"There is a colony of your people farther inland," Deudermont said to him,
drawing him out of his private thoughts, "in a dark wood called Mir." An
involuntary shudder shook the captain. "The drow are not liked in this region; I
would advise you to don your mask."
Without thinking, Drizzt drew the magical mask over his face, instantly
assuming the features of a surface elf. The act bothered the drow less than it
shook his three friends, who looked on in resigned disdain. Drizzt was only
doing what he had to do, they reminded themselves, carrying on with the same
uncomplaining stoicism that had guided his life since the day he had forsaken
his people.
The drow's new identity did not fit in the eyes of Wulfgar and Catti-brie.
Bruenor spat into the water, disgusted at a world too blinded by a cover to read
the book inside.
By early afternoon, a hundred sails dotted the southern horizon and a vast
line of docks appeared along the coast, with a sprawling city of low clay shacks
and brightly colored tents rolling out behind them. But as vast as Memnon's
docks were, the number of fishing and merchant vessels and warships of the
growing Calimshan navy was greater still. The Sea Sprite and its captured ship
were forced to drop anchor offshore and wait for appropriate landings to open -
a wait, the harbormaster soon informed Deudermont, of possibly a week.
"We shall next be visited by Calimshan's navy," Deudermont explained as the
harbormaster's launch headed away, "coming to inspect the pirate ship and
interrogate Pinochet."
"They'll take care o' the dog?" Bruenor asked.
Deudermont shook his head. "Not likely. Pinochet and his men are my
prisoners and my trouble. Calimshan desires an end to the pirate activities and
is making bold strides toward that goal, but I doubt that it would yet dare to
become entangled with one as powerful as Pinochet."
"What's for him, then?" Bruenor grumbled, trying to find some measure of
backbone in all the political double talk.
"He will sail away to trouble another ship on another day," Deudermont
replied.
"And to warn that rat, Entreri, that we've slipped the noose," Bruenor
snapped back.
Understanding Deudermont's sensitive position, Drizzt put in a reasonable
request. "How long can you give us?"
"Pinochet cannot get his ship in for a week, and," the captain added with a
sly wink, "I have already seen to it that it is no longer seaworthy. I should be
able to stretch that week out to two. By the time the pirate finds the wheel of
his ship again, you will have told this Entreri of your escape personally."
Wulfgar still did not understand. "What have you gained?" he asked
Deudermont. "You have defeated the pirates, but they are to sail free, tasting
vengeance on their lips. They will strike at the Sea Sprite on your next
passage. Will they show as much mercy if they win the next encounter?"
"It is a strange game we play," Deudermont agreed with a helpless smile.
"But, in truth, I have strengthened my position on the waters by sparing
Pinochet and his men. In exchange for his freedom, the pirate captain will swear
off vengeance. None of Pinochet's associates shall ever bother the Sea Sprite
again, and that group includes most of the pirates sailing Asavir's Channel!"
"And ye're to trust that dog's word?" Bruenor balked.
"They are honorable enough," replied Deudermont, "in their own way. The
codes have been drawn and are held to by the pirates; to break them would be to
invite open warfare with the southern kingdoms."
Bruenor spat into the water again. It was the same in every city and kingdom
and even on the open water: organizations of thieves tolerated within limits of
behavior. Bruenor was of a different mind. Back in Mithril Hall, his clan had
custom-built a closet with shelving especially designed to hold severed hands
that had been caught in pockets where they didn't belong.
"It is settled, then," Drizzt remarked, seeing it time to change the
subject. "Our journey by sea is at an end." Deudermont, expecting the
announcement, tossed him the pouch of gold. "A wise choice," the captain said.
"You will make Calimport a full week and more more before the Sea Sprite finds
her docks. But come to us when you have completed your business. We shall put
back for Waterdeep before the last of the winter's snows have melted in the
North. By all of my reckoning, you have earned your passage."
"We're for leaving long afore that," replied Bruenor, "but thanks for yer
offer!"
Wulfgar stepped forward and clasped the captain's wrist. "It was good to
serve and fight beside you," he said. "I look forward to the day when next we
will meet."
"As do we all," Drizzt added. He held the pouch high. "And this shall be
repaid."
Deudermont waved the notion away and mumbled, "A pittance." Knowing the
friends' desire for haste, he motioned for two of his crewmen to drop a rowboat.
"Farewell!" he called as the friends pulled away from the Sea Sprite. "Look
for me in Calimport!"
* * *
Of all the places the companions had visited, of all the lands they had
walked through and fought through, none had seemed as foreign to them as Memnon
in the kingdom of Calimshan. Even Drizzt, who had come from the strange world of
the drow elves, stared in amazement as he made his way through the city's open
lanes and marketplaces. Strange music, shrill and mournful - as often resembling
wails of pain as harmony - surrounded them and carried them on.
People flocked everywhere. Most wore sand-colored robes, but others were
brightly dressed, and all had some sort of head covering: a turban or a veiled
hat. The friends could not guess at the population of the city, which seemed to
go on forever, and doubted that anyone had ever bothered to count. But Drizzt
and his companions could envision that if all the people of the cities along the
northern stretches of the Sword Coast, Waterdeep included, gathered in one vast
refugee camp, it would resemble Memnon.
A strange combination of odors wafted through Memnon's hot air: that of a
sewer that ran through a perfume market, mixed with the pungent sweat and
malodorous breath of the ever-pressing crowd. Shacks were thrown up randomly, it
seemed, giving Memnon no apparent design or structure. Streets were any way that
was not blocked by homes, though the four friends had all come to the conclusion
that the streets themselves served as homes for many people.
