The world is cold to him," Fannie said, "even old Fannie Beblee. So why not be cold right back to the world, eh? That's his way."

"Is that why he's a thief?" Icelin asked.

"A damn good thiefl" Fannie shook a finger at Icelin and Sull. "He gave me this." She worked the strings of her raggedy cotton dress.

"That's all right," Sull said hastily. "We don't need to see any of… ahem… whatevet you got under there."

Fannie shot him a scandalized look. "You think I'm going to give you this show for nothing?" She propped a hand on her bony hip and stood on her knees, swaying back and forth. "You pay, then we talk, big fellow. But later. I'm busy now." She waved a dismissive hand.

Icelin didn't have to look at Sull to know his face was bright red again. She bit her lip hard to keep from laughing.

"This is what I mean." Fannie pulled a leather cord from around her neck". Attached to one end-which had been buried in the bodice of her dress-was a tiny quill. A black crow feather, the quill had been stripped of its barbs, and the shaft appeared to have been dipped in gold. There was no longer a hollow end for the ink to reach parchment. So far as Icelin could see, the quill was for decoration only, and served no functional purpose. Yet Fannie gripped the gold shaft like a writing instrument, her tiny brown fingers fitting perfectly around the tip.

"It's… lovely," Icelin said. "Ruen gave this to you?"

"From his collection," Fannie said proudly.

"Collection?"

"Darzmine Hawlace's collection. They say he is mad- Darzmine, not Ruen-but he is not. Smart was the word. Hoarded items of power, disguised as art. Ruen was smarter. He knows art and power too. Knew just what to take from old Darzmine."

"So this is one of the pieces Ruen stole, the theft that got him imprisoned." Icelin looked at the quill with new eyes. "What is its power?"

Fannie's smile broadened. "I show you, but only you." She waved Sull away. "He don't understand."

Icelin and Sull exchanged glances. Icelin nodded at the water. "Wait for me over there. If trouble comes, I'll scream until my lungs burst."

Sull hesitated, and nodded. Icelin watched him stride down the shore to where the brown water lapped at the sand.

"What wouldn't my friend understand?" Icelin asked. But the woman didn't seem to hear her. She squatted in the sand and bent close to the fire. By the light, Icelin could see her tanned skin hanging in tiny ripples off her neck. She must have been almost fifty winters old. How long had she lived out here, alone?

Fannie looked up to make sure Icelin was still watching, whistled like an angry bird, and went back to her work.

Icelin realized she was sketching a picture in the sand. The gold quill matched the fire in color and movement. Remnants of the crow feather quivered in time to Fannie's scrawling.

"Here it is," Fannie said. "Now look. Move, girl."

Icelin hiked up her skirt and crouched in the sand, bending her head close to the prostitute's. The figure she had drawn in the sand was a hawk. She could see the predator's talons and curved beak. For a sand drawing, the picture was remarkably vivid. The depression where Fannie had placed the raptors eye almost seemed alive.

Icelin gasped. The bird's head and body were rising, drawing sand and separating from it at the same time, as if they'd been buried and not merely a sketch. The thing took on shape and mass before Icelin's eyes. She had seen castles forged from sand or mud, but she'd never imagined the childish images coming alive.

The bird shook out its wings. Sand flew, catching a shocked Icelin in the face.

"Is it real?" she whispered, afraid to disturb the air and cause the sand-bird to disappear.

Fannie laughed. "No, no. Magic tells it what shape to take, and magic holds it together. Won't last long, but it makes a pretty art. Turtles," she said, chewing her lip. "I like turtles better. They don't move so fast, and the shells make them last longer."

Icelin reached out to touch the slender bird's wing. When she pulled her fingers back, they were glazed with sand. The bird did not react to her touch. It spread its wings as if for flight, and collapsed into a pile of sand.

"See," Fannie said, disappointment heavy in her voice, "they try to fly and fall."

"That was amazing," Icelin said.

"Aha! I knew you would understand," Fannie said. "He will like you, poor man."

Abruptly recalling why she was there, Icelin sobered. "You mean Ruen. I need to find him. I was told that you could help me."

"Oh, I can," Fannie said. Her gaze turned shrewd. "But what can you give to Fannie for helping you?"

