Corsair

“I doubt that it’s worth the effort,” Hamil said. “After all, Geran’s seen Kraken Queen. What else would we learn from the armsman?”

“I don’t recall a standard on Kraken Queen when I saw her,” said Geran. “But my attention was fixed on Nimessa Sokol and the danger she was in. I might have missed it.”

Hamil smirked at him. “You mean you were distracted by the beautiful, half-naked woman tied up on the beach? Honestly, Geran, a hero of your quality should be able to keep his mind on business.”

Geran remembered Nimessa’s bare shoulders and the feel of her slim body before him in the saddle. He quickly pushed the idle thought aside. “I’ll ask Nimessa if she recalls a moon-and-cutlass standard the next time we call at Hulburg,” he said. If Narm’s secondhand story was accurate, then Seadrake might be hunting a flotilla instead of a single ship. And the fact that Narm had told them about an attack on a Mulman ship suggested corsairs who were preying on any Moonsea traffic they happened across, instead of waylaying Hulburg’s trade alone. “I say we pay a visit to this Harask and see what he can tell us about Black Moon pirates.”

They left the wineshop and headed back down toward the wharves, where the taphouses and taverns were filled with a rougher crowd. “It’s possible that we’ve just missed Kraken Queen so far,” Hamil pointed out as the three companions strolled down the center of the street, avoiding the filthy gutters. “If she was on the north shore while we were on the south shore, we could easily have passed her by. For that matter, she might be lurking near Hulburg again by now.”

Sarth snorted. “Best not to dwell on that possibility. We could chase the pirate ship around the Moonsea for tendays, if that’s the case.”

They made their way toward the poorer side of the city, passing a series of progressively more disreputable and dangerous establishments. The night grew clammy and cool, and a foul-smelling fog settled over the city’s waterside districts. It took them the better part of an hour to find the Bitter End. From the darkened street outside, they heard the muffled sound of voices, the clinking of tin cups, and the occasional shout or harsh bark of laughter. Across the street a dilapidated storehouse loomed in the fog.

Sarth frowned. “After hours of searching, I believe we have found the foulest establishment in this dismal city. Our prospects can only improve after this.”

Geran raised an eyebrow. Was that a jest from the straitlaced tiefling? He wouldn’t have expected it from Sarth. “If we learn nothing new here, we’ll give up for the night,” he said. “Come on, we might as well get it over with.”

He went to the storehouse door and knocked sharply. There was no answer at first, but then voices muttered and floorboards creaked inside. Someone drew back a bolt with a rasp of metal, and Geran found himself looking at a pair of sullen Mulmasterites in dirty workman’s garb, standing in a small clear space at the front of cluttered stacks of crates and casks. Both men wore long knives at their belts. “What d’you want?” one growled.

“We’re here to speak with Harask. Is he here?”

The two men looked at each other then stepped back from the door. “He’s here. Come in.”

The three companions entered. Their sullen guides led them through the leaning stacks of cargo to a clear space near the back of the storehouse, where a small crowd of dirty humans and half-orcs lounged on rough-hewn benches or sat on old barrels. The ruffians glared at the three of them suspiciously. In the middle of the room stood a ham-fisted, round-bodied, black-bearded man who wore an ill-fitting jerkin of leather studded with steel rivets.

“Well, well,” the fat man rumbled. His voice carried the thick, throaty accent of Damara or Vaasa. “A human, a halfling, and a devilkin walk into a room. I’m waiting for the rest of the joke.”

“Are you Harask?” Hamil asked. “We may have a business proposition for you.”

Harask spread his hands. “I am listening.”

Geran spoke next. “We’re looking for a ship that sails under a black banner-a banner with a crossed crescent moon-and-cut-lass design. Have you ever seen such a ship or such a banner?”

“I might have,” Harask answered. “What’s it to you?”

“We’ll pay well for news of her whereabouts,” Geran answered.

