Author's Note: Just a few minor revisions.

Chapter 12…Fire at the Docks

Carona stumbled into the Dock's Watch post, almost sick with pain. Moire didn't like underlings who disagreed with her plans. She really didn't like underlings who vociferously disagreed with her plans and who not only refused to take part in them, but urged others to do the same. Moire was skilled at making her displeasure clearly, publicly and excruciatingly plain.

"Fire!" she cried. "You've got to get out of here before the whole building comes down." She had the hood of her cloak pulled down to hide her features, but Tymora's face was turned against her: Marshal Cormick himself emerged from a side room at the sound of her voice.

"What is this?" he asked. His eyes narrowed as if he suspected her of playing a prank. Did he think she was still a ten year old brat, lighting pig farts in the Starlings' sty? His suspicions were ill-timed for this was no natural fire. Moire had hired the services of a rogue sorceress, one of Kossuth's followers, to ensure the flames would spread voraciously.

"You must hurry," Carona gasped. "Get everyone out now!"

"Call the alert," he snapped to his sergeant sitting at a desk near the wall. "Wake anyone sleeping in the barracks. I'll go out and check."

Carona had already made it to the door but Cormick, with a few running steps, caught up with her. He grabbed her by the arm and jerked her around, and she had to bite her lip to keep from crying out.

"If this is a jest—what? Are you hurt?" he asked as he noticed the rope burns on her wrist. They were the least of her worries and his, too, as he heard the ominous roar from the side of the building. "Gods!" he said. "We've got to get the prisoners out." He released her with a push that made her stagger. "Go somewhere safe," he told her.

Somewhere safe, she thought scornfully. As if there was such a place.

She was roused from her stupor by raised voices outside her bedchamber. People were arguing. She wished they would go away. Judging by the light streaking through the shutters, it was past dawn, but not much past it.

"I don't care who you are, I won't have you disturbing my niece," Duncan said. But it was too late. The door was flung open hard enough to bang against the wall. Carona turned her head but remained lying on her belly as Cormick's bulk filled the doorway. He reeked of smoke. His clothes were ashy and his eyes were red. For a moment, he just stared at her, seemingly oblivious to Duncan's angry words in his ear. She knew Cormick often played upon his appearance as a big dumb Harborman to make people underestimate him but now his normally unexpressive features were set in righteous fury. Suddenly the room seemed very small as he strode into it like a shaggy-headed avatar of Torm.

"A good man died in that fire last night," he growled. "Get up. You're coming with me." She blinked up at him, but before she could do more than lever herself up on one arm, he yanked the blanket off, ready to jerk her off the bed. She winced.

"Ilmater's mercy!" Duncan swore as he saw her bare back. "Who has done this to you, Carona? Why didn't you say anything last night? Gods, can't the Watch do anything to protect the people in this district?" he asked, giving Cormick an angry look. He turned back to Carona. "I'll send for the healer."

"No," she said, a touch of alarm waking her up faster than irritation had. She knew Moire was having her watched and she didn't want him involved. "I'll be fine, Duncan. Don't make a fuss."

"Don't make a fuss? Lass, someone has beaten you half to death!"

"Duncan," she said wearily. "It's not that bad. Go on now. I need to speak to Cormick."

"Nay, lass, I'm not leaving you alone with him, Watch or no Watch. And besides," he added primly, "You're not dressed."

"It's nothing he hasn't seen before," she said before she thought about her words. Looking rather scandalized, Duncan finally allowed Cormick to push him out the door. He firmly closed it behind him.

Carona sank back on the bed. The pain of her beating had made it impossible to do little more than doze through what had remained of the night after she'd dragged herself back to the Flagon. Cormick stood beside the bed, the emotions on his face too mixed to analyze.

"Do you need a healer?" he asked at last. That was not what she had expected him to say.

"No."

"Lie still and let me have a better look." He opened the shutters to let in more light. The welts started at her lower back and worked all the way up to her shoulders. His hands, still chilly from being outside, probed gently at a few of the most tender spots. She had an unpleasant memory of another cold room and another time when Cormick's cold hands had pressed against her side, feeling for broken ribs. It seemed logical to think that he was remembering this as well.

Lorne had a terrible, terrible temper, and was far too prone to express it with his fists. Carona and Cormick, in their separate ways, had been too stubborn to tiptoe around his rages or to try to appease him, as others did. Sometimes Carona thought that was why Lorne had loved them both. The gods knew it was about the only thing the two of them had in common.

"Was it a whip?" Cormick asked.

"A dog quirt," she said, lip turning down a bit. "I guess it seemed appropriate." Moire had wanted to hurt her, but more so, she had wanted to humiliate.

"A dog quirt." She couldn't tell if he was angry or exasperated. "What happened?"

"None of your business, Cormick."

He made a noncommittal grunt. There was only one chair in the room, and he pulled it over and sat. She tugged at the sheet so it covered her chest but left her back bare.

"Seems like you've threatened to take one to me a time or two," she added, with an attempt at a smile. "Or were you going to cane me? I forget."

