Some of the crew were not as patient as their skipper. One barrel-chested
man, his arms heavily muscled and tattooed, grew weary of the drama. He boldly
stepped behind the assassin, meaning to toss him overboard and be done with him.
Just as the sailor started to reach out for the assassin's slender
shoulders, Entreri exploded into motion, spinning and returning to his
cross-armed pose so quickly that the sailors watching him tried to blink the sun
out of their eyes and figure out whether he had moved at all.
The barrel-chested man slumped to his knees and fell face down on the deck,
for in that blink of an eye, a heel had smashed his kneecap, and, even more
insidious, a jeweled dagger had come out of its sheath, poked his heart, and
returned to rest on the assassin's hip.
"Your reputation precedes you," the captain said, not flinching.
"I pray that I do it justice," Entreri replied with a sarcastic bow.
"Indeed," said the captain. He motioned to the fallen man. "Might his
friends see to his aid?"
"He is already dead," Entreri assured the captain. "If any of his friends
truly wish to go to him, let them, too, step forward."
"They are scared," the captain explained. "They have witnessed many terrible
diseases in ports up and down the Sword Coast."
"Disease?" Entreri echoed.
"Your companion let on to it," said the captain.
A smile widened across Entreri's face as it all came clear to him. Lightning
quick, he tore the cloak from Regis and caught the halfling's bare wrist,
pulling him up off his feet and shooting a glare into the halfling's
terror-filled eyes that promised a slow and painful death. Immediately Entreri
noticed the scars on Regis's arm.
"Burns?" He gawked.
"Aye, that's how the little one says it happens," Redeye shouted, sinking
back behind his captain when Entreri's glare settled upon him. "Burns from the
inside, it does!"
"Burns from a candle, more likely," Entreri retorted. "Inspect the wounds
for yourself," he said to the captain. "There is no disease here, just the
desperate tricks of a cornered thief," He dropped Regis to the deck with a thud.
Regis lay very still, not even daring to breathe. The situation had not
evolved quite as he had hoped.
"Toss 'em over!" cried an anonymous voice.
"Not fer chancin'!" yelled another.
"How many do you need to sail your ship?" Entreri asked the captain. "How
many can you afford to lose?"
The captain, having seen the assassin in action and knowing the man's
reputation, did not for a moment consider the simple questions as idle threats.
Furthermore, the stare Entreri now fixed upon him told him without doubt that he
would be the initial target if his crew moved against the assassin.
"I will trust in your word," he said commandingly, silencing the grumbles of
his nervous crew. "No need to inspect the wounds. But, disease or no, our deal
is ended." He looked pointedly to his dead crewman.
"I do not mean to swim to Calimport," Entreri said in a hiss.
"Indeed," replied the captain. "We put in at Baldur's Gate in two days. You
shall find other passage there."
"And you shall repay me," Entreri said calmly, "every gold piece."
The captain drew another long drag from his pipe. This was not a battle he
would choose to fight. "Indeed," he said with equal calm. He turned toward his
cabin and ordered his crew back to their stations as he went.
* * *
He remembered the lazy summer days on the banks of Maer Dualdon in Icewind
Dale. How many hours he had spent there, fishing for the elusive knucklehead
trout, or just basking in the rare warmth of Icewind Dale's summer sun. Looking
back on his years in Ten-Towns, Regis could hardly believe the course fate had
laid out for him.
He thought he had found his niche, a comfortable existence - more
comfortable still with the aid of the stolen ruby pendant - in a lucrative
career as a scrimshander, carving the ivorylike bone of the knucklehead into
marvelous little trinkets. But then came that fateful day, when Artemis Entreri
showed up in Bryn Shander, the town Regis had come to call home, and sent the
halfling scampering down the road to adventure with his friends.
But even Drizzt, Bruenor, Catti-brie, and Wulfgar had not been able to
protect him from Entreri.
The memories provided small comfort to him as several grueling hours of
solitude in the locked cabin slipped by. Regis would have liked to hide away in
pleasant recollections of his past, but invariably his thoughts led back to the
awful present, and he found himself wondering how he would be punished for his
failed deception. Entreri had been composed, even amused, after the incident on
the deck, leading Regis down to the cabin and then disappearing without a word.
Too composed, Regis thought.
But that was part of the assassin's mystique. No man knew Artemis Entreri
well enough to call him friend, and no enemy could figure the man out well
enough to gain an even footing against him.
Regis shrank back against the wall when Entreri at last arrived, sweeping
through the door and over to the room's table without so much as a sidelong
glance at the halfling. The assassin sat, brushing back his ink-black hair and
eyeing the single candle burning on the table.
"A candle," he muttered, obviously amused. He looked at Regis. "You have a
trick or two, halfling," he chuckled.
Regis was not smiling. No sudden warmth had come into Entreri's heart, he
knew, and he'd be damned if he let the assassin's jovial facade take his guard
down.
"A worthy ploy," Entreri continued. "And effective. It may take us a week to
gain passage south from Baldur's Gate. An extra week for your friends to close
the distance. I had not expected you to be so daring."
The smile left his face suddenly, and his tone was noticeably more grim when
he added, "I did not believe that you would be so ready to suffer the
consequences."
Regis cocked his head to study the man's every movement. "Here it comes," he
whispered under his breath.
"Of course there are consequences, little fool. I commend your attempt - I
hope you will give me more excitement on this tedious journey! But I cannot
belay punishment. Doing so would take the dare, and thus the excitement, out of
your trickery."
He slipped up from his seat and started around the table. Regis sublimated
his scream and closed his eyes; he knew that he had no escape.
The last thing he saw was the jeweled dagger turning over slowly in the
assassin's hand.
