Chapter 5 – Cut of the Jib

Halsin paced the boardwalk impatiently, certain that Astarion had been gone for hours at this point, despite the fact that the sun had still barely risen past the pier. And as much as he had been enjoying the salty sea air and the smell of fresh fish on the docks, the druid was starting to worry that something untoward had happened to his pompous companion. He could see the ship in the near distance though, and there were no plumes of smoke or trails of fire up the masts. No screaming crowds or Steel Watch racing to the scene. So, he told himself again that the pale one must have quietly found something of interest. Or was just trying to annoy him.

It was precisely at that moment however, that said rogue finally decided to reappear, walking casually up the street from the lower platforms. Relieved, Halsin had to stop himself from nearly sprinting to meet up with him, knowing already from the smug expression on his face that Astarion had something important to confess.

"What have you learned?" He asked immediately, falling into step alongside the other elf.

"Learned?" Astarion replied with feigned indignation. "Why, nothing. I've merely confirmed what I already knew."

Halsin rolled his eyes. "Yes, yes. What is it? Do you know where Lyric is?"

Here, the vampire unconsciously grit his teeth and seemed, for a moment, a little upset. But just as soon as the dark cloud had come over him, Astarion buried it beneath a pleasant smile.

"I've suspected from the start that Cazador was the one who took her. Everything points to her imprisonment in the mansion."

Halsin stopped in his tracks, confused. "Wait. Cazador? Your master? I don't understand. What about this Olivet? About the ship and the…the clown?"

Astarion dramatically sighed, as was his condescending habit. But, at least in this case, he did actually feel a small amount of pride in his confidant knowledge. "My old master, thank you. But far be it from me to prevent you from chasing your tail, Halsin. After all, the intimate inner workings of the city elite is not something I would expect you to have much experience with." Before the druid could up and punch him though, he continued on. "Lyric was taken from us in the dead of night by someone, or something, that could move in and out of the camp without being seen or heard. She didn't struggle or cry out in a way that was able to rouse anyone either. Even though I was right there next to her and you, I dare say, were less than a stone's throw away."

Halsin frowned. "We know that from this morning. What of it?"

"Whomever it was…" Astarion paused emphatically. "Didn't take me."

The druid tilted his head, his brow furling so far over the ridge of his forehead that he actually did start to look like a bear scowling in elven form.

Astarion tapped his foot against the street cobbles and explained. "Only a vampire, a true vampire, could have pulled off an abduction like the one last night. Lyric is vigilant and capable. A ranger quite used to the dangers of the wilderness and the lower cities equally. She would not have gone easily or soundlessly unless caught out in her reverie. Plus, it has all the other tell-tale signs of a vampire lord's work, including our own undisturbed rest. So that can only mean Cazador. But if that's the case, then why didn't he take me as well when he certainly could have? Why leave me there to inevitably discover her missing?"

"Bait?"

"Exactly. Which leads to the larger question of why. Cazador wants me back for his…. little ritual. He needs me. Thus, in theory, he should just have taken me and gotten straight to it. But he didn't. He took her and I am pretty sure I know why. He wants us, he wants me, to follow her to the estate. To risk ourselves and everyone in an attempt to free her from him, but wherein he kills the threat of our alliance and gets me anyway. Not before he breaks me though, using her capture as evidence of my ultimate failure and weakness. It's not exactly a scheme that's hard to come up with."

Halsin considered Astarion's words. "Olivet then has no part in this?"

Astarion laughed. "Oh, he does. I'm sure of that. I just haven't worked out all the particulars of his involvement just yet. But I do know this. Olivet Ailil has been allowing my…family…to use the Bellewether as a protected transport, ferrying spawn and thralls in a makeshift crypt in the hull. I'll wager he's been moving slaves and servants around that way for years, as well as preying on passengers that no one in Baldur's Gate would miss or even know about. I suspect it was Olivet who told Cazador about Lyric, and who may have even put him up to her kidnapping."

"Alright. But why?"

"Because Olivet Ingen Ailil is going to take a side. Cazador is on the precipice of becoming the Vampire Ascendant, don't you remember? Cazador takes Lyric to lure me back in time for his ritual. He also uses her as a trophy to hold over my head. Proof of his superiority before I'm reduced to ashes on his boots. Then, he ascends and makes her into his first greater spawn."

