a cool, moist breeze that seemed to be coming from the direction in which we were headed. The sing-songy lapping of waves grew louder as we approached a larger, well lit chamber.
A highly functional dock, receiving, and storage area (not to mention two burly stevedores, arms emblazoned with tattoos of numerous savory and unsavory ports of call from the Sword Coast to the Moonsea) lead me to believe that we had arrived at one of Waterdeep’s numerous clandestine ports of call. I began to wonder if perhaps I was being taken to a meeting by means of some underground nautical transport (to fabled Skuilport perhaps) until my guide lead me to the three waterlogged forms that appeared to have been recently dragged from the sea and set out on the docks like recently unloaded refuse.
Whatever had befallen the three sorry corpses must have happened very recently. The sodden state of their garments had not yet washed away the smoky residue of partial human incineration that must have occurred within the last two hours.
My eyes were immediately drawn to the only body that seemed to have escaped the flames, whereupon I recognized its identity. I held my breath and controlled my rage at what fate had befallen my benefactor, silently swearing an oath of vengeance.
“Your thoughts?” inquired the stentorian voice of the masked man. The voice seemed vaguely familiar. (But then again all of the other masked voices I’ve dealt with in my short past sounded familiar, too.)
Obviously I had not been brought here to identify the bodies. The patrons who hired me had numerous necromancers, scryers, and other magic men specializing in the recently deceased who were easily more suited to such a task.
“Life’s cheap, unfair, and brutal, as luck would have it,” I said, “but whatever happened here, didn’t happen by chance.”
“How so?”
“Two of the bodies were burnt beyond recognition, and whoever did it was no second rate firebug. They were flamed by some blast of intense heat, probably some sort of spell-”
“Spellfire,” the masked man volunteered, interrupting my impromptu dissertation and dissection of the matters at hand.
“Whatever,” I said quickly, dismissing the interruption as irrelevant to my thought processes. If there were two mortals on all of Toni possessed of spellfire that was a lot. Any garden variety fireball would have sufficed. “All I know was that it was powerful enough so that a good dunking in the sea failed to dampen the heat left from the blast…as evidenced by the fact that the bodies and what remained of their clothing are still smoldering.” I pointed at the lifeless husk that had been my friend. “Except for this one.”
“Kitten’s,” the masked man volunteered in an emotionless tone.
“Right,” I said quickly, trying not to dwell on the consuming wave of grief and rage that was beginning to tangle in my gut (emotions that did not seem evident in the monotone of my client’s voice). “She hasn’t been burnt at all. The other two were probably incinerated to forestall identification. Maybe they wanted someone, us, to know that Kitten has been killed.”
“Not likely,” the masked man volunteered.
“Then perhaps the fellows with the hot hands were interrupted before they could finish their flaming handiwork,” I offered, and quickly inquired, “But why isn’t my initial scenario likely?”
“Because at this moment, in the pub known as the Bloody Fist, a woman going by the name of Nymara Scheiron-also known as Kitten-is drinking on the tab of a recently acquired friend.”
“An impostor?”
“A doppleganger,” the masked man answered.
“Go on,” I demanded, impatient to be brought up to speed. I felt no necessity to confess my ignorance of such matters to the patron. Personal experience of the past few weeks had already clued me in that these hooded guys always knew a lot more about me than I knew of them. (That was why, after all, I agreed to work for them.)
“Dopplegangers,” the masked man elaborated in a tone more than colored by a tint of condescension, “are creatures that have the ability to shapeshift and take on the appearance of any other creature. Their exceptional mental powers allow them the ability to read the mind of anyone in their close proximity, thus providing them with the details and data to effectively masquerade as anyone, even when they are in the presence of that individual’s loved ones. Needless to say, once an individual has been removed from sight, kidnapped, enchanted or killed, there is nothing to prevent this unholy creature from taking their place in society. Over the past few years we have been troubled by a crime ring known as the Unseen under the leadership of one of those devils, a criminal genius who goes by the name Hiavin who aspires to replace key figures of our community with his unholy minions and thus bring all Waterdeep secretly under his thumb.”
“And as goes Waterdeep,” I said, “all Faerun does follow.”
“A few years ago he operated out of a local festhall called the Inn of the Hanging Lantern hoping to get its surprisingly upper class clientele under his spell, but his operational cover was blown by some journalist by the name of Volothamp Geddarm.”
“The name’s familiar,” I volunteered, remembering his connection to a certain Waterdhavian publishing concern.
“He’s not important,” the masked man stated. “Somehow Hiavin has implemented some new, fiendish plan. He’s already replaced this sorry threesome, and we need to know his next move.”
“Who are the other two?” I asked, gesturing at the two soggy victims.
“That’s the problem. All three bodies are ensorcelled, and the best wizards in Waterdeep can’t crack the spell.”
“So no deathbed interrogation or revelation.”
“Exactly,” he concurred. “Which has forced us to utilize much more mundane methods in our search for the truth.”
“Namely me.”
“Your charge,” he ordered with the authority of some pompous magistrate, “is to follow the doppleganger that is passing as Kitten and uncover the identities of her two associates who have taken the place of these poor bastards.”
“I accept,” I answered quickly, eager to get to work, and avenge the death of my friend.
“Not so fast,” his lordship ordered. “Remember, dopplegangers are telepathic. They can read minds. This Kitten can’t see you or she will know what you’re doing.”
“Don’t call that thing Kitten,” I said defiantly, adding, “and once I’ve found the other two, I assume I can deal with them with the extreme prejudice that all three deserve.”
“No,” he ordered, “you will report back your findings, and accept your payment. You are solely to gather information, and no direct contact is to be instigated. After your… shall we say research… is complete, the matter will then be turned over to the proper authorities.”
“I want to be there when their heads are removed from their shoulders.”
“That is not for you to concern yourself with.”
I was taken aback for a moment.
“They will be executed, won’t they?” I demanded. “Last I heard, cold-blooded murder was still a capital offense here in Waterdeep.”
“Again,” the patron said without hiding his tone of condescension, “that is not your concern. I assure you, cool and competent minds will handle the matter.”
I nodded to concede the patron’s point so that I could expedite the matters at hand and get on with the case, all along knowing that I would not rest until I had personally laid Kitten’s killer to rest, no matter who I angered while doing it.
The masked man snapped his fingers and one of the burly boys escorted me back to the surface. Messages and updates were to be left in the usual clandestine places, and I was to go about fulfilling my assignment as I saw fit. The instructions on leaving the resolution of the matter to others was considered to be more than enough of a warning not to proceed with any plans for vengeance, but I was out for blood.
Kitten deserved no less.
My assignment wasn’t by any means an easy one. The creature that had killed and was now posing as Kitten
