Shadows of Amn

Chapter Four

"Good," the pale woman said quietly as she dragged Jaheira and the other woman through the storm drain, "he likes long hair."

Jaheira struggled against the woman's viselike grip but succeeded only in pulling out some of her own hair. She stumbled and grunted in pain when her head was jerked up, but she found her feet again and fell more than walked along the round stone tunnel. It was difficult to believe that this woman could manage to drag another woman, let alone two women, by the hair through a tunnel she couldn't even stand up in, but this stranger was doing just that. Jaheira tried to trip her on more than one occasion, but the woman avoided her feet easily, not even seeming to notice the attempts.

The other prisoner was a pretty young woman, maybe not even twenty years old. Her face was stained with dust and tears, and her eyes were sunken and exhausted. She was hanging just at the edge of consciousness, as if sleepwalking. Like Jaheira, the other captive's hands were tied behind her with rough, scraping rope.

"Who are you?" Jaheira asked the powerful woman for the third time since she'd regained consciousness in the stranger's less than tender care.

"Silence," the woman said.

Jaheira was vaguely aware that someone was following them, but she couldn't turn her neck enough to see behind her.

"Why are you doing this?" she asked, ignoring the woman's command.

The pale woman laughed—not an unpleasant sound, surprisingly—and said, "I can rip your tongue out of your mouth and feed it to my rats, if you'd like."

"Just—" Jaheira started to protest, but stopped when the woman's powerful hand came away from her hair, and she stumbled to the slimy, damp stone. The woman slapped her hard across the face with the back of her hand, and Jaheira fell back. Her head spun, and she was aware of a spreading numbness on her face and a cold wetness soaking into her tattered shift.

Someone with ice-cold hands grabbed Jaheira roughly from behind. His hands found her breasts, and she stiffened at the coldness of his touch. He hoisted her to her feet to face the glowering woman. Jaheira turned her head to try to see the man who was holding her this way, but he shifted his grip, pushing her forward. She heard a ringing click in her right ear like bone snapping against bone.

"No!" the woman said sharply, and Jaheira realized she was speaking to the man holding her.

"But this one is so warm," the man said, his voice low and sibilant, cool against Jaheira's neck, "so sweet."

Jaheira gasped and looked at the woman, who caught her eyes and smiled in a way that made Jaheira blush. "She is at that," the woman said, "but I need her for more than blood. . for now."

"Will I have her then?" the man asked eagerly.

"No," the woman said, letting her eyes trail up and down Jaheira's body, "I'll want her for myself, I think." The word «vampire» appeared in Jaheira's head like an explosion, and she gagged at the feeling of the thing's cold breath on her.

"Where are you taking us?" Jaheira heard herself ask. She'd never felt this powerless but couldn't make herself submit.

The woman smiled, seemed almost charmed by Jaheira's defiance. "Your friend is very special," she said. "I suppose you know that."

Jaheira looked at the woman, still hanging by the hair in the slim vampire's iron grasp, and said, "I don't know this woman."

"I wasn't talking about her," the vampire said.

It wasn't a difficult thing for Jaheira to realize she was talking about Abdel. Being the son of Bhaal, the killer of Sarevok, and the enemy of the Iron Throne, Jaheira didn't have much trouble believing that Abdel had enemies even he didn't know about, but why this vampire, why the Shadow Thieves, she couldn't fathom.

"He got away didn't he?" Jaheira asked, finding a flicker of hope. "He got away from you."

The vampire took a deep breath in, and Jaheira was surprised when the vampire's ample bosom moved out and up, was surprised that the undead thing really took in air or needed to breathe at all.

"Will he come for you?" the vampire asked her, though Jaheira could tell by the look in her eyes that she already knew the answer.

"He will," Jaheira said simply.

"And if not for you," the vampire said, glancing down at the young woman now passed out on the damp stone at her feet, "he'll come for this one."

"Who is she?" Jaheira asked, then breathed in sharply when the man grabbed her tighter, hurting her, arching her back against him.

The vampire woman hit her again with the back of her hand, and the sound of the blow rang through Jaheira's head with a snap that warned of a broken jaw. The half-elf's eyes blurred, and she felt as if she was falling, though the cold man was still holding her firmly.

As she lost consciousness again, she heard the vampire say, "I will drain you slowly, bitch."

The man behind her sighed, and the vampire woman said to him, "You know what to do. I have other places to be."

It was called the Copper Coronet, and it looked as bad, and smelled as bad, as Abdel remembered. He'd been there several times but had made no friends. He had not a single coin and nothing to barter with, so he knew he'd have to rely on something that was always in short supply in a place like this: charity.

