could hang someone with the other end of the deal. And to deal with wizards…
'We shall celebrate together before another tenday passes, milord Neverember,' the reedy voice replied. 'The three of us shall free the city from the Blackstaff’s interference for the first time in two centuries-or at least ensure the Blackstaff is aligned in full with the Open Lord's policies.'
Renaer heard the door open, and the men wandered out of his earshot. He saw three shadows pass his doorway, and one returned back to Dagult’s office. Renaer heard the thud and hiss of another log being tossed on Dagult's fire grate. The bluster and volume had dropped away, and the cold quiet tone chilled Renaer despite the fire and the furs. 'Just make damned sure that this never soils my hearth, wizards, or you'll find out I've more power than even your wizards' guild can muster.'
Dawn nearly reached his windows before Renaer fell into a fitful sleep.
CHAPTER 2
It's a trip neither pretty nor pleasant, but delve the sewers if you truly want to learn what goes on in Waterdeep.
9 Nightal, Year of the Ageless One (1479 DR)
Laraelra Harsard knew she needed help and needed it quickly. She looked over the assembled crowds milling around Heroes' Garden. Over the past few decades, each ward seemed to adopt its own unofficial gathering places for swords for hire, where Caravan Court, the White Bull, and Virgin's Square once sufficed for mercenary hiring. The snow-covered hillocks of the garden were already soiled from foot traffic, even though it was barely past sunup. Laraelra wove her way around the statues of heroes of Waterdeep's past. Scanning the crowds, she noticed someone had knocked the right foot off of Lhestyn's statue. Above a skinny man in black leathers, the outstretched stone arms of Lords Oth Ranerl, Tanar Hunabar, and Cyrin Kormallis held only broken blades or sword pommels. Laraelra moved deeper into the Heroes' Garden, searching for strong-backed hirelings but only finding jokesters had stolen the head of Rarkul Ulmaster for the fifth time that year.
If more people respected what it takes to work stone, Laraelra thought, they'd not be so quick to ruin it.
Laraelra had dressed for the weather and the task ahead of her. Her heavy woolen cloak covered her oiled leather tunic, pants, and her sealskin boots-necessities for mucking about the sewers. The black color of her clothes made her seem even paler in the morning cold. Despite her thick garments, Laraelra hugged herself to stay warm. As she rounded the back-to-back statues of Mirt the Merciless and Durnan the Wanderer, she patted their knees and thought, Milords, help me find men of your mettle before it's too late. Then she spotted the largest group of sellswords in the Garden-or more properly, they spotted her.
'Right here, Milady Harsard!' A stylish young bravo rushed ahead of the pack, his spotless purple cloak flaring behind him. He swept off his large feathered hat and bowed before her.
Behind him thundered a muscled tree stump of a young braggart, his first beard coming in thin patches and barely covering his pimples. 'Ignore that fool. I'm your man, Laraelra!' To prove his point, he kicked the bowing man over on his way to intercept Laraelra.
'Hardly,' she replied, striding past with a twitch of one arched eyebrow. Laraelra pulled her cloak closer to ward off the breeze and the light snow on it. Scanning the crowd, she looked for men at least her height, then winnowed down candidates by how strong or capable they seemed.
Finally, she approached one man leaning against the statue of some centaur hero. The contented young man was more interested in his roll of sausage and onion than in catching her eye. Blond hair avalanched across his shoulders and brow. Until she got close to him, Laraelra did not see the few days' growth of pale blond beard on his face. When she stopped in front of him, the man was in mid-bite, though he smiled close-mouthed at her around the steaming food.
'You'll do,' Laraelra said, 'assuming you can focus on a task as much as your meal.'
She smiled as the man hurriedly chewed, swallowed, and then choked and coughed in surprise. He stood two hands taller than
Laraelra, his shoulders twice hers, and his arms were as large as her legs. Strapped to his back was a great-axe, much-abused but serviceable, like the dagger pommels she saw in his boots. Despite the cold, his cloak was open, exposing well-worn leather armor over a broad chest.
She pressed three silver pieces into his hand and said, 'You'll get that much every bell you have to accompany me today, if that's acceptable to you.'
The man nodded and coughed a few more times while he tucked the coins into his boot.
Laraelra motioned for him to follow, then turned her back and headed for the copse of trees at the southern end of the Heroes' Garden. 'You'll want to finish that before we enter the sewers, I wager.'
She half-expected him to stop walking once she mentioned the sewers, but the young man gamely followed her without hesitation.
Laraelra extracted a ring of keys from her belt pouch as she approached the stone hut that covered a sewer shaft among the trees. After she unlocked the access shaft and cracked the door, she turned to her companion. 'In case you didn't know, I am Laraelra Harsard. And you are…?'
A broad, beaming smile spread over the man's massive jaw. 'Meloon Wardragon, at your service, mistress. What'll need doing this morning?'
Laraelra grabbed a torch off the wall inside the access hut, and lit it as she talked. I am investigating a problem for the Cellarers and Plumbers' Guild down in the sewers. I simply need you in case anything or anyone tries anything untoward.' She raised her eyebrows as she looked Meloon up and down. 'You'll be a snug fit in some of the tunnels, so you might want to unbelt that axe of yours ahead of time. Never hurts to be prepared, after all.'
Meloon nodded and pulled his axe free while Laraelra descended the rung ladder in the floor shaft.
'Just curious, mistress, but why choose me when all those other swords wanted your attention?' Meloon asked. He wrinkled his nose a bit at the overwhelming smell wafting up the shaft, but sighed and took a few deep breaths to acclimate himself to the odor.
The shaft and tunnel beneath Laraelra added a hollow echo to her words. 'Most of those bravos up there dressed to impress and would balk at a morning spent in the sewers. Those who weren't dandies were trying to impress me and get in good with my father. I'd rather have someone who's more attentive to the job at hand. Besides, your boots were already covered with dung, so you're obviously someone who worries more about the work than appearance.' Laraelra stepped off the rung ladder to the side of the tunnel before she looked up to see Meloon clambering down. 'At least it's warmer down here than it is out on the streets. Wetter, but warmer.'
Meloon said, 'My father used to say, 'Never trust a man what's not got a little stuff on his boots. If a man's worried about where he's stepping, he's not working hard enough.' Glad to see that wisdom's alive in Waterdeep.'
Meloon stepped onto the side ledge that lined the central sluice, and his left boot slipped in slime and slid sideways into the muck. Meloon sighed, looked up at Laraelra, and shrugged, a sheepish grin on his face. Laraelra wrinkled her nose as she smiled at him, then she turned and moved a bit up the path to allow him to shake the offal from his boot.
The pair stood at an intersection of three tunnels, all equally foul in appearance and stench. Walled all around in stone, the passages were twice as far across as Meloon's broad arm span, though the tunnel behind them leading southeast was smaller than the others. Laraelra spotted light flickering at an oval tunnel entrance outside of their torchlight long before she heard the voice.
'If ye and yer new lad're done exchangin' pleasantries, we've need of a strong back, lass!' A gravely voice echoed up the tunnel.
