Chapter Four #2
“Oh, I trust they are. But my decision is final, and you would be fools to sail anywhere near those islands. Trust me on that. Now, I do have other matters that require my attention. You are free to eat from my table and leave at your leisure, though if you plan to remain in the city, I would suggest you find accommodations before nightfall. Kingsport wouldn’t be Kingsport without some lawlessness.
” She placed both hands on the table and rose to her feet.
“It has been a pleasure to meet such esteemed fellows as yourselves.” Then she departed the room by the door through which she had come, leaving the Horadrim alone.
They looked across the table at one another, then rose to leave.
None of them took any food, but Donan reached for the Skovos wine.
When Lorath gave him a questioning look, he explained, “This bottle carries the mark of her trading partners.” He pointed at a small stamp on the bottle in the shape of a trident.
“We may find that information useful down the road.”
They left the room and then the warehouse. Only when they were back on the wharf did they speak openly.
“We will not be seeking permission,” Tyrael said, jaw clenched in irritation.
Lorath snorted. “Of course not. But I doubt we’ll find a captain here willing to defy the Harbormaster. She has this city locked down.”
“We could try Bilefen?” Donan suggested. “Port Justinian has an even harder reputation than Kingsport, which might be to our advantage in this particular situation.”
“It’s controlled by pirates,” Lorath said.
“Exactly,” Donan replied. “Most pirates answer to coin above all else.”
“Perhaps,” Tyrael said. “We will stay here tonight and decide in the morning which path to take.”
They found an inn not far from the wharf, situated at the back of a short pocket street and flanked by market stalls.
There they secured a second-floor room with three narrow, sagging beds that looked as clean as any of the places they had been sleeping in for the past several weeks.
The city’s inescapable odor of seaweed and fish pervaded their lodging.
The inn had a tavern on the first floor, where they were served an edible soup of clams and onions alongside day-old bread and a hard cheese.
Donan ate quickly, and as the sun had not yet set, he decided to step outside and visit the vendors they had seen nearby.
He had little expectation of finding anything of interest, but the time he had spent around the merchants of Gea Kul had taught him that the most surprising discoveries could sometimes be found in the unlikeliest of places.
“I’ll be back soon,” he announced as he got to his feet.
“Where are you going?” Lorath asked.
“Just a bit of exploration.”
Lorath shook his head. “Your curiosity is going to land you in serious trouble one day.”
Donan rolled his eyes. “I can handle myself.”
“I wouldn’t wander after dark,” Tyrael said. “I believe the Harbormaster’s warning was sincere.”
Donan bowed his head in acknowledgment of the request, even though he wasn’t worried. “Yes, Tyrael.”
The first stall outside the inn sold plain used goods: old shoes, dented pots, clothing ready to be torn into rags.
Nothing of interest. The second seller was a bent old man with long white hair that fell to his shoulders in wispy strands.
He had spread out his wares across a length of balding velvet like royal treasures.
Donan turned over bits of strange jewelry, buckles, a few old daggers, and some broken nautical equipment.
None of it struck him as significant or magical, but he could appreciate the workmanship behind much of it.
“Where did you acquire all this?” he asked.
“Down by the shore,” the old man said. “I always walk there after a storm. Ships go down, and the sea keeps what she wants for a time. When she’s done with a thing, she throws it up onto the beach for me to find.”
“Flotsam,” Donan said. “Though some of this appears quite old.”
“Aye,” the seller said. “Ships have been sinking out there since the first boat ever to sail. Centuries of wrecks lie at the bottom of the bay and out beyond. The Harbormaster gets first pick. She always takes the rarest stuff off me—sometimes magical items—but she pays a fair price.”
That accounted for the Harbormaster’s claim of having seen Horadric relics, though Donan still wondered how such things might come to wash up from the sea.
Among the more mundane objects before him, he spotted an old book, which he picked up with interest. It was a slender volume wrapped in soft water-stained leather.
Inside, he found almost every page covered in handwriting, with a few drawings, diagrams, and other symbols.
It appeared to be a journal, but not in any language he recognized.
“What can you tell me about this?” he asked the old man.