"That was a long time ago," he said. Some of the anger had bled out of his face and for a moment, under the worry and frustration, she thought she caught a flicker of humor. "And probably about what you deserved. You were the most obnoxious imp in the Nine Hells." He continued to gaze at her.

"No doubt," she said. "So, am I under arrest?"

"There is a lot of anger in the Watch over this fire," he said. "The post was burned to the ground. Lieutenant Roe died, trying to bring prisoners out of the lower level. Other good men were injured as well. If I bring you in for suspicion of this, even for questioning, you may not live long enough to see a courtroom."

He was probably right, she thought, although getting strung up by vengeful Watchmen was likely to be the least of her worries.

"But I must ask, Carona. Did you set that fire?"

"No."

He studied her with searching eyes. "Were you involved in any way with the planning or execution of this arson?"

"No."

"But you knew enough to warn us."

"I was passing by and saw the flames. That's all."

"You just happened to be strolling by the Watch post, in your—condition, just as the fire broke out?" In a sarcastic drawl, he added, "Perhaps you had come to lodge a complaint against whoever assaulted you?"

"I was on my way home."

"Right. And you just happened to be the first to see the fire, before any of my patrolling Watchmen did?"

The patrolling Watchmen, deep in Moire's pocket, had no doubt already come up with their excuses for their dereliction of duty. Whether those excuses would hold up to the Marshal's questions was not her problem. She had told Moire this was a stupid thing to do. Under the lash, she had screamed it.

"I didn't see any Watchmen or I would have told them instead of coming inside to warn you. Believe me; I had no desire to drop in on you in the lock-up—then or ever." She hadn't meant to speak so bitterly but considering what she had already suffered, it seemed more than a little unfair to have to take Cormick's accusations as well.

"That I believe." Restless, he rose from the chair and opened the shutters a bit wider so he could look out the window. Cold air blasted through the room, making her shiver. Cormick didn't seem to notice. He had never been sensitive to the cold. There wasn't much of a view, since the back of the Sunken Flagon faced a warehouse, but if she stood in the right place, she could see a sliver of the sea. Often she could see the masts of ships as they left the harbor.

"You really think I'd do that?" she asked. "You think I'd set a building on fire—with you inside? Gods, Cormick, you don't think much of me, do you?"

"If I've learned one thing during my years in the Watch, it's that you never know what people are capable of doing until they do it."

"I suppose you're right. What a couple of cynics we've become. What would Brother Merring say if he saw us now?"

"Oh, I don't know. It works both ways. I've seen remarkable, even heroic actions from the unlikeliest of people."

Carona threw back the covers and started the laborious process of working herself out of bed with the least amount of pain. A dog quirt didn't actually do a lot of damage but it could raise a good welt if its wielder was sufficiently determined. Cormick turned his head to watch her.

"Oh for pity's sake, you need to stay in bed until you've healed up a bit."

"I thought you were here to arrest me," she said, grimacing as she finally sat up. "Besides, it will do me more good to move around than to lie here." She gave him the ghost of a smile. "I can't afford to stiffen up in my line of work, you know." He narrowed his eyes, unamused. "I heal quickly, as you may recall." He continued to watch as she shuffled over to her dresser.

"Oh for—can you even lift your arms?" he asked.

"I'm not sure I want to find out." His frown deepened. He opened the drawer for her and pulled out a linen shirt. It was the only clean one she had left. He held it out while she slid her arms in the sleeves then, over her mild protest, fastened the ties for her. He also helped her get into her breeches and boots, which was embarrassing but necessary. Although his attitude was very matter-of-fact, the unexpected intimacy brought a flush to Carona's face. She couldn't make herself meet his eyes. He averted his gaze as well.

"Still as tidy as ever," he noted as he looked around the stark room. She hardly had enough belongings to make a mess with, she thought dryly.

"An enduring legacy from my life with Daeghun," she said. "Duncan is shockingly different however."

"In more ways than one, no doubt," he replied absently, looking down into her face. "It is hard to believe they are brothers."

Carona knew without asking that he, too, was thinking of Lorne and of that disastrous winter when the three of them had lived together in the slums of the Beggar's Nest. Lorne, in his perennial belief that Faerûn would order itself to his own desires, had believed he could live with his lover and his ex-lover without repercussion. She and Cormick had both known better but Lorne could be quite persuasive when he chose and those had been desperate, war-torn times. None of them had wanted to be alone.

Cormick sighed but then he was back to business. "The Thieves have gone too far this time. The Docks have always been a problem and our resources are stretched then, but Nasher and the Council will not stand for this. There will be war now, and Carona—do not get caught up in it. I know or can guess some of what your life has been like here in the city." His words were a clear warning. "But you can rise above this. It is not too late for you to step away from the choices you have made." And then once again, he looked out the window but his eyes were unfocused. "I don't want to see you on the work gangs, Carona. Or worse."

Would Cormick really send her to the gallows? Like Janit? Carona didn't know. Like he had said, you never knew what someone was capable of doing until he did it.

