“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.