11. Exchanges

Kail towelled off the moisture from her dripping wet hair, then gave a deep, contented sigh. She had begged first use of the bath, and finally felt clean. Her skin had been scrubbed until it was pink, the dust of travel scoured from her body with a generous amount of soap. Now the first person to say that she smelt of swamps would find themselves doubled over in agony and struggling to draw breath. Dropping her towel on her bed for the moment, she stepped in front of the circular mirror fixed to the wall by the door.

Her own grey-blue eyes appraised her appearance frankly. Her skin, though sun-touched, was quite light in tone, and her hair, almost black while damp, was dishevelled after the towelling. She was dressed in her clean white shirt and plain brown trousers, and completely devoid of jewelry. Her only ornamentations were her bracers and her belt; the grey cloak she left on the cloak-stand. The overall effect was that of a plain young woman in plain clothes staring at her plain reflection. Good. She couldn't afford to stand out, not when there was a chance that her attackers might be lurking nearby, waiting for her to slip up.

She ran her fingers through her hair, bringing a little order to the chaos, then put on her boots, whistled for the crow, and left her new bedroom. The corridor felt oddly chilly, and she hurried down it, into the common room. She found her friends where she had left them, the only difference was that Khelgar seemed to have collected a large number of empty tankards. At least, she hoped he had collected them.

"All I'm saying is we'd better hold onto it in case we really need it," Khelgar was saying to the women as she approached.

"We can always get more. It's not like it's hard to come by," Neeshka said, grinning at the disgusted look that passed the Dwarf's face. "What do you think, Kail?"

"About what?" she asked, dropping into her original chair.

"Khelgar thinks we should save the gold we collected on our way here for 'a rainy day'. I think we should spend it on some new gear. Clothes, weapons, armour. I mean, it's not like he isn't spending it already with his obsessive drinking. At the rate he's going your uncle's going to run out of alcohol before tomorrow."

"Bah. Ye've no appreciation for the finer things in life, Tiefling."

"I appreciate the finer things alright, moss-breath. They just don't include drinking myself into a stupor."

"Split the gold four ways," said Kail, halting the argument. "That way everybody has their fair share, and can spend or save as they like."

"I do not want gold," said Elanee. "As long as your uncle provides shelter and food, I have all that I need."

"Are you sure, Elanee?" she replied. "You could buy yourself... something nice," she trailed off with a dismissive wave of the hand. She had no idea what the Elf considered 'nice'. Elanee merely shook her head.

"Why can't you be more like her, stumpy?" Neeshka grinned at Khelgar.

"And let you have a bigger share of the gold? No chance, thief. But what about you, lass? Got anything nice in mind? Some new clothes, maybe?"

"What's wrong with my clothes?" Kail asked, raising an eyebrow at the Dwarf.

"Well, they're a bit... well... plain. And that's fine for farmers and whatnot, but yer a bard, lass! Ye need something flashier!"

"Oh gods, I can't believe I'm being given fashion advice by a Dwarf," she groaned.

"Moss-breath is right," Neeshka piped up. "I'm going to buy you at least one set of decent clothes, even if it's out of my own share of the money."

"Did I hear something about a bard?" asked Duncan from the bar. Kail inwardly groaned again.

"Who's next in the bath?" she asked quickly to stall the inevitable request for a song.

"I'll go," said Elanee, jumping up from the table and practically running from the room.

"What's wrong with her?" she asked the other two. Neeshka shrugged dismissively, then rooted through her pack for one of her loot bags, upended the contents onto the table, and began sorting through a pile of jewelry.

"She said she felt like she was being watched," said Khelgar.

"I know how she feels," Kail said dryly. At least that feeling was gone, now. And perhaps Elanee deserved to feel a little watched, after she herself had been watching Kail.

"I'm going to get me another drink. Ye want anything lass?"

"I won't say no to a glass of whatever you're drinking," she said, and watched the Dwarf potter only a little unsteadily to the bar. As she turned her head, a glint of light reflecting off metal caught her eye, and she gasped in surprise. Above the mantle of the fireplace, two short swords were crossed over each other, fixed to the wall. She hurried to them, running her eyes over them.

The sword on the right was an extremely ornate weapon; but nothing more. The sword on the left, however... she recognised the markings on the hilt, the cut of the blade... it was a Sword of Quickness! Lucas had one exactly like it, and she had never thought to see another elsewhere. They were quite rare, and she wondered if her uncle even knew what he had. Carefully, she stood on her tiptoes and ran her finger over the point of the weapon.