At the center of all the bustle were the merchants. They lined every lane,
selling weapons, foodstuffs, exotic pipe weeds - even slaves shamelessly
displaying their goods in whatever manner would attract a crowd. On one corner,
potential buyers test-fired a large crossbow by shooting down a boxed-in range,
complete with live slave targets. On another, a woman showing more skin than
clothing - and that being no more than translucent veils - twisted and writhed
in a synchronous dance with a gigantic snake, wrapping herself within the huge
reptilian coils and then slipping teasingly back out again.
Wide-eyed and with his mouth hanging open, Wulfgar stopped, mesmerized by
the strange and seductive dance, drawing a slap across the back of his head from
Catti-brie and amused chuckles from his other two companions.
"Never have I so longed for home," the huge barbarian sighed, truly
overwhelmed.
"It is another adventure, nothing more," Drizzt reminded him. "Nowhere might
you learn more than in a land unlike your own."
"True enough," said Catti-brie. "But by me eyes, these folk be making
decadence into society."
"They live by different rules," Drizzt replied. "They would, perhaps, be
equally offended by the ways of the North."
The others had no response to that, and Bruenor, never surprised but always
amazed by eccentric human ways, just wagged his red beard.
Outfitted for adventure, the friends were far from a novelty in the trading
city. But, being foreigners, they attracted a crowd, mostly naked, black-tanned
children begging for tokens and coins. The merchants eyed the adventurers, too -
foreigners usually brought in wealth - and one particularly lascivious set of
eyes settled onto them firmly.
"Well, well?" the weaseling merchant asked his hunchbacked companion.
"Magic, magic everywhere, my master," the broken little goblin lisped
hungrily, absorbing the sensations his magical wand imparted to him. He replaced
the wand on his belt. "Strongest on the weapons elf's swords, both, dwarf's axe,
girl's bow, and especially the big one's hammer!" He thought of mentioning the
odd sensations his wand had imparted about the elf's face, but decided not to
make his excitable master any more nervous than was necessary.
"Ha ha ha ha ha," cackled the merchant, waggling his fingers. He slipped out
to intercept the strangers.
Bruenor, leading the troupe, stopped short at the sight of the wiry man
dressed in yellow-and-red striped robes and a flaming pink turban with a huge
diamond set in its front.
"Ha ha ha ha ha. Greetings!" the man spouted at them, his fingers drumming
on his own chest and his ear-to-ear smile showing every other tooth to be golden
and those in between to be ivory. "I be Sali Dalib, I do be, I do be! You buy, I
sell. Good deal, good deal!" His words came out too fast to be immediately
sorted, and the friends looked at each other, shrugged, and started away.
"Ha ha ha ha ha," the merchant pressed, wiggling back in their path. "What
you need, Sali Dalib got. In plenty, too, many. Tookie, nookie, bookie."
"Smoke weed, women, and tomes in every language known to the world the
lisping little goblin translated. "My master is a merchant of anything and
everything!"
"Bestest o' de bestest!" Sali Dalib asserted. "What you need-"
"Sali Dalib got," Bruenor finished for him. The dwarf looked to Drizzt,
confident that they were thinking the same thing: The sooner they were out of
Memnon, the better. One weird merchant would serve as well as another.
"Horses," the dwarf told the merchant.
"We wish to get to Calimport," Drizzt explained.
"Horses, horses? Ha ha ha ha ha," replied Sali Dalib without missing a beat.
"Not for long ride, no. Too hot, too dry. Camels de thing!"
"Camels . . . desert horses," the goblin explained, seeing the dumbfounded
expressions. He pointed to a large dromedary being led down the street by its
tan-robed master. "Much better for ride across the desert."
"Camels, then," snorted Bruenor, eyeing the massive beast tentatively. "Or
whatever'll do!"
Sali Dalib rubbed his hands together eagerly. "What you need-"
Bruenor threw his hand out to stop the excited merchant. "We know, we know."
Sali Dalib sent his assistant away with some private instructions and led
the friends through the maze of Memnon at great speed, though he never seemed to
lift his feet from the ground as he shuffled along. All the while, the merchant
held his hands out in front of him, his fingers twiddling and tap-tapping. But
he seemed harmless enough, and the friends were more amused than worried.
Sali Dalib pulled up short before a large tent on the western end of the
city, a poorer section even by Memnon's paupers' standards. Around the back, the
merchant found what he was looking for. "Camels!" he proclaimed proudly.
"How much for four?" Bruenor huffed, anxious to get the dealings over with
and get back on the road. Sali Dalib seemed not to understand.
"The price?" the dwarf asked.
"De price?"
"He wants an offer," Catti-brie observed.
Drizzt understood as well. Back in Menzoberranzan, the city of drow,
merchants used the same technique. By getting the buyer especially a buyer not
familiar with the goods for sale - to make the first mention of price, they
often received many times the value of their goods. And if the bid came in too
low, the merchant could always hold out for the proper market value.
"Five hundred gold pieces for the four," Drizzt offered, guessing the beasts
to be at least twice that value.
Sali Dalib's fingers began their tap dance again, and a sparkle came into
his pale gray eyes. Drizzt expected a tirade and then an outlandish counter, but
Sali Dalib suddenly calmed and flashed his gold-and-ivory smile.
"Agreed!" he replied.
Drizzt caught his tongue before his planned retort left his mouth in a
meaningless gurgle. He cast a curious look at the merchant, then turned to count
out the gold from the sack Deudermont had given him.
"Fifty more for ye if ye can get us hooked with a caravan for Calimport,"
Bruenor offered.
Sali Dalib assumed a contemplative stance, tapping his fingers against the
dark bristles on his chin. "But there is one out dis very now," he replied. "You
can catch it with little trouble. But you should. Last one to Calimport for de
week."
"To the south!" the dwarf cried happily to his companions.