Icelin didn't know what to say. She was rapidly running out of coins, and she suspected a woman like Fannie had as little use for them as the woman and het bean pot.

Inspiration struck her. "My friend, the one you sent away"-she waved an arm to get Sull's attention down the beach and motioned for him to rejoin them-"is the finest cook in Waterdeep."

"Is he?" Fannie watched Sull with renewed interest.

In truth, Icelin had no proof that Sull was any good in the kitchen, but she hoped Fannie wouldn't know the difference.

"Sull," she said, when the butchet approached, "I wonder if you would be willing to cook a meal for Fannie, as payment for telling us where to find Ruen Morleth?"

Fannie nodded eagetly, but Sull was looking atound at the barren camp.

"Be happy to," he said. "But I've got no tools here."

"I have them!" Fannie scurried back into her tent like a mouse going to ground. She came up with a small black frypan, which she handed to Sull. "You cook for me with this."

Sull scratched his sideburns. "I suppose I could do a little fishin'," he said slowly. "Don't know what I'll catch that's not contaminated."

"Just try. That's all I ask," Icelin said, and turned back to Fannie. "Sull will cook for you, but we haven't much time. I need you to set up a meeting for me with Ruen. Can you do that?"

"Ah, I do one better for you, since you cook for Fannie." The woman pointed out to the harbor. "You find him out there. He takes a little raft out every night, to catch his own fish. You take a boat, go beyond Whalebone Court, and you find him. You'll see his light on a sagging pole. Only he goes out far enough to waltz. You'll find him."

Sull shook his head. "I don't like the sound of this," he said. "You're not going out there alone while I'm here cookin'-"

"It's our bargain, Sull," Icelin said firmly. "Besides"-she lowered her voice-"if it is a trap, at least you'll be on the shore. If Fannie is involved, you'll want to keep her close by. If I'm attacked or kidnapped, she can help you find me."

"That's not a comfortin' thought," Sull said.

"We don't have our choice of comforts tonight," Icelin pointed out. "It's either this or we run on our own, and I don't like those odds."

Sull sighed. "If you're determined to go, be wary, and signal me with one of those bright color spells if somethin' is amiss. I'll come runnin' across the water if I have to."

"I know you will." Icelin touched his cheek. He blushed mightily.

She turned to Fannie. "Do you know where I can borrow a boat?"

Fannie sniffed. "I know where you can steal one."

I suppose I'm officially a thief, Icelin thought as she rowed out into the harbor.

On the shore, she could just make out Sull, dangling a driftwood pole he'd constructed in the water. He kept his head bent, shoulders hunched, trying to ignore the sounds coming from Fannie's tent.

Her latest customer had arrived in a tiny rowboat, which Fannie had offered to Icelin as soon as she'd gotten her man safely out of sight inside the tent.

Icelin prayed she'd be out and back without incident, and the man would never know she'd taken his boat.

The way was slow going. More than once Icelin had to turn the boat around and row in the opposite direction to avoid a shelf of rock or ship debris. Small wonder this section of the harbor had fallen into disuse. Any sound ship entering the area would soon have her hull scraped raw.

She rowed past Whalebone Court and the Dusk and Dawn's red tent. Behind them, she could see the distant glow of the Hearth fire. The sound of raucous laughter and clumsy lute music drifted along the water. At least here, there was some semblance of normal life, even celebration, in Mistshore.

Icelin left the noise behind and rowed out into the dark water. She didn't know how she would come upon Ruen Morleth, or what she would say when she did. Why he would dwell alone in the putrid harbor was a mystery to her, but she didn't have long to ponder it. In the distance, she saw a sagging light, just as Fannie had said she would.

It bobbed faintly-a lantern, she saw as she approached-on the end of a long, bending pole attached to a raft. There were no other boats so far out in the harbor.

When she got close, Icelin heard voices. Two shapes stood out in the weaving lantern light. She could not make out their features, but the profile of the nearer one was short and rotund, his head hairless. The othet held a fishing pole as tall as his body. He was very nearly as slender as the pole. Icelin also noted that the man either had a very misshapen head, or was wearing a floppy hat.

