settling up of scores and debts, than to ponder the grim reality before them, he added, 'The clan will be hard pressed to pay you back the price of that ransom, but we're good for it. Just might take a little time, is all.'
She cut him off with a scowl. 'We'll talk about that later Right now we're nowhere close to discussing reimbursement.'
'Yeah,' he admitted with a sigh. 'What's this place we're bound to, then?'
'The Burning Troll. It's a tavern frequented by pirates and smugglers. It's one step up from a midden, but we should be able to get the information we need.'
About an hour later, Ebenezer sat slumped on a high, rickety stool, getting the elbows of his jacket sticky on the unwashed bar in front of him. He sipped gloomily at his ale, too downcast to care overmuch that it had been desecrated by the addition of water
The ship had already sailed. The ship that carried his kin away to slavery had sailed just that day, and they had missed it. No tunnel could reach where they'd gone. Even the cold comfort of vengeance was denied Ebenezer The murderous, thieving humans who had done this were beyond the reach of his avenging axe.
Ebenezer let out another curse and signaled for a third mug.
'Game o' dice?' suggested a coarse, grating voice beside him.
Ebenezer swiveled on the stool to find himself nearly nose to snout with the ugliest excuse for an orc he'd ever seen. The critter was not much bigger than a dwarf though it was as broad and powerful as most of its kind. It struck Ebenezer that some god with time on his hands and a twisted sense of humor had placed the orc lengthwise between his palms and compacted the critter like a snowball. In Ebenezer's opinion, the god in question should have kept squlshing until the task was done.
Ebenezer pointed to his chest. 'You talking to me?'
'Why not?' The sawed-off orc bared his fangs in a drunken grin and swatted Ebenezer companionably on the shoulder
A satisfying, cleansing flood of dwarven ire swept through Ebenezer. Earlier, he had pitched a kobold through the window of the tavern-not first bothering to unlatch the shutters-for taunting him about his lack of a mustache. That really hadn't taken the edge off, though. But a friendly orc, now, that was enough to raise a considerable froth.
'Since you asked,' the dwarf growled, 'I'll show you why not.'
His hand flashed out and seized the offered dice from the ore's palm. He slapped them down on the table and pulled the hammer from his belt. The orc's roar of protest rattled the mugs on the bar as he understood Ebenezer's intent. He grabbed for his dice-just in time to get one finger smashed under the descending hammer.
Several patrons, most of them just as ugly as the ore, came over to investigate the disturbance, their faces made memorable by scars and fangs and the uniform expression of menace that they currently wore. Ebenezer acknowledged their approach with a nod.
'Lookit,' he said grimly, pointing to the shattered dice. A small, iridescent blue beetle, sort of a pretty thing that looked like a sapphire with legs, scuttled frantically away. Smart little critters, they could be trained to throw their weight against the colored side of their tiny prison.
A low, angry murmur rose from the cluster of men, orcs, and worse that surrounded Ebenezer and his orcish challenger Using loaded dice didn't win many friends, Ebenezer noted with satisfaction, not even in a place like this.
The ore's howl of pain and outrage died suddenly as be realized how the tide of opinion had turned. He backed away a few steps, his piggish eyes wary and his shattered finger clutched close against his chest. Then he turn and ran with the whole pack of his former dice-mates roiling after him. Ebenezer raised his mug in mock salute, then turned back to the bar and his intended goal of waking up to find himself facedown on the bar after a few hours of hard-won oblivion.
An hour or so later, Bronwyn found the dwarf still at the bar. Ebenezer looked so defeated that her own shaky resolve firmed. She had found a solution-one that terrified her, but it was the best she could do. And it was the only chance the dwarf's lost family had.
She strode over to the bar, slapping away a few grasping hands on the way, and seized the dwarf's arm as he lifted his mug. Ale splashed over the bar and dampened the dwarf's beard. He turned a dispirited face to her. 'Now why'd you go doing that?'
'I've got us a ship,' she said urgently.
His eyes narrowed. 'A ship?'
'And a crew. Smugglers waiting for cargo. It's been delayed, and the captain is losing too many men while he waits. He's eager for a job and will work cheap.'
'Now hold on there. You're saying we should go out on the sea?' the dwarf asked. 'In a ship?'
'That's the usual method,' she hissed impatiently. 'Now, come on. We haven't much time to get to the docks.'
The dwarf still looked uncertain, but he hopped off the bar stool and followed her out of the Burning Troll. They wove their way between rows of leaning wooden buildings, taking a confusing maze of narrow alleys that led to the docks.
The prospect of a sea voyage left Bronwyn 80 edgy she felt as though several layers of skin had been peeled off, leaving her incredibly vulnerable. She started to chatter softly, to provide a distraction.
'Getting a ship was easier than I'd dared hope. The captain even took credit against plunder or payment. If you're a praying dwarf you might want to hope that the ship has some plunder worth keeping, or this could break us both.'
'Clan's good for it,' Ebenezer repeated.
'I'm sure you are. It seems to me, though, there's more to the captain's story than he's letting on,' she said absently, suddenly aware of a soft, rhythmic sound behind them. In Skullport, sound seemed to be everywhere, echoing through the vast sea cavern and bouncing off stone walls, resounding through tunnels. But this particular cadence was too regular and too constant to ignore.
'We're being followed,' she murmured. She took a small bronze disk from her bag and cast a quick glance over her shoulder. She caught the reflection of a squat, ugly ore peering around a corner at them.
Ebenezer was not so discrete. He turned around and glared, then sniffed dismissively. That clearly angered the ore. Lowering his head like a charging bull, he came at them. Bronwyn reached for her knife and dropped into a crouch.
But the dwarf pushed her aside and stood waiting in the center of the alley, hammer in hand. 'Sit this one out,' he said. 'Won't take long, him having a smashed hand and all.'
Bronwyn looked from the gleam in the dwarf's eye to the hammer in his hand and sighed. 'Made friends in the tavern, did you?'
Ebenezer grunted in response and hauled the hammer down and back for the first swing. He caught the ore's chin with a wicked uppercut that halted the creature's charge and jerked his lowered head up and back. Ebenezer punched out with his free hand, slamming into the creature's chest. The ores eyes bulged, and the gray hide of its face turned a ghastly blue. Slowly, it tilted forward and fell facedown into one of the fetid puddles that dotted the alley.
'Stops the heart, if you get a good clean shot,' Ebenezer commented. He tucked his hammer back into his belt and turned to Bronwyn. 'You was saying?'
She shut her gaping mouth and turned back down the alley.
'The captain is an ogre,' she said, picking up where they left off. 'But he was knowledgeable, well dressed, well spoken. Not a desperate second-rate thug by any means.'
'Your better class of smugglers,' Ebenezer said dryly.
'There's truth to that,' she rejoined. 'Think about it. There's a city below and a city above. There is traffic between the two, and you can bet that hammer of yours that many of Waterdeep's merchants know someone who knows someone who can pay someone to do a favor Are you following?'
'Easily enough, but the question is, do you know someone who's in a position to do all that other knowing?'
Bronwyn hesitated, not certain but wanting to believe. 'You remember that man who came into the shop?