"Oy," a drunk old man sitting near the door exclaimed when Abdel strode confidently into the tavern with Minsc and Yoshimo in tow, "whatta we got 'ere?"

"Hey, now," the bartender barked, a look of stern disapproval crossing his distinctly ugly face, "what kind of place you boys think this is?"

"We were waylaid," Abdel said, looking the barkeep directly in the eyes. "They stole everything."

"You ever learn how to use those muscles?" the old man asked incredulously, then coughed out a series of guttural grunts that might have been a laugh.

Abdel ignored the old drunk but nudged Minsc when the madman started talking to his pet again. The red-haired man looked up, but was curious, not embarrassed. "Alas," Yoshimo broke in, speaking first to the old drunk, then to the dark, swarthy barkeep, "our enemies had muscles too, and the aid of more than one wu-jen."

"I need clothes," Abdel said, clearing his throat uncomfortably. "I need clothes, maybe something to eat, and some water, and I need to speak with Captain Belars Orhotek as soon as one of your boys can fetch him here."

The barkeep looked at the sellsword blankly for a long time, so long in fact that Abdel narrowed his eyes to peer at the man, checking to see if he was still alive or had died, staring, on his feet.

"Did you—" Abdel started to say but was stopped by the barkeep's loud whoop of laughter. Tears streamed out of the man's eyes, and he quickly lost the rhythm of his breath and started gasping between body-wracking guffaws. This did not make Abdel happy, but short of strangling or pummeling the bartender, he had no idea what to do.

"Indeed," Yoshimo started to say, "it is amusing, but—"

"Easy there, stranger," the barkeep said, glancing back and forth between Yoshimo and Abdel. "Word travels faster in Athkatla than you do, boys, and the three of you are hard to miss. Her name's Imogen, right?"

Abdel's jaw fell open, and without thinking he said, "Imoen."

"Imoen, then," the barkeep said. "Anyway, I know where she is and who's holding her, but information costs in Athkatla."

Fire rose in Abdel's blood, and his head throbbed. The barkeep's eyes went wide, and he took a step back, suddenly not confident that the bar would keep him safe from the massive sellsword.

"I need to make a living," the man said, "and your lady friend has made some very, very powerful enemies. If they know I sold them out, they'll be… unhappy with me, if you know what I mean. I might need to pick up stakes, right? Make a fresh start in a new town."

"How could you possibly—?" Abdel started. "I suggested this place for a reason, my friend Abdel," Yoshimo interrupted. "This man is Gaelan Bayle, and there is little that might go on in—or under—this city that escapes his notice. He demands a stiff price, because his information is always correct." Abdel glowered at Yoshimo and said, "I'm no fool, Kozakuran. What's going on here?"

"Yoshy-boy brought you here because he knows I know what's going on around here, Abdel Adrian, Son of Bhaal, Savior of Baldur's Gate, friend of the missing Imoen who was taken by Shadow Thieves who were none too happy about your late half-brother's bandying their not-so-good name about the Gate … oh," he said, "does that sound like I might know what I'm—"

Abdel was over the bar and standing in front of the barkeep in less than the time it took for Yoshimo to blink. Abdel's hand was coming up toward the startled man's face, and before Gaelan could duck, Abdel pulled the punch short.

"You can tell me who you are now and what you want from me," Abdel snarled, "or I'll do something I've been trying not to do so much of lately."

Gaelan just nodded. "Listen," he said, "I'm just a guy who keeps his ears open and knows people who know people who know people. I can tell you where she is, not because I'm a swell guy but because you're going to pay me ten trade bars—fifty thousand gold pieces—for the information."

Abdel had to laugh, but the force of it made his already aching head sting. "Look at me," he said, "and ask yourself if you think I have that kind of treasure at my disposal, you gutter wretch."

"Hey," Gaelan said, smiling nervously, "you seem capable enough. Your little miss is alive and will be for long enough that an enterprising young man like yourself could scrape up the coin."

"But fifty thousand. ." Abdel said. "I could buy a ship for that."

"Just what I had in mind myself, truth be told," Gaelan admitted.

"It does seem a bit much, Master Bayle," Yoshimo offered.

"Who asked you?" Gaelan grunted, then turned back to Abdel and said, "Take it or leave it, son."

"Holy snakes and eggs!" a woman's voice exclaimed.

Before Abdel could even glance at her, he blushed and tried to turn around and cover himself. This made the bartender laugh even harder, and a red-faced Abdel hoped the man would choke.

"I think she saw everything, Boo," Minsc muttered. "Not that it's hard to—"

"Minsc!" Abdel roared.

