Conspiracy (4 page)

“I’m glad to be rid of them,” Noph said, lifting the sloshing dregs of his first-ever ale. The ruddy faces of the pirates around him warmed, and he took it as encouragement. “A bunch of primps, so worried they might sully a sleeve they never get around to being really noble.”

“You’re preaching to the converted, boy,” Rings responded, not unkindly.

“Prancing paladins,” Belgin said bitterly. He was a rakishly classy man, his clothes a cut above the rest of the party’s. “Paladins’re stiff where a body’s supposed to be loose, and loose where a body’s supposed to be stiff. Unnatural creatures.” He punctuated his soliloquy with a deft movement of one hand, weaving his napkin through the tines of his fork.

“Exactly!” Noph enthused. “Hypocrites!”

“Not us,” Belgin said, a sardonic smile on his face. With a snap of his fingers, the Sharker made the napkin slide from the fork and disappear into a silken sleeve. “We tell you ahead of time we’re cheats and liars and scoundrels.”

“So, how did you reach Eldrinpar?” Noph asked. “Surely you’ve got some swashbuckling tales.”

Ingrar said, “Tales seem less thrilling when you’ve lived through them.” He gestured at his blind eyes.

“Well, I had some adventures on the way,” Noph said. “We fought our way through Undermountain—the realm of Halaster the Mad Mage—and then had to defeat an army of fiends to get to a portal, and then came face to face with the mage-king of Doegan, a creature that—”

“You want a story?” interrupted Shar. The sorrow was gone from her, and she leaned enticingly against Noph. He was surprised how warm and, well, flexible her leather tunic felt. “You want to know how we got here? You want a story to end all stories?”

“Well, at least a story to end my story,” Noph said, blushing.

The others laughed, except for Entreri, who scowled at the young man. Shar noticed. She moved a thin arm snakelike along Noph’s chest.

“All right, but be warned: We’re cheats and scoundrels and liars,” she purred. “Believe the particulars to your peril.”

The word “peril” had never sounded so good. “I’m— I’m game.”

“Yes, you are.” Shar laughed lightly and cast a glance across Noph at the assassin. She idly stroked the blond fuzz that lined the young man’s chin. “It all began with a fellow named Orim Redbeard, captain of the Black Dragon. He had taken a disliking to us Sharkers—”

“Sharkers?” Noph squeaked as he felt a certain presence beneath the table. He cleared his throat. “Wh-Who are the Sharkers?”

“Us. Crew members of the Kissing Shark, fabled ship of Blackfingers Ralingor. Redbeard had lots of reasons to hate us. First among them, though, was that we knew his beard was really white and only dyed with a mix of rust and milk.”

“Your leaving him at the altar might have been another reason,” added Rings dryly.

“Shut up. I’m telling this story,” Shar advised. “Now, whatever his reasons, Redbeard was after Blackfingers and the Kissing Shark. He couldn’t catch us, though. We can be … quite slippery when wet.”

Noph gulped at that. “G-Go on.”

Shar twined a finger through Noph’s hair, but she was gazing directly at Entreri. “Some men are threatened by things they can’t hold onto. Some try anything to keep their distance. Redbeard hired a sorcerer—a tiny twig of a man. What was his name? Winebreath Anglebutt?”

“Windborn Axlegrease?”

“Wimprod Antibody?”

“Something like that. Anyway, this Warthog Antfarm ran us aground near Tenteeth Point. The hull—six-inches of oak and hard as steel—was staved on the first spit of land and hooked by the second. Then the storm set to chewing us to pieces. And if that weren’t enough, in comes Redbeard and his Black Dragon, and his mage holds them offshore—Redbeard wasn’t seaman enough to do it in that storm—and they launched flaming ballistae at us.”

“Fire arrows,” broke in Entreri. “They were only fire arrows, of the very sort they used against the Morning Bird.”

“A man such as you shouldn’t quibble about size, Artemis,” Shar replied elegantly, sneering past Noph. “These were ballistae if they weren’t comets sent from Tempus himself. You don’t know. You weren’t there.”

“I was,” Entreri replied, as softly as before. “I watched as the seven of you survivors climbed to shore.”

“You what?”

“Didn’t you fight back?” interrupted Noph.

Shar managed to look both offended and stumped. “Fight back?” She glanced quickly to her comrades. “Sure, we fought back, didn’t we? Belgin, tell the boy how we fought back.”