“Oh, well, that right there is the spellbook of a powerful mage from Viz-jun itself—”
“Spare me your nonsense,” Donan said. “You found this on the beach?”
The old man sighed and nodded. “It were wrapped in oilskin, bobbing in the rocks. The seawater got to it some, but it’s in good shape mostly, as you can plainly see.”
“Do you know what language this is?”
“I’ve showed it around, but no one has been able to decipher it as yet.”
The book presented a mystery too tantalizing to ignore. “How much?” Donan asked.
The old man clicked his tongue. “Let me see, now. For something that rare—one-of-a-kind, really—I’d be willing to part with it for a thousand.”
Donan laughed. “A thousand? For a book no one can read?”
“Well, we know at least one person can read it, and that’s him wot wrote it. That there is a book of importance, you can tell. I know you can tell.”
“I’ll pay you one hundred for it. And that is being generous.”
“Could be more generous,” the seller said.
“How long until someone else in Kingsport offers you one hundred gold for a book no one can read?”
The seller smiled in defeat. “You make a fair point there. One hundred it is. I accept Westmarch coin, of course, or…” He lowered his voice. “Pirate galleons are also accepted currency ’round here.”
“Westmarch coin will do,” Donan said, and as he paid the seller, he noticed two men watching him from the entrance to the street. They had not been there when he came out of the inn. He turned his back to them and spoke to the old man. “The two at the corner. Are they the Harbormaster’s men?”
The seller cast a furtive glance. “No, no. The Harbormaster’s enforcers have no need to hide in the shadows. Those are common thieves. But still plenty dangerous, mind you. They won’t be alone.”
“I’ll be careful,” Donan said.
He considered rejoining Tyrael and Lorath inside the inn but didn’t want a gang of thieves knowing where they were staying, on the chance they were in league with the innkeeper.
He decided to lead them away from their lodging and lose them somewhere in the Kingsport streets before returning.
He tucked the book away and bade farewell to the seller, then set off while trying to appear that he paid the thieves no mind.
He wondered for a moment if he had been mistaken and they were not watching him at all, but soon they trailed behind him, keeping a distance of several paces but never out of eyesight for long.
They did not seem particularly adept at subterfuge, so they were either incompetent or overly confident.
The latter seemed more likely when the first two men were joined by a woman and a third man.
Donan wasn’t worried yet, but the level of risk had gone up.
The street crowd thinned with each passing moment, offering him less opportunity for diversions and obstacles.
He decided to make his move. He dove down a street to the right and then took the next turn as quickly as he could, racing this way and that, looking for an opportunity to duck and wait.
He heard shouts and footfalls behind him, so he kept going while trying to keep his bearings, but the twisting, narrow streets of Kingsport defied his ability to map it on the run.
Eventually, he stumbled directly into a dead end, with no way to climb out.
Before he could double back, the thieves had blocked the exit.
“You better have enough on you to make the chase worth it,” said the foremost of them, out of breath. “That’s the only way you get out of here with all your bits attached.”
“I’m afraid you’ll be disappointed,” Donan said, his own chest heaving. “I spent most of what I was carrying on a book you won’t be able to read.”
“And why’s that?” said the thief. “Think we’re illiterate, do you?”
“No, it’s not that. The book isn’t—Never mind.”
The four assailants had drawn knives. Donan readied his staff while reaching into a pocket with his other hand. He had been working on something, a bit of trickery Lorath had deemed useless, but this seemed as good a time as any to test it out.
“If my friend were here,” Donan said, “he might thank you.”
“What for?” asked the woman.
“For proving his point about my curiosity.”
Donan inhaled quickly as he pulled the satchel from his pocket, then hurled it at the ground while holding his breath.
The volatile compounds in the little bundle exploded, filling the alley with a dense, choking smoke.
Then he charged at the thieves, swinging his staff to clear the way.
He caught one of them hard, a blow that might have broken the man’s shoulder, and felt a hand grasping for him from behind.
He spun around, and though his second swing missed, he managed to free himself and ran before the smoke had cleared.
He knew at least three of his opponents would be after him momentarily, intending more than thievery now.
He careened downward toward the wharf, which still held the greatest throngs in which to hide, and soon found himself standing before The Bilge.