"Aren't you a little tall, for a Halfling?" said a sneering voice from a nearby chair. Ah, a joke about my height. How terribly original. Poised on her toes, she tilted her head to examine the speaker. The man, lounging back seemingly at his ease, was dressed in dark brown leathers and held a tankard of ale in his hands. By his side, propped up against the mantle, was a longbow and a quiver of arrows. With his cocky, defiant attitude, he could easily have passed for an older, slightly less shaven Mossfeld brother. A tiny voice at the back of her mind flagged something up for her to pay attention to; most people would have missed it, but she had been trained by Lucas to notice subtle tone and inflection, and she realised that the man in the chair spoke with an extremely faint, barely noticeable, Mere lilt to his accent. She resisted the urge to sneer back, and merely raised an eyebrow at him.

"Aren't you a little articulate, for a Half-Orc?" she asked, dropping back to her feet. The man gave her a feral grin and lifted his tankard to her.

"Stick around. A few more drinks and you'll start looking good to me," he said.

"There's an incentive to leave, if ever I heard one," she replied, and stalked back to her companions, tiny flames of anger licking at her mind. But they were flames of anger at herself, more than anything. Stupid girl, don't antagonise people here. Don't you remember what Georg told you? You're not in some tiny village any longer. People aren't going to be impressed if you twirl your daggers, they're just going to laugh and maybe even try to teach you a lesson. Keep your head down!

o - o - o - o - o

A flash of light came from the centre of the village. Amie's head swivelled toward it and she set off at a flat-out run.

"No, Amie! Don't go there, Amie!" she called after her friend. The young woman ran on, and Kail followed her. A raucous cry came from overhead, and she looked up to see a crow flying above. As she watched the animal it alighted on a hanging sign of a building, and picked out in dark letters were the words; Sunken Flagon.

Amie opened the door of the tavern, her blonde head disappearing inside the building. Kail followed her. Amie stood in front of a roaring fire in the common room, looking into the flames. She felt her heart lurch.

"Amie, no! Come away from there!" she said. The young woman looked up and smiled.

"It's alright, Kail. Everything will be alright. You'll see. Just trust me."

A figure appeared out of thin air, looming menacingly behind Amie. She tried to call out, to warn her friend, but the words would not come. The figure grinned at the young woman, its grey-green skin pulled taught, a predatory gleam in its black eyes. The flames in the fireplace jumped out, and Amie screamed as the fire consumed her. When the flames disappeared, all that was left was a pile of ash.

"Amie!"

Kail's eyes flew open and she scrambled out of bed. Air! She needed air! She tripped over her bag as she made her way to the window in the dark, but eventually managed to find the catch. Cold air rushed into the room as she leant against the sill, and slowly her mind began to clear, the queasiness in her stomach growing still.

Oh gods, why did she have to dream about that now? Maybe her mind had been occupied with staying alive up to now. With worrying about avoiding the Duergar and Bladelings, maybe she just hadn't been able to think about anything else. But here, during her first night of real safety, she'd had a nightmare. Or maybe it's Amie trying to tell me something. Trying to tell me that it's time to say goodbye...

She glanced at her bag. Yes, it was time. Stepping lightly to the bed, she pulled on her clothes, fastening her belt and her bracers over the top of her shirt. It was still dark outside, but she knew that morning was approaching. The air smelled different as the sun began to rise. It was easier to detect in the Mere or the forests, of course, but she could sense it even in the unfamiliar city. It would be light in a couple of hours, and she would have no more sleep today.

The crow was perched on the coat stand in the corner of the room, and she left it sleeping as she tiptoed to the door, a pouch in her hand. She quietly opened the door, slipped out, then closed it behind her. She winced every time she stepped on a floorboard that creaked, and hoped she wasn't waking the other patrons. Neeshka and Khelgar had the rooms to either side of hers, and Elanee was a little further down the corridor. The women might wake if they heard the creaking, but Khelgar could sleep through anything.

The common room was almost completely dark when she entered, only the dying flames of the fire creating a small source of light. She could vaguely make out the shape of chairs stacked upside down on tables, and the blocky form of the bar where Sal had been serving drinks only a few hours earlier. The floorboards were cold beneath her feet, and she ruefully regretted not putting on her boots. She wasted no time in making her way to the fire, then took the poker from the wall and stoked the coals, encouraging the flames to burn a little stronger.