* * *
They made the River Chionthar the next afternoon and bucked the currents
with a strong sea breeze filling their sails. By nightfall, the upper tiers of
the city of Baldur's Gate lined the eastern horizon, and when the last hints of
daylight disappeared from the sky, the lights of the great port marked their
course as a beacon. But the city did not allow access to the docks after sunset,
and the ship dropped anchor a half-mile out.
Regis, finding sleep impossible, heard Entreri stir much later that night.
The halfling shut his eyes tightly and forced himself into a rhythm of slow,
heavy breathing. He had no idea of Entreri's intent, but whatever the assassin
was about, Regis didn't want him even suspecting that he was awake.
Entreri didn't give him a second thought. As silent as a cat - as silent as
death - the assassin slipped through the cabin door. Twenty-five crewmen manned
the ship, but after the long day's sail, and with Baldur's Gate awaiting the
first light of dawn, only four of them would likely be awake.
The assassin slipped through the crew's barracks, following the light of a
single candle at the rear of the ship. In the galley, the cook busily prepared
the morning's breakfast of thick soup in a huge cauldron. Singing as he always
did when he was at work, the cook paid no attention to his surroundings. But
even if he had been quiet and alert, he probably would not have heard the slight
footfalls behind him.
He died with his face in the soup.
Entreri moved back through the barracks, where twenty more died without a
sound. Then he went up to the deck.
The moon hung full in the sky that night, but even a sliver of a shadow was
sufficient for the skilled assassin, and Entreri knew well the routines of the
watch. He had spent many nights studying the movements of the lookouts,
preparing himself, as always, for the worst possible scenario. Timing the steps
of the two watchmen on deck, he slithered up the mainmast, his jeweled dagger in
his teeth.
An easy spring of his taught muscles brought him into the crow's nest.
Then there were two.
Back down on deck, Entreri moved calmly and openly to the rail. "A ship!" he
called, pointing into the gloom. "Closing on us!"
Instinctively the two remaining watchmen rushed to the assassin's side and
strained their eyes to see the peril in the dark - until the flash of a dagger
told them of the deception.
Only the captain remained.
Entreri could easily have picked the lock on his cabin door and killed the
man in his sleep, but the assassin wanted a more dramatic ending to his work; he
wanted the captain to fully understand the doom that had befallen his ship that
night. Entreri moved to the door, which opened onto the deck, and took out his
tools and a length of fine wire.
A few minutes later, he was back at his own cabin, rousing Regis. "One
sound, and I'll take your tongue," he warned the halfling.
Regis now understood what was happening. If the crew got to the docks at
Baldur's Gate, they would no doubt spread the rumors of the deadly killer and
his "diseased" friend, making Entreri's search for passage south impossible to
fulfill.
The, assassin wouldn't allow that at any cost, and Regis could not help but
feel responsible for the carnage that night.
He moved quietly, helplessly, beside Entreri through the barracks, noting
the absence of snores, and the quiet of the galley beyond. Surely the dawn was
approaching; surely the cook would be hard at work preparing the morning meal.
But no singing floated through the half-closed galley door.
The ship had stocked enough oil in Waterdeep to last the entire journey to
Calimport, and kegs of the stuff still remained in the hold. Entreri pulled open
the trap door and hoisted out two of the heavy barrels. He broke the seal on one
and kicked it into a roll through the barracks, spewing oil as it went. Then he
carried the other - and half-carried Regis, who was limp with fear and revulsion
- topside, spreading the oil out more quietly and concentrating the spill in a
tight arc around the captain's door.
"Get in," he told Regis, indicating the single rowboat hanging in a jigger
off the starboard side of the ship. "And carry this." He handed the halfling a
tiny pouch.
Bile rose in Regis's throat when he thought of what was inside the bag, but
he took the pouch anyway and held it securely, knowing that if he lost it,
Entreri would only get another.
The assassin sprang lightly across the deck, preparing a torch as he went.
Regis watched him in horror, shuddering at the cold appearance of his shadowed
face as he tossed the torch down the ladder to the oil-soaked barracks. Grimly
satisfied as the flames roared to life, Entreri raced back across the deck to
the captain's door.
"Good-bye!" was the only explanation he offered as he banged on the door.
Two strides took him to the rowboat.
The captain leaped from his bed, fighting to orient himself. The ship was
strangely calm, except for a telltale crackle and a wisp of smoke that slipped
up through the floorboards.
Sword in hand, the captain threw the bolt back and pulled open the door. He
looked around desperately and called for his crew. The flames had not reached
the deck yet, but it was obvious to him - and should have been to his lookouts -
that the ship was on fire. Beginning to suspect the awful truth, the captain
rushed out, clad only in his nightshirt.
He felt the tug of the trip-wire, then grimaced in further understanding as
the wire noose bit deeply into his bare ankle. He sprawled face down, his sword
dropping out in front of him. An aroma filled his nostrils, and he fully
realized the deadly implications of the slick fluid drenching his nightshirt. He
stretched out for his sword's hilt and clawed futilely at the wooden deck until
his fingers bled.
A lick of flame jumped through the floorboards.
Sounds rolled eerily across the open expanse of water, especially in the
empty dark of night. One sound filled the ears of Entreri and Regis as the
assassin pulled the little rowboat against the currents of the Chionthar. It
even cut through the din of the taverns lining the docks of Baldur's Gate, a
half-mile away.
As if enhanced by the unspoken cries of protest of the dead crew and by the
dying ship itself - a singular, agonized voice screamed for all of them.
Then there was only the crackle of fire.
* * *
Entreri and Regis entered Baldur's Gate on foot soon after daybreak. They
had put the little rowboat into a cove a few hundred yards downriver, then sank