"What are you boys. .?" the woman asked. Abdel heard her soft footsteps approaching. She'd come in from behind a curtain that led into a dark storeroom in the back of the bar. The bartender's laughing was beginning to settle down, and the old drunk was in the process of passing out. "What kind of place do you think this is?"

"Boy says he was robbed, Bodhi," the bartender said, rubbing his pink, watering eyes.

"Were you now?" she asked Abdel's back.

"Yes, ma'am," Abdel answered quickly. "I need clothes, food and water, and word sent to Captain Orhotek. Please."

"I'll give you some of Gaelan's clothes," the woman said, ignoring the beginnings of a protest from the barkeep. "You can work for some food, but I doubt Captain Orhotek himself will be coming to your rescue. Maybe you just need to sleep it off tonight?"

"I need to speak with someone," Abdel insisted, "there are Shadow Thieves about."

The bartender Gaelan chuckled at this and said, "No foolin'?"

"That'll do, Gaelan," Bodhi said. "Go get him some clothes."

"Like this one, eh, girl?" Gaelan grumbled as he passed through the grease-stained curtain into the room behind the bar.

"I must go," Yoshimo said suddenly. Abdel looked at him, but the Kozakuran wouldn't return his gaze. "I will find you if you need me, my friend. Best of luck."

"Boo says to ask if I can work for some food too," Minsc said.

Abdel said, "Minsc. ." but stopped when he wasn't sure how to chastise the madman. When he turned back to where Yoshimo had been standing, the Kozakuran was gone.

"What have you got there?" the woman asked and stepped forward toward Minsc. Abdel caught a glimpse of her before he turned away again to keep his back to her. She was a tall, thin young woman with a serious face that clashed with her revealing, almost silly dress. Her pale face and flaxen hair were clean, and Abdel couldn't help thinking she was older than she was trying to look.

"This is Boo," Minsc told her. "He helps me."

"Does he now," she cooed, humoring him. "Is he a mouse?"

"Boo is a hamster," Minsc said. Abdel sighed at having at least one question answered.

"Where did you find him?" Bodhi asked.

"Oh, Boo found me. Didn't you, Boo?" Minsc answered.

"He comes from space. His kind are actually quite large, but he is smaller than most."

"Space?" the woman asked, obviously never having heard the word before.

"The place of the crystal spheres," Minsc explained conversationally, "up in the air beyond the heavens."

Bodhi laughed lightly and said, "Well, Boo, so you're a miniature giant space.. ?"

"Hamster," Minsc provided.

"A miniature giant space hamster," she said, "and a cute one at that."

"Boo likes you," Minsc said dully. "Can we work here for food and stuff?"

"Oh, for—" Abdel started to say, but stopped in order to spend all his energy trying to turn around. Bodhi had stepped in front of him. Her eyes were cast down, and a knowing smile curved her lips.

"Well, now …" she whispered.

"Excuse me," Gaelan said. Abdel hadn't heard him come back behind the bar. He tossed Abdel some dirty, ragged clothes, which the sellsword caught happily.

"We could use a busboy," Bodhi said.

"I can't stay here," Abdel told her, ripping his way into the too-tight trousers. "I left someone behind. I need to—"

"I wasn't talking to you," Bodhi said.

Abdel looked up at her, and she nodded to Minsc.

"Oh, come now, Bodhi," Gaelan objected, but she cut him short with a disapproving glare. "Fine, then, he can start by throwing out the captain."

"The captain?" Abdel asked, for some reason thinking Gaelan was referring to him.

Gaelan tipped his head to the old drunk and said, "Captain Bavarian."

"One of the more notorious pirates of the Sword Coast," Bodhi said with a laugh in her voice.

Two men stepped through the door and paused at the scene in front of them. Abdel was dressed now, though he was still hardly an ordinary sight. Minsc was cradling Boo in one hand and reaching for the now loudly snoring pirate with the other.

"Evening, good sirs," Gaelan said to the newcomers, "step right in."

The men moved to the bar, and Abdel turned to watch Minsc trying to pull the deadweight old man out of his chair with one hand.

"You'd make a better bouncer," Bodhi said to Abdel.

The sellsword looked at her, forced a smile, and said, "I'm not mad."

"I know," she told him, and he believed her, which surprised and worried him. Any normal person would have thought him mad.

Irenicus let the smile drop off his face and slid his iron-cold gaze along the length of steel chain that strung him to the prisoner in front of him. The chain was attached to a heavy manacle around his left ankle. The manacle around his right ankle held a chain that strung back along the floor like a coiling snake, ending at the ankle of another prisoner. Behind him was a third, then a fourth, a fifth, and a sixth.