Satisfied at last, she returned the poker to its stand and knelt in front of the fire. This was where Amie had been in the nightmare. This was where her friend had said goodbye. It was time for goodbye. She gently opened up the pouch that she carried, and upended the contents onto her open palm; a lock of fine blonde hair fell out. It was time.

She placed the lock onto the fire, and, as the hair sizzled, consumed by the flames, she bowed her head and quietly prayed for her friend.

"Do not stand at my grave and weep

"I am not there, I do not sleep.

"I am a thousand winds that blow,

"I am the diamond glints on snow,

"I am the sunlight on ripened grain,

"I am the gentle autumn rain.

"When you wake from sleep in the morning's hush,

"I am the swift, uplifting rush

"Of quiet birds in circling flight.

"I am the soft starlight at night.

"Do not stand at my grave and cry,

"I am not there, I did not die."

Goodbye, Amie.

She sat with her head bowed, remembering her friend's laughing face, the way they made mischief as children, how they would listen, wide-eyed with awe, as Tarmas taught them cantrips. She realised that she wasn't crying, and for that she was thankful; if the tears came now, she doubted they would ever stop.

Warm air touched the back of her neck and she froze, every muscle rigid. Something sniffed her shoulders, her neck, her hair. Then she whimpered with fright, her eyes screwed shut and her body tense, as a warm tongue licked her ear. The something behind her moved to her left side, and she sensed silent movement. Very, very slowly, she raised her head and let her eyelids open, and looked into yellow-gold eyes ringed with tawny fur.

Oh crap. Wolves were like lizardmen. You didn't look into their eyes. It was a challenge. Look away look away look away, she told herself, but couldn't. She had never seen a living wolf up close before -- they weren't all that common in the damp Mere -- and this one was sitting so still before her that she couldn't even think of moving.

"You're lucky," said a voice from the chair by the fire. She almost jumped out of her skin. There hadn't been anybody sat there when she knelt down, she was sure of it. She recognised the voice as belonging to the man who had insulted her earlier. Licking her lips, she worked moisture back into her dry mouth, but could not take her eyes from the wolf's.

"Lucky?"

"He's decided that he likes you." She nodded imperceptibly.

"And if he had decided that he didn't like me...?" she let the question trail off, and the momentary silence was marked only by the crackling of the dying embers of the fire.

"He would've ripped your throat out." She merely nodded again. "You should stop staring at him now."

She managed to tear her eyes away from the wolf, transferring her gaze to the man by the fire. But his eyes glittered gold in the firelight, too. Damn, no better! she thought.

"Why don't you do something amusing," said the man, leaning back and stretching his legs out before him. "Since you walked in here I haven't seen you play a single tune, sing any songs, dance any dances or tell any jokes."

"I'm not that kind of bard," she said. He snorted in amusement.

"A bard who doesn't sing, dance or play? Sounds pretty useless to me. What do you do, then?"

She couldn't help it. The man's cocky, arrogant tone grated on her nerves. She was willing to bet that he wanted to see her upset. Well, she wouldn't give him that satisfaction. Her fingers moved by instinct, and as she lifted her right hand she twirled a small throwing knife over her knuckles, as she had for Vallis in Fort Locke. She felt his eyes follow the movement of the knife across her fingers, and his voice, when he spoke, was amused.

"So you do have claws, little wildcat. And here I thought you were defenceless." A pang of fear gripped her heart. Surely that wasn't the reason he was out here? He couldn't be planning to hurt her. Not here. She was supposed to be safe. She schooled her face to stillness. She would not show him that she was afraid. She had carved her way to Neverwinter through countless hordes of Duergar, Bladelings, bandits and undead. She would not be frightened by one man. One man and his pet wolf. But he seemed not to notice her fear, and sniffed the air, gesturing at the fire with a casual wave of his hand. "What's this? Burning the evidence from your last victim?"

A small wave of fury washed over her. This was supposed to be a private moment. A goodbye for Amie. And this stupid, idiot man has ruined it. She let the anger melt away, concentrated on the blade flowing around her fingers. It wouldn't do to get angry. If she got angry, she might do something that she would later regret. The tavern was probably quite flammable, after all.

"Will he let me touch him?" she asked instead. The man blinked in surprise at her question. "The wolf," she elaborated.

"And why would you want to do that?" he asked, a hint of a challenge in his gaze. She shrugged and returned the knife to its home in her leather bracer.