Halsin suddenly felt his chest tighten. He really didn't like where this was going nor how cogent Astarion was starting to sound.

"Once he has complete control of her, and I mean utter mastery, he returns her to Ailil as a potent, but perfectly obedient, servire. Where she will act as a bridge of contract between the two now most powerful men on the Sword Coast. As such, it is likely that Olivet will also give her back the command of the Bellewether, if for no other reason than to further torment her. But more likely so that she is the one who must now carry out the orders of her vampire lord to raid and enslave but under the immediate direction, not to mention profit, of House Argentaamn and Olivet himself. Each thus having the power, technically, to turn her against the other, they strike a balance of confidence and both get what they want. In a…variety of ways."

The druid balked. "This is…this is unconscionable! But how were you able to glean all that from the ship? How could you suddenly know that this was their plan?"

"I didn't. She did. I merely put two and two together."

Astarion could feel the heat of the bear-elf's gaze. Torn between rage and sadness, Halsin seemed to be of half a mind to storm out into the harbor right there and rip apart the offending vessel bobbing along as a representation of his unrequited anger. But the other elf had different ideas.

"Lyric has long surmised that Olivet and Cazador were collaborators, my friend. It's hard to imagine any true understanding of Baldur's Gate in which they aren't. Though now, they have as much to worry about within these walls as we do. The Absolute, en route as we speak. This Lord Gortash and Orin the Red, spreading chaos everywhere they go. The tadpoles and the mind flayers. They will move as quickly as they can now, to secure their mutual immortality. Lyric knew damn well something like this could happen."

"And?" Halsin growled.

"And?"

"Yes. And?" He repeated lowly. "What did she have in mind to do about it? Precautions she might have taken? You don't mean to tell me that a daughter of the wilds foresaw such a credible probability and did nothing to prepare with a full tenday on the road?"

"Not something best discussed out loud in the middle of an afternoon thoroughfare." Astarion chided. "We should find the others. I think I have had quite enough of the smell of fish blood for one day. Blech."

They turned towards the Heapside and began to walk in silence. Though not for very long, as Halsin still could not calm his roiling thoughts.

"We are going to go and get her though, right? We will deny these monsters their prize?"

"Oh, I suspect so." Astarion tossed his head to put an air of nobility back into his step. "It is, after all, what we do best."

It was going to be a longshot though, as the mariners say. But only Astarion knew just how literally true that phrase was about to become.

Back at camp, the company was in an uproar. Karlach and Wyll had unfortunately returned empty-handed, but Shadowheart and Lae'zel had, somehow, managed to speak with a recently deceased lady's maid once sworn to the High Houses. This had, of course, necessitated some fast and rather illegal digging followed by a confrontation with the graveyard's griefkeepers. But Shadowheart relayed their tale with all the enthusiasm of the only schoolgirl to have gotten an A on the assignment.

"The honesty of the dead is truly refreshing sometimes, I must admit." She was saying as both vampire and druid returned to the fold. "We had to frame our questions carefully to really understand her but from what I got, Olivet has been quite busy as of late. Calling in favors for unexplained reasons, receiving strange visitors in the night. The mangled woman in that grave had been eavesdropping for several weeks she said, and then fallen victim to one such night visitor after she was discovered holding her ear to a wall. A vampire, of course."

Lae'zel picked up the thread from there. "This one fancies himself a merchant king it would seem. He bargains with vampires who bargain with devils and thinks himself clever for keeping around the circle but never stepping fully inside it. It is a wonder that he has not yet fallen to his own allies and their schemes."

Jaheira, also recently returned, joined in. "This is supported by what my Harpers have to say also. They are seeing much activity in the High Houses now even though we hardly have enough loyal to us left to get much in details. They say that Olivet Ailil is calling the fleets into port. Under the guise of a threat from the Absolute's army, he is instructing them all to make for Baldur's Gate immediately. A few of his lieutenants are questioning this though. If the city is to be felled, it would make more sense to keep the ships and cargo as far away from the damage as possible and make berth in the islands. But no, he tells them to come."