Irenicus shuffled along with the rest of them and kept silent. He didn't give the guards an excuse to strike him. If he had given them an excuse, and they had struck him, he would have had no choice but to destroy them in a blaze of power and indignation that would have revealed him too early and thrown his plan, at least temporarily, awry. Still, part of him hoped it would go that way, hoped he could just start killing and not stop until they were all dead. That would be satisfying on some level—on some level important to who Irenicus was—but it would have only brought him farther away from what he really wanted. Irenicus didn't always remain focused, but this time he forced himself.

The string of prisoners was led through a wide doorway, and Irenicus examined the rusted iron spikes that made up the bottom of the portcullis bars they passed under. Someone screamed loudly from down the long, wide corridor, and another person laughed loudly in answer. A voice clearly called out "Stop me!" from some space many walls away. A low sound of moaning that sometimes became a melodic hum pervaded every nook. Irenicus didn't recognize the tune, but he took note of it.

The prisoner behind him said, "Please," in a voice so pitiful Irenicus wanted to kill him. The guards didn't respond in any way, though Irenicus expected at least one of them to at least sigh impatiently. Irenicus would have.

The trip down the corridor took a long time, and though Irenicus didn't relish it, he made as much use of it as he could. He noted the way the bricks were mortared together, the iron banding on the doors that occasionally led off from the wide corridor. He noticed the straw scattered on the floor and the stains on the flagstones that might have been blood, or food. He saw a spider in its web in the corner ignoring what was going on around it, waiting for its web to quiver with fresh food.

At the end of the corridor, he counted the clicks as the guard turned the big iron key in the elaborate lock, heard another lock click open on the other side of the door, memorized the squeak of the tired old hinges, saw the way the double doors pulled apart from each other, opening inward. These doors were meant to keep people in, not out. They were sturdy but not sturdy enough. He knew he would have to do something about that eventually.

One of the prisoners behind him hesitated when the guards prodded them though the doors, and a flash of anger crossed Irenicus's otherwise passive face. He resisted the temptation to speak or strike out, but one of the guards noticed his expression. He looked at Irenicus curiously, his body tensing in blind anticipation, like a squirrel caught in the middle of a yard by the neighbor's cat.

Irenicus smiled and said, "Three buckets of hot water, Momma. Three buckets of hot water," just so the man would think he was an idiot.

It worked. The guard looked away, prodding the man in front of Irenicus with the rounded end of his slim oaken cudgel. As they crossed from the straw-strewn flagstones to an expanse of polished marble, one of the prisoners started to weep openly, inconsolably, with the wild abandon of madness and despair. The sound made Irenicus smile at the same time it made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end.

"Welcome, tortured souls," the man standing in the middle of the otherwise empty room said in a voice of practiced calm. "This will be your home for a very long time. You will be treated well. You will not be allowed to harm yourselves or others. You will rest, you will meditate, you will heal, or you will not."

Irenicus didn't smile. He kept his face blank and stared hard at the man, who didn't seem to see any of them.

"I am the coordinator here," the man continued. "You will refer to me simply as 'Sir. Is that understood?" None of the prisoners responded except one, who said, "This is madness," in a voice full of insult.

The coordinator smiled in a condescending, fatherly way, and said, "Quite."

Irenicus continued to stare at the coordinator, who was looking each of the ragged prisoners up and down in turn. When he got to Irenicus, their eyes finally met. The coordinator seemed surprised by Irenicus, by the look in his eyes, or the color, or the depth, or something. The coordinator didn't look away.

Irenicus said, "I am very happy to be here," in a slow, careful way.

"I'm…" the coordinator started. He seemed confused—was confused—by the look in this prisoner's eyes. Irenicus knew the man was looking for what he always saw, either madness or fear. Irenicus knew the coordinator saw neither of those things in his eyes.

"I want us to talk," Irenicus told him, "you and me."

The coordinator smiled feebly, and a drop of sweat started a slow crawl down the side of one high, bald temple. A small man, round from years of inactivity, the coordinator dressed well but simply and carried no weapons but what he obviously thought to be a superior will.

"We can," the coordinator said, matching Irenicus's cadence and tone. "We will."

"Coordinator?" one of the guards said. Irenicus was surprised at the guard's perception and felt a passing reluctance to kill the man.

"He's fine," Irenicus said, not looking at the guard but keeping his eyes firmly fixed on the coordinator. "Aren't you, Sir?"

"I'm fine," the coordinator said, his voice creaking. The drop of sweat made it to his softly rounded jaw and hung there, catching light from the four torches that lit the room.

Someone far away screamed three times in exactly the same way each time.

Irenicus smiled and said, "Everything is going to be just fine here."