"I've never touched a wolf before," she said. The simple truth. The man's golden eyes searched her face for a moment, but what he was looking for she couldn't even begin to guess.

"And most people wouldn't want to, unless it was dead, skinned, and covering an item of furniture."

"I'm not most people."

"Well you could try, I suppose. See what happens. I always enjoy seeing his reaction. The last person who tried is, to this day, missing two fingers," said the man casually. He crossed his arms behind his head and watched her.

She ignored him, and turned her attention to the wolf. It was watching her intently, and she had the distinct impression that it understood every word that had been said. She studied it for a moment in the firelight; it had typical wolf-like agouti markings, peppered with bands of grey. Small, triangular ears stood up alertly, and even while sitting the creature's body spoke of great endurance. Don't touch the wolf. You're only doing it to prove to the pig-headed swine that you're not afraid. You don't have anything to prove. Don't I?

She lifted her hand, let the wolf sniff her skin. Can't twirl a knife if you've no fingers, Kail. Lucas will be so disappointed. When the wolf had finished sniffing she leant forward slightly, and ran her fingers over its fur. It was surprisingly coarse! Not much like a dog's fur; it was thick, double layered, with guard-hairs designed to keep out the cold. Beneath the fur she felt the toned, sinuous muscles of the animal's shoulder, and she stroked from its neck down its back, feeling the warmth and the strength in its body. The wolf opened its jaws, let its tongue loll out, and panted; the canine equivalent of a laugh, she knew.

"You have better manners than your friend," she smiled at the animal. "And probably not as many fleas." The man in the chair snorted.

"You're one to talk. Carrying around that flea-farm of a bird the way you do."

"Do you have a name?" she asked, running her hands behind the wolf's head to scratch his ears. "Or should I keep thinking of you as "dumb animal?"

"His name is Karnwyr." She turned her head slightly and raised an eyebrow at the man.

"I wasn't talking to him."

"Ouch. Your mind is as sharp as your claws, little wildcat. Not bad -- for a Harborman. With a bath, a hairbrush and a pair of boots you could almost pass for civilised."

"Something you can only aspire to, I'm sure." Oh Gods, don't get into a slanging match with the fool. You're supposed to be above that! You've spent too much time around Neeshka and Khelgar. Walk away. He's goading you. Don't try to win this fight, or you'll be sat here until dinner time trading insults. The only way to win is to walk away. That's an order!

She let his next words wash over her mind as she hummed one of the tunes that Lucas had taught her. A marching tune that anybody, travelling merchant or army, could mark time to. Then she gave the wolf's fur one last ruffle, jumped to her feet, and tiptoed across the cold floorboards to the door.

"See you around, Karnwyr," she said with a wave for the wolf. As she turned to walk down the corridor, she heard a low chuckle from the room behind her, and she shivered in the cool morning air.

o - o - o - o - o

"Hmph. Remind me again why we're going to see this Caleb," said Khelgar, bristling with indignation as they walked down the main road. It was early morning, only just past breakfast time, and the Comrades Four were all eager to throw themselves into exploring the city. That is to say, Neeshka was eager to pick out some new marks, and everybody else was going along with Kail's personal quest to gain entry into Blacklake.

"Because if Sand is right, and Caleb smells bad enough, maybe nobody will notice the smell of the swamp on me if I stand near him," said Kail. "Maybe we can start a new and exclusive club of people who have interesting odours." Khelgar had the decency to look chagrined. "Besides, I'm not agreeing to anything yet. I just want to talk to him, see if he can give me a time frame."

"The sooner we are out of this city the better, as far as I am concerned," said Elanee quietly.

"Hey, you can leave at any time, you know. It's not like we tied you up and brought you here," said Neeshka. Elanee said nothing, but Kail could tell that she was biting her tongue. And the Elf wasn't the only one. There had been no sign of Karnwyr or his companion when Kail had returned to the common room later, and when she had absently asked her uncle, over breakfast, who the grouch with the wolf was, he gave a vague wave of his hand and said 'Just a regular. Ignore him'. Duncan, it seemed, kept a whole store of secrets. She had pressed him again on the subject of her mother, but he remained as tight-lipped as the previous day. Nor would he tell her anything of his adventuring days when she had asked him about the memorabilia adorning the walls. And people think Daeghun is cagey, she thought as Neeshka led them into a cul-de-sac. Must run in the family. By blood, at least. I'm certainly not like that.