Only hours before, the barkeep there had told the Horadrim not to return, but Donan decided to risk it, hoping to blend in with the evening crowd.
As soon as he stepped through the door, he made a hard right, squeezing along the wall, head bowed.
He took the first open seat he saw, at a small table occupied by a solitary figure.
“Mind if I sit?” he asked the man.
“Matter of fact,” the stranger said, gazing at the floor, “I do.”
“Your drinks are on me,” Donan said.
The man looked up. His blue eyes had the impenetrable quality of a deep lake frozen over.
His brown hair and beard appeared unkempt, with gray at his temples.
He wore gray woolen trousers with a matching vest over a linen shirt, all of respectable quality, and all in need of a thorough washing.
He gripped his mug of ale as if he thought it might escape.
“Sit,” he said, and before Donan had taken his chair, the man had tipped back his mug and drained it, after which he slammed it on the table. “I’ll have a Bramwell ale.”
Donan looked over his shoulder in the direction of the barkeep. Then he pulled out enough coin to keep his unwitting ally in drink for two days and passed it across the table. “I trust this will suffice?”
The man grunted as he took the money, then heaved himself up from his chair and lumbered away.
Donan remained seated, wondering how long he would need to wait in the tavern to avoid his pursuers.
He gave little thought to whether the drunken man would reclaim his spot, but a few moments later, the stranger came back to the table carrying two mugs. He set one of them in front of Donan.
“The ale out of Bramwell has been good lately,” he said, dropping into his chair.
“Thank you,” Donan said.
The man held up his drink, waiting, so Donan picked up his mug and clacked it against the stranger’s. They both took a gulp, and Donan had to agree on the quality of the beer.
“Weren’t you in here before?” the stranger asked, wagging his finger. “Yeah, I remember you. You’re memorable.”
Donan set his mug back on the table. “You’ve been here since then? All day?”
The man shrugged. “Where are the other two that were with you?”
Donan glanced in the direction of the front door. “Back at our lodging.”
“You can relax and enjoy your drink,” he said. “I won’t rat you out. There weren’t no cause to ban you, and besides, you bought my silence.” The man leaned closer. “I’m Keldon, by the way.”
“Donan.”
“I’m guessing you didn’t come in here to drink, did you, Donan?”
“I was just looking for a place to wait out a pack of street thieves.”
Keldon sat back in his chair, and it seemed as if a shadow fell over him. “Kingsport has no end of those,” he said. “Did you find yourselves a ship yet?”
“Not yet,” Donan said, and added with sarcasm, “I don’t suppose you have a ship.”
“In a manner of speaking, I do.”
Donan frowned and pushed his ale aside. “What manner of speaking?”
“Well, you see, the Harbormaster has my ship impounded. So I can’t rightly call it mine at the moment, now, can I?”
“Why did she impound your ship?”
“The small matter of a debt.”
“What kind of debt?”
Keldon leaned forward over his ale, almost wrapping his arms around it, and looked down into his mug for several long moments. “Where would you be wanting to sail?”
Donan hesitated before answering. “Skovos.”
“Ha!” But when Keldon looked up, he quickly seemed to realize that Donan meant what he said, and his laughter faded. “Skovos, eh? The Harbormaster wouldn’t like that. She owns those trade routes, and they fetch her a hefty sum.”
“Yes, she already informed us of her displeasure.”
“And yet, here you are talking with me, alive and everything.” Keldon shook his head, puffing out air through his lips. “You’re a lucky man.”
An idea had begun to form in Donan’s mind. “Tell me about your ship.”
Keldon took a few gulps of his ale. “The Arabel ? Prettiest sloop you’ll ever lay your eyes on, graceful as a swan.”
“And how many are needed to crew her?”
“I can handle her alone in a pinch.” He finished off his mug and wiped his mouth across his sleeve. “But two or three is better. She ain’t a large ship, but she’s swift and sleek as an eel.”
Donan pushed his own drink across the table toward Keldon, who accepted it as if it had come newly from the barkeep. “Could she make the crossing to Skovos?”
“That’s a rough passage, but I’d wager she could.” He offered a wry grin. “Now, I wonder why you’d be asking me that.”