Wyll nodded. "He's likely planning an evacuation then. Or he's promising one. I would bet my father's golden goblet that Ailil is taking money and favors from every noble family in the Upper quarter for a place on one of those ships. He shows them that the entire fleet speeds full sail to the city and then offers them and their trunks of riches a way out of here before the walls are breached. Whether he actually means to make good on any of that is doubtful though, given what we know."

Astarion crossed his arms. "Well, I think there is at least one 'family' he intends to spirit to safety. And that would be the Szarr family."

As they all turned to regard their dour companion, Halsin intervened. "We have evidence that it was Cazador who took Lyric, likely on behalf of Ailil. Astarion thinks that they plan to use her as a bargaining chip to consolidate their political power. Each prepared to take possession of the other's run-away, so to speak."

"Where's Gale?" Karlach asked, as if oblivious to the grim conversation surrounding her.

"Not back yet." Shadowheart replied flatly. "Karlach? Have you not heard what was just said?"

The massive tiefling quirked an eyebrow. "Yeah? 'Course I have. I've already said what I said, didn't I? And nothing has changed that. We march up there, find this vampire lord in whatever closet he's hiding in, and we fuck him up. I bet Lyric'll pop up right quick after that."

Halsin actually chuckled a little. He admired Karlach for her directness. Lyric was gone. Someone had taken her. And once that someone had been identified, the resolution was clear and easy. Whatever else they happened to learn along the way was just decoration for camp stories told later. But now was not the time for humor.

"She's right either way." The druid stated. "Our first priority is in retrieving Lyric, whatever it might be that Olivet or Cazador ultimately has planned. Astarion seems to be solidly certain that she's in the manor. That means we go to the manor. Astarion? You know this place better than any of us."

"Intimately."

"You'll be taking the lead then."

Shadowheart sighed and shifted on her feet. "So be it. Traipsing off into a nest of vampires like taking in a spot of tea. Any advice on what we should expect, Astarion?"

"Yes." He replied. "Vampires."

The morose glare he got in return was suddenly interrupted however by the shouts of a man attempting to run into the center of camp without tripping on his robe. With a stained paper held high and waving overhead, Gale of Waterdeep pulled up short as he gasped for breath.

"It's the…it's the…." He heaved and swallowed again. "It's the circus!"

The paper he held turned out to be an obvious copy of the Circus of the Last Days' advertisement, but oddly, this one wasn't done in brightly inked colors but rather a kind of woodcut block-print in deep red. It also wasn't headed by the iconic jester's mask in red, green, and gold. Instead, the poster was rimmed with hastily slashed runes and topped with the stamp of an eight-pointed star.

Karlach snatched the paper from his hand as the wizard started in on a fit of coughing. "The circus!? Gods, I LOVE the circus! I've always wanted to go!"

But Wyll was confused. "Gale, what does this have to do with anything? We've already been around the Rivington grounds."

"No, no." Gale shook his head and leaned on his knees. "Ok, look, I don't have to time to explain it all, ok? Just suffice it to say that I followed a lead from Sorcerous Sundries that took me to the Baldur's Mouth Gazette. And I…well, I went exploring with the help of a little invisibility magic and I met a printing press. Fascinating thing! A magically automated printer that…wait, nevermind, we'll get to that later…anyway, I met this printing press that was actually indwelt by a Fae of considerable power. Friend of our moonlantern pixie girl Dolly thrice even! And he told me, the printing press, told me that dark creatures, which sounded a lot like doppelgangers by their description, were coming in through the broken walls at night and reprinting the circus poster with a modified slate. They were then taking these posters down into some kind of undercity entrance! Of course, I asked him if he could remember the poster and make me a copy of it and, well with a little mystical persuasion, he did!"

Karlach stared hard at the poster still in her hand, turning it left, right, and upside down, as if a new angle would reveal something interesting about it she hadn't already seen. "Ok?" She finally said. "So, what is it supposed to mean? Sewers got a circus too? Oh! I get it! A flea circus!"