"Well, that's Caleb," said Neeshka, halting by the corner of a wall and indicating one of the three men stood talking a little further away.

"Know anything about him?"

"Apart from the fact that he works for Moire, no," the Tiefling admitted. "I never really worked the Docks myself. Marks aren't wealthy enough, and it's too much trouble avoiding Moire's goons. She wants to control all the crime in this district, so she bribes or kills Watchmen, and forces every thief to work for her or die. Not that I couldn't avoid them if I really wanted to, but it's just easier to work the Merchant quarter or Blacklake."

"Ah. Right. Well, you all wait here. I'll be back in a moment." She stepped away from her companions before they could object, and walked calmly to the three men. Though her heart was beating rapidly, she concentrated on making this a show. An act. Lucas said everything that happened to you could be use to improve your skills; from cooking breakfast to dodging arrows. Everything was a lesson. Everything was practise. So now, she practised. She was important. She was efficient. She was highly skilled. Her mere presence made life seem a little easier.

"Caleb?"

"Shove off, wench. This is a private discussion, and I'm not looking for bed-warmer today." She turned on her heels and returned to her friends, walking past them onto the main road.

"So? How'd it go?" asked Khelgar as the three hurried to catch up to her.

"The wizard was right," she said grimly. "Merely speaking to him makes me want to kill him. Let's go and look up my old friend Cormick."

o - o - o - o - o

"Well well, look who the wind has blown into Neverwinter," said Cormick as they walked into the tall building that was the Dock's Watchpost. "Good to see you looking well after your harrowing trip through the Mere. A journey like that can change people, and not always for the better."

"It's good to see you again too, Marshal," she replied, ignoring the curious look from the other fair-haired man in the room.

"Now as I recall, I offered you a reward for all the hard work you put into helping Commander Tann at Fort Locke. I've already cleared it with my superior, Captain Brelaina, and she agrees that you deserve it." Cormick unlocked a safe stood in one corner of the room, took out a bag of coins, and handed it to her. Neeshka made a quiet sound of approval.

"Thank you, Marshal," she said promptly. "Actually, I was wondering if you might be able to help us. Me. You see, I need to speak to Aldanon..."

"Ah, I'm afraid Blacklake District is locked down for the moment. Nobody except Watchmen or Cloaktower mages can get in or out, and Captain Brelaina has to personally approve each one of them," he explained, gesturing for her to sit in a chair by his desk.

"Would it help if I worked for the Watch?" she asked, and heard Neeshka groan in defeat behind her. The Marshal eyed her thoughtfully, and she did her best to appear to be sitting calmly and confidently.

"Ordinarily, we wouldn't just take in anybody who asked for it without at least a little training behind them, especially not with the problems we're having right now... but if I know your father, he's done his best to toughen you up, and after everything you did for Fort Locke, I know you're more than capable."

"Hagen, Sir?" suggested the other man. Marshal nodded thoughtfully.

"Yes. Tell you what, Kail, I'll give you an assignment -- just think of it as a trial-run -- and if you manage without any problems, we'll take you on. How does that sound?"

"Perfect," she said, treating him to a smile. He reached into the drawer of his desk and brought out a pile of material; four blue cloaks with white stars on them.

"You'll need to wear these," said Cormick, handing her the cloaks.

"I am not wearing a Watch cloak," said Neeshka defiantly. "It's just too much."

"She has a very refined sense of fashion," Kail explained to the Marshal. "Would it be alright if she didn't wear the cloak? Really, I think it will do more harm than good to make her wear it."

"I have no desire to shroud myself in the trappings of civilisation," said Elanee coolly. Cormick eyed both of the other women, then sighed.

"Very well. I'll make it known that our newest recruit has a couple of... mercenaries... with her," he said, his mouth quirking in amusement.

"What's the assignment?" she asked as she and Khelgar donned their new Watch attire.

"There is a merchant named Hagen who owns a shop on the dockfront, and he has decided to stand up to Moire and her thugs," explained the other man. Cormick introduced him as Lieutenant Roe. "He has refused to pay protection money, but we feel certain that Moire is going to send somebody to 'teach him a lesson', as it were," Roe continued.

"Go to Hagen's shop, protect him from whoever Moire sends, and make sure his shop is safe before returning," said Cormick, standing. She stood as well, giving him a mock salute. Lieutenant Roe tutted and shook his head, but he was smiling as he did so.