Did he really think she could just walk away from the Thieves Guild? Still, after last night, that idea had appeal. She had defied Moire and she had paid the price for that. And now they would be watching her closer than ever. The best she could hope for now was to get sent somewhere out of the city, somewhere far away from Moire and her crazed temper.

After a day of lurking around the Sunken Flagon and with the aid of a potion Duncan bought from Sand, Carona felt almost decent again. At least, she did until the men in cloaks came for her.

They must have been watching the inn, for they caught her that evening as she walked out to the back alley to dump the slops from dinner. She assumed they were Moire's men, for who else would take her? All she knew for certain was that they weren't bladelings. All three wore hooded cloaks, and when the one who seemed to be in charge dropped his hood, she saw that he wore a mask beneath it. It was a fancy mask, like one would wear to a party, made of dark velvet and glittering with small gems, and the sight of it sent a chill racing up her spine.

What kind of thief would wear a mask, and such a mask? One who was dedicated to the Master of All Thieves, perhaps?

"Come," the masked man said. Before she could yell or run, one of his companions grabbed her arms. She felt the prick of a blade against her side. "Come quietly," he said, "And you will not be hurt." He spoke with a slight accent that she couldn't immediately identify.

She was led down the dark alley to a waiting coach and bundled inside before she could get a good look at it. It was drawn by two horses but she didn't get a good look at the driver either. Closed carriages were something of a rarity in the Docks. She had never ridden in one before. It was much less comfortable than she would have guessed from watching them pass by but perhaps that was because of the poor repair of the cobbled street.

"If you permit," the leader said politely, but no permission was expected as he leaned forward and fastened a mask over her face. Unlike the mask he wore, this one had no eye holes.

"Why—" she began but a finger on her lips silenced her.

"I apologize for the need for secrecy," the masked man said. "Explanations will be made when we reach the meeting place."

So they rode in silence, and Carona used her ears to guess their destination. They were still in the city, for surely they would have been hailed by the Greycloaks at the gates. They crossed a bridge. They were somewhere in the Merchant Quarter, she guessed, when the carriage rolled to a stop. A hand at her elbow guided her down from the carriage. Her blindfold wasn't removed until she was inside a building. A warehouse, she guessed, once she was able to look around but what was stored here she could not tell. One of the men had a small shuttered lantern but the light from its one open shutter did not penetrate far into the shadows that surrounded them.

"This way," the masked man told her and she followed him to what she assumed was the warehouse's ledger room or office. She cringed when she heard Moire's angry voice.

"I do not appreciate having my time wasted," she was saying. She saw Carona and her face turned cold with fury.

"My apologies for the delay," said the masked man. Carona still could not place his accent. Moire bit off whatever she was about to say. At the masked man's nod, the man who had pricked her with his knife moved to stand by the door.

"What is this about?" Moire snapped. There were several chairs in the room but no one sat. There was too much tension for that.

"I believe you know what we are here to discuss," the masked man said. "If you refer to this subterfuge," and he touched his mask, "Your young apprentice here is not privy to our secrets, nor do I think she should be at this time."

"This cur is no apprentice of mine," Moire snarled. "She is a disobedient whelp who has had but a taste of the banquet that awaits those who defy me."

"If her only crime is standing against the madness you perpetrated last night, then perhaps instead of your apprentice, she should be your master. Fool!"

"The Watch needed a reminder of who actually rules the Docks. We have shown them just how weak they are."

"There is no profit in bloodshed and destruction, Moire. What you have done is far more likely to strengthen their resolve than to bend them to our wishes."

"You are mistaken. If you had been here five years ago when the Luskans were at our gate, you would know just how little resolve the Watch has."

"We will not argue this further. The Watch is not our enemy and we are not at war, but because of your short-sighted actions, we must now arm ourselves like warriors." And then the man turned to look at Carona. She saw intense dark eyes through the holes in the mask.

"Sometime in the next few days, a ship will arrive. Hidden within its cargo are crates of arms and armor for our people. Arrangements have already been made to bypass the normal unloading inspection but these supplies must be moved and delivered to one of our warehouses in secrecy." He turned to Moire and there was a rebuke in his voice. "This will be done without alerting the Watch and without the need for a bloodbath." To Carona, he said, "I want you and Moire to plan and execute this together."

The carriage delivered Moire and Carona to the guild house in the Docks. They had both been quiet during the ride and Carona followed her inside with a feeling of dread. This intensified when they walked past the spot where Moire had strung her up and beaten her in front of any in the guild who had cared to watch. However, the district master walked briskly past without as much as a smirk and her expression was thoughtful rather than angry.

"Now you have met our guild master," she said, once they were in the privacy of her office. "He and I do not see eye to eye in all matters, as you no doubt realize."

"So I gathered."

"Yes. His methods have served well enough in other places. Whether they will serve in Neverwinter remains to be seen." And she gave a graceful shrug. Carona, who had been raised by an elf, had seen that look before. It was the look that one of a long-lived race gave in the face of short-lived human folly. Carona stifled a familiar surge of human resentment.

"You have brought yourself to our master's attention and are now under his protection, to some extent. To what extent, also remains to be seen. At any rate, let us plan."