Gale shook his head, his tasseled hat only serving to comically exaggerate the motion by flinging its end back and forth against his ear. "It was all that talk this morning about House Argentaamn that got me thinking. A long time ago, a few centuries maybe, they used to be called House Nightstar. Led by a dashing pair of twins named Halaema and Saelihn. Anyway, they were well known in wizarding circles because they would grow their houses magically instead of building them. This also meant that they could grow incredible structures deep in the ground. Whole estates and temples, through roots and stone. The House supposedly fell over a hundred years ago, but I rather think that Argentaamn is the branch, metaphorically speaking, of a much larger tree we haven't seen yet."

Karlach tried again. "And…. they're running a circus?"

Gale snorted. "No, no, no. Well, actually…. maybe yes. We know that Orin is holding court in some kind of Bhaal temple beneath the city but up until this point we assumed that she was the one luring Olivet Ingen Ailil into the clutches of madness. Drawing him in, as they say. But I'm saying, what if Olivet was the one that lured them all here to begin with instead? What if he's the reason Baldur's Gate is the destination for the deadly Three?"

Astarion gingerly plucked the paper from Karlach's scorched fingers and sneered at it. "Strangely enough, I am actually still with Karlach on this one. This changes nothing for the immediate future. We make our preparations and head for Szarr manor before the sun gets any higher. Nothing else can happen until Lyric is back with us safely."

"Right." Halsin agreed. "We'll need a small, focused, team to breach that nest. Astarion can guide us through, and I'll guard the rear. Shadowheart, we'll need your divine gifts to face the undead within and Lae'zel, your sword and precision are invaluable. The rest of you follow Jaheira and return to the circus. Start clearing our path. As soon as Lyric is free, I am willing to bet that we'll need to move on the Bhaal temple soon afterwards. If Cazador falls…. when Cazador falls…Olivet will not waste any time and we don't yet know the extent of his intentions."

The company scrambled, dashing into tents and tossing open chests to swap out armor, weapons, and prepared potions. In the distance, Karlach could be heard happily exclaiming, "I'm finally going to the circus!"

Alone in his tent for a moment of respite, Astarion sagged against the central post, feeling his hands tremble slightly as the rest of his companions bustled around in the growing excitement before battle. But his mind refused to cooperate with the jubilation.

Was this really it? Was this going to be the day that he finally faced down his old master, head-to-head? A day he had imagined a thousand times, with a thousand different stirring speeches and pithy one-liners, but perhaps hadn't really thought would truly arrive. Was today the day that Cazador met his end, or was today the day that he would?

In a gesture none would have understood if they had seen it, Astarion passed his hand over the wrinkled bedclothes where she had lain the night before. Her scent was still there, clinging to the sheets, and he paused to breath it in; gently sliding the tips of his fingers over the fabric as he did so. The thought of Lyric being lost to him now was more than his fractured soul could bear but Astarion refused to let threatening tears blind him.

Instead, he threw his jacket onto the floor as he grabbed the shadowy black armor he'd salvaged from the hidden racks at Moonrise. After donning it, he started to rummage through his other stash of items, certain he had left a particular ring at the bottom of the small trunk that might be of use in this situation. To his surprise though, he happened upon his old doublet instead, folded into a neat square in the corner. His surprise came from the fact that he'd actually almost forgotten about it. The black leather overcoat with gold filigree, the brown undervest, and the white shirt that puffed up along the lower sleeves. The doublet that Cazador had given to all of his male spawn, insisting that they wear it to show off their status.

Tasteless. Like everything Cazador did.

But, in that moment, he couldn't help but to run his hand over it thoughtfully. He hadn't worn the garments in what felt like months. Lyric had rather seemed to prefer him in the loose white shirt and blue kaftan coat he wore now anyway, and he certainly wasn't going give up the hungry smiles and flirtatious winks it got from her. Seeing the old tunic now though, felt almost poetic. Like the remains of an adolescent life he was about to let go of. He had, after all, taken off the outward signs of his enslavement. Could he shed the internal ones too?

Then, he felt something odd against his palm. Small and hard, like a stone tangled up in the stitching. Confused, he dug into the side of the doublet, tearing the edges of the ties in his carelessness, until the threads gave way and he pulled the object that had apparently been stuffed in between the layers into his hand.

Silent, with his face falling lax in a combination of bewilderment and something scathingly close to real joy, he looked down at the glittering opal pendant. A waxing moon on a silver chain dangled from his fingers and flashed with the smallest sliver of radiant hope tucked inside.