“Ah, so you are a man of means,” Harask observed. His eyes darted to the ruffians lounging behind Geran. Geran whirled and reached for his sword, just in time. Without a word the smugglers waiting in the storehouse threw themselves at the three companions, producing knives and cudgels hidden under their cloaks and tunics. For a furious instant, Geran feared that they might be overwhelmed. He dodged back from a knife slash, parried the fall of a club with his blade then slashed the truncheon out of his enemy’s hand with a cut that also removed two fingers. Behind him, Hamil put a man on the floor with a cut to the hamstring then threw himself at the shins of another ruffian to send him crashing to the floor. Geran knocked that one unconscious with a kick to the face while he was on the ground. Then a brilliant, blue flare seared the room, and lightning crackled across the space. Several of the ruffians shrieked and fell convulsing. As quickly as it had started, the brief assault fell to pieces.

Sarth held up his rod that was glowing with a dangerous blue light. “I do not care to be accosted by the likes of you!” he snarled. The ruffians still on their feet stared at him then bolted for the door.

Geran turned back to Harask and found the fellow halfway out a small, concealed door. He lunged after him and dragged him back into the room, throwing him into his seat. Then he tapped his sword point on the man’s chest. “Now where were you going?” he asked.

The fat man glared at him. “You’ll be sorry for this,” he said. “I have powerful friends in this city! They’ll see to you soon enough.”

“I don’t much care about your friends,” Geran replied. He reached down and seized Harask by the collar, giving him a good shake. “Now tell me, what do you know about the Black Moon?”

“To the Nine Hells with you!”

Geran was out of patience. Some of the ruffians might already be on their way to summon more help or even find the local Watch, and he had no particular desire to explain himself to the lawkeepers in Mulmaster. He cracked the flat of his blade across Harask’s left ear, a stinging blow that elicited a howl of pain and raised a bright welt on the side of Harask’s face. “Mind your manners,” he said. “Now, tell me: Have you seen a ship with that banner? Where did you see her?”

“Zhentil Keep,” the man replied. “Damn it all, she was in Zhentil Keep! Now leave me be!”

“You’re lying. No one goes to Zhentil Keep. It’s a monster-haunted ruin.”

“Cyric take my tongue if I am lying!” the man snarled. “Outlaws and smugglers from the cities nearby hide in the ruins along the Tesh. No one troubles them, and there’s always a ship or two there looking for a few hands.”

The swordmage narrowed his eyes, studying Harask, who sat glaring at him with a hand clapped up against his ear. If he’d been in the ruffian’s place, Zhentil Keep was exactly the place he might have told his interrogator to go to. The ruins happened to lie all the way at the other end of the Moonsea, and they were infested with monsters. But Zhentil Keep was about the only place in the western Moonsea that he hadn’t looked already. Merchant ships had no reason to go any farther west than Hillsfar and Phlan, so he’d turned Seadrake back to the east without working his way another hundred miles into the prevailing wind to search deserted coasts and ruined cities. The prospects for a pirate lair in the ruins seemed almost as dim as those for a base in the Galennar … but Geran had heard stories that brigands and such outlaws occasionally laired in Zhentil Keep. It was at least plausible that pirate ships might lurk there too.

I believe he’s telling the truth, Hamil said to him.

Geran knew that the talent of the ghostwise for speaking mind-to-mind didn’t allow Hamil to read the thoughts of others, but it did mean that the halfling had a better sense for truthfulness than most. I think so too, he answered Hamil. To Harask he said, “If I find that you’ve lied to me, I will come back for you.” He jerked his head toward Sarth. “My friend the sorcerer here will invert you with his magic. You’ll walk on your tongue and carry your eyes on your arse, so you’d better hope that we find what we’re looking for in Zhentil Keep.”

Sarth gave Geran a startled look, but Harask didn’t see it; he was cringing. “I’ve told you what I know!” he said.

The swordmage looked at his companions and nodded toward the door. They filed into the fogbound street outside. None of the men who’d fled the storehouse were in the vicinity; Sarth’s magic had well and truly put them to flight.

“So it’s off to Zhentil Keep, then?” Hamil asked in a low voice.