“Well,” he said, considering, “Shar, here, has a secret weapon … an exceptional secret weapon—”

“She’s inflatable,” Rings supplied in a rush.

Shar glared at the dwarf.

“Inflatable?” Noph wondered aloud, staring.

Shar’s irritation turned on him.

“Yes, indeed,” Rings gabbled. “Saved us all from drowning. We just held onto Shar and floated from the burning Shark.”

“My word,” said Noph, still staring.

“And that’s not the half of it,” Belgin continued. “She became large enough to catch wind, and carried us on a collision course with the Black Dragon.”

Noph looked up at last. “What about the ballistae? Didn’t they keep shooting ballistae at you?”

“Too frightened, my boy,” Belgin said smoothly. “By this time Shar was enormous, you understand. Any pirate who saw her attacking his ship would think he was being boarded by Umberlee the Bitch Queen, herself.”

“And Redbeard being a virgin and all—” Rings added.

“A virgin?”

“The man had no more keel than a dinghy,” Ingrar added with such calm aplomb he seemed almost mournful.

“I, on the other hand, supplied the raft of us with a right impressive keel,” Belgin boasted.

“A daggerboard, if you ask me,” Rings replied.

“And you would know, sinking like an anchor,” Belgin sneered. “Dwarves, you’ll find, son, float like stones— and are just as dense.”

“What did you do when you reached the Black DragonT Noph asked, looking with new admiration at Shar.

Her initial consternation was giving way to amusement. Flicking a smile toward Artemis, who irritably endured it all, Shar leaned her legendary weapons against Noph and said, “I crushed them!”

Noph recoiled slightly, his eyes wide. “A virgin pirate, crushed in the bosoms of Umberlee!” he croaked out in amazement. “That sure is some swash and buckle!”

This final naive comment was too much for any of them, and the pirates exploded with laughter, lifting their flagons in a salute.

Noph scratched his head. “You killed Captain Redbeard and his whole crew and sank his ship when Shar inflated herself?”

The Sharkers nodded, struggling to stifle their mirth.

“Of course not,” said Entreri irritably. “The only ship destroyed that night was the Kissing Shark, the only thing inflated was this ridiculous story, and the only crew slain were the Sharkers, with seven liars swimming ashore.”

Noph blushed at the reprimand. “Seven? That’s you four, plus Anvil, and two others. Who were the other two?”

The pirates’ countenances lost their mirth. There was silence for a moment. Then Belgin said, “Well, there was Brindra, a good comrade of all of us, whom we lost battling a fiend beyond the city walls. And there was Kurthe. He was killed by this man, here, in fair combat.” He stared hard at the impassive face of Entreri for a moment, then turned back to Noph. “Kurthe was a Konigheimer, big and tough, and had it in his head he was our leader. Master Entreri disagreed.”

“What about your captain—Captain Blackfingers?” asked Noph. “Did he die, too?”

“No—well, yes. It’s hard to say,” Belgin hedged, hiding his expression behind the lifted flagon. “I’d not be surprised if the captain made a return, here, sometime soon.”

“You might as well tell him,” said Ingrar. “Master Entreri has taken Kurthe’s place, and maybe this lad can take the place of Anvil or Brindra. If not, the captain is as good as dead, anyway.”

“What are you talking about?” asked Entreri coldly.

Belgin blinked. He glanced soberly at his comrades and gestured to them. “We, such as we are, are Captain Blackfingers Ralingor.”

“What?” asked Noph. “All of you, together?”

“We seven,” Ingrar said, and the others nodded. “A kind of joint-stock company.”

Noph was now thoroughly confused. “You mean there never was any Captain Blackfingers? You made him up?”

Rings glanced at Shar. “No, there was such a man. But he died, and we didn’t want to spread it around. So Belgin here came up with the idea of pretending he was still alive.” •

Entreri’s features darkened. “Interesting that you kept this from me all this while.”

It was Shar who responded, her voice silky and reproving. “Just as you kept your identity secret from us.”

“So, that is why Redbeard was so keen on slaying you. He knew who you were,” Entreri said.

“Aye,” the dwarf replied sullenly. “The good captain did many offenses to earn Redbeard’s wrath.”

Belgin nudged the dwarf. “Including giving him the scare that turned his famous beard white—”

Rings reddened, holding back laughter. “It seems the man wasn’t prepared for a dwarf to crawl up his privy, while