The Guard-Captain was punctual, appearing at dockside by their ship shortly before midnight as promised. She had a small group of guards with her; her response when Loghain questioned their presence was grim. "Even guards aren't safe at night in this city. A problem I've been working on for some time, but doubt I'll solve any time soon."
He nodded his head; most cities were dangerous after dark, and as overcrowded as this one was, likely they had even more problems with crime than was usual elsewhere. And as he himself was bringing along four wardens, he could hardly claim to have been planning to be any less wary.
Aveline fell in at his side, leading the way to the Hanged Man, their people falling in behind them. Even with as large a group as they made, he could not help but be aware that they were being watched by unfriendly eyes. There were no people obviously about, save a few clusters of sailors and the like, even they keeping together for safety, but he caught glimpses of movements in the shadows of alleys and on rooftops, enough to feel certain that walking in any number less than a well-armed group in these surroundings was likely hazardous.
It was passing midnight by the time they reached the tavern. The street in front of it was marginally better-lit, the cool night air clearly carrying the sounds of a crowded bar. A crowd that fell silent when the group of them entered.
"Here now, we don't want no trouble..." the bartender said uneasily.
"Then there shouldn't be any, Corff," Aveline said firmly. "We're just here to arrest a man," she said, and glanced around the room. "Not any of you," she added pointedly, then stepped closer to the bar, leaning over it to talk quietly to the man as conversations in the room slowly resumed, the patrons eyeing the guards and wardens warily. The man looked stubborn at first, then sighed and shook his head, leaning closer and saying something to the Guard-Captain before turning away to resume serving his patrons. She returned to Loghain's side. "Upstairs, end of the hall."
Loghain nodded, and allowed her to lead the way again; this was her jurisdiction, after all, even if it was his warden they were here after.
He could feel him even before they reached the room; the familiar faint over there tug on his senses that told him of the nearness of another warden. In truth he'd known the man was still here long before they'd reached the building; he'd sensed him from some distance away, though only as he drew close did the feeling really solidify.
The door to the room was not even locked. Aveline signed for her guards to remain out in the hallway, then she, Loghain and his wardens entered as silently as they could. Loghain felt relieved to see that it was indeed Alistair lying on a cot in one corner of the room; there had always been some small chance that it was not him; some other man of similar looks and name, even some other warden. By the look of it they could have rode in on horses with a pack of barking mabari and not woken him; he was sprawled unconscious on one side. The room stank of stale beer, even staler sweat, vomit, and unemptied chamberpot; judging by the state of the floor beside the cot, Alistair had thrown up most of an evening's worth of heavy drink and too little food before passing out.
"Jowan," he said quietly, nodding to the bed.
The mage made a face, and carefully picked his way across the clothing-strewn floor to the cot, then leaned down, grimacing as he touched his fingers lightly to Alistair's temple. He stood like that only a moment, a haze of magic lighting his hand, then rose. "It is done. He will sleep at least half a day."
Loghain nodded. "Cale, Edrick, take care of him," he said, then glanced around the small room and grimaced. "Oghren, Jowan, gather up his things. I suppose we'll have a hard enough time with him without him mourning some precious possession we've left behind."
Oghren nodded and he and the mage started gathering up the clothing and other belongings scattered about the room, stuffing them into a near-empty pack-sack abandoned in one corner of the room. Cale, in the meantime, opened a bag slung over one shoulder and hauled out what looked like a canvas hammock, with an extra-large loop of thick rope at either end of it; a sling, of the kind the wardens had long found useful for transporting injured and carrying large amounts of supplies in the Deep Roads when necessary. He and Edric kicked clear an area of floor near the cot, avoiding the puddle of vomit, then spread out the sling. The two of them – both very large, strong men – then easily lifted Alistair off his cot, and in a short time had him bundled up in the sling, only his head sticking out an opening at one end so they could keep an eye on his condition while carrying him. They each crouched down, slipped a loop of rope over their head and one arm, then rose to their feet, easily lifting the sling and carrying Alistair out to the hallway, where they set him down again and waited for Loghain and the others to be done.
Loghain walked around the room, checking for anything that Oghren and Jowan might have missed; the two were efficient, apart from a cracked medallion of Andraste half-buried in a pile of dust and shed hairs in one corner, he found nothing of note that they'd missed. At least until he thought to bend down and glance under the bed. A half-covered chamberpot, source of a good deal of the foul odour in the room and... something else, further back in the shadows. "There's something under the bed," he pointed out.
Oghren grimaced and muttered an oath, then walked over and crouched down, looking under and then reaching back, hauling it into view. A shield, with a stained canvas covering. Loghain glanced around, frowning. "A shield, but no sword?"
Aveline spoke up, her first words since they'd entered the room. "Some mercenaries sell them in between jobs; they'd rather have the money for drinking and whores. And then buy a new blade – or at least a half-decent used one – out of their advance money when they get a new job."
"That sounds a dangerous thing to do, in this city."
"I never said it was the smart mercenaries that did such."
"No, you didn't, did you," he agreed, amused, and took a final look around. What a sty, for Maric's bastard to have ended up in. A thought he kept to himself. "All right. Back to the ship."
His wardens nodded, Oghren hefting the now over-stuffed pack onto his back and Jowan taking the shield to carry, Cale and Edrick lifting their burden. Their passage through the bar occasioned another silence and some side-long looks at their prisoner, but nothing else. The walk back to the ship was an uneventful as the walk to the bar had been.
"Thank you for your assistance," he told Guard-Captain Aveline once they reached the ship.
"Just doing my duty. You plan to sail in the morning?"
Loghain nodded. "Yes, just as soon as the sun's up. I want to be well out to sea before Alistair wakes."
"I'll say farewell now then," she said, gave him a polite bow, gathered her men, and walked off again, not looking back.
He followed his own men on board ship, where Cale and Edrick waited patiently, crouched down to rest Alistair's weight on the deck. Loghain walked over and looked down at him. Unshaven, hair grown out and greasy, where it wasn't matted with vomit, and stinking. He sighed. "Do what you can to clean him up without waking him, then put him in the small cabin," he instructed, then looked at Oghren. "I'm putting him in your care for the trip back to the Keep; see if you can start drying him out. Jowan, give Oghren any aid you can."
"Yes, ser," Oghren said, Jowan nodding silent agreement, then the two turned and followed off after Cale and Edrick, who'd already carried Alistair over near the railing and were busy stripping him out of his fouled clothing. Loghain turned away, leaving them to the unpleasant task of dealing with the boy. He was glad to have found the missing man at last, satisfying at least the beginnings of his promise to Solona, but it was likely going to be a very long and tiring time before he'd satisfied all of it.