Icelin stopped rowing. She lifted her oars carefully out of the water and listened to the voices.

"I'm a clever man, Ruen. You could do worse."

The tall man cast his line into the harbor and answered, dryly, "Oh, I'm aware of it. I could tread the catwalks of Mistshore with a viper around my neck. Come to think of it, the snake might not be so bad, if I walk lightly. No, I don't think I need a partner, Garlon, especially one who sells his own brother to the Watch."

"How did you know about that?" The other man's voice squeaked like a guilty child's. "That was family business, got nothing to do with you and me. Come on, Ruen, you know you can't go it alone forever. You already got caught once. Admit it, you need a man to front you. You're too well known in Waterdeep."

"This isn't Waterdeep. This is Mistshore. We're dancing on the city's bones out here. Leave, Garlon, before I decide you'd make a pretty skeleton."

"But, I rode out here with you. You have to take me back to shore!" The man whined so loudly Icelin's eats ached.

"Yes, but you see, the fish are biting now. And if I move, I'll lose my spot."

"There's no one out here but us!"

"Are you sure about that?"

Icelin stiffened. She waited, crouched low in the boat, but no one called her out. Ruen must have been jesting.

"I was trying to do you a favor," Garlon said. "Word is you've still got a pretty pot of that treasure you stole from Darzmine Hawlace sitting around. I could move it for you. I know people."

"Ah, now we come to the true reason you're soiling my raft with your boots," Ruen said. "What makes you think I didn't dump the lot?"

Garlon scoffed. "You enjoy giving presents to whores and dealing with piss pushers like Relvenar, but you're not stupid. You kept some treasure back for yourself. All I want is a little piece."

"No."

Garlon spat on Ruen's boots. "To the Hells with you then." He strode to the opposite end of the raft. He paused at the edge. Icelin could feel him weighing his dignity against jumping into the fetid water. She felt a pang of sympathy, but it disappeared when she saw Garlon reach for something at his belt. He slid a dagger noiselessly from its sheath. Her heart sped up.

"What say you, Ruen? Last chance. Row us back to shore, and I'll buy you a drink while we discuss our partnership."

"Turn around," Icelin said, but no sound came out of her dry mouth. Her eyes bored into Ruen's back, willing him to turn and look at Garlon.

"Do you mind keeping quiet, Garlon?" Ruen said. He twitched his pole in the water. "You're scaring the fish."

"Course, Ruen," Garlon said, his voice dropping. "Not a squeak." He snapped his arm back, and forward, so fast Icelin couldn't see exactly when the blade left his hand.

"Watch out!" she screamed.

Ruen pivoted, his slender shadow seeming not to move at all. He dropped his pole and tore the spinning dagger out of the air. Flipping the blade to his other hand, he hurled it back at its owner.

Distracted by her scream, the fat man spun toward Icelin as if he'd been jerked by a string. His eyes widened when the dagger stuck in his chest. For a breath he swayed in time with the lapping water. Then he reached up, clutching his own weapon hilt. Icelin turned her head away from his staring eyes.

Silence, and then Icelin heard an umph followed by a loud splash. She looked back. The spray of water caught the moonlight and fell back into the harbor, which had swallowed up the fat man.

When the noise died, the scene returned quickly to normal. The moonlight settled onto the gently rippling water. From a shocked distance, Icelin saw Ruen pick up his pole and sit at the edge of the raft, his back to her. He cast the line into the water.

Numbly, Icelin picked up her oars. She considered rowing back to shore. Maybe he hadn't heard her shout; or maybe he didn't care that she'd just seen him kill a man, albeit in self-defense. Icelin gripped the oars. She forced herself to move the boat forward.

He came into focus at the opposite end of the raft, sitting cross-legged and dangling the pole near the water. He looked something like Sull in that pose, his shoulders hunched, trying to remain oblivious to the world around him.

Icelin rowed her boat up to kiss the raft, but Ruen never stirred. She wasn't brave enough to step aboard, but she had to get his attention somehow.

Icelin took the dice out of her pouch and tossed them onto the raft. They skittered across the wood, bounced off Ruen's back and came up double bosoms.

"Yours, I believe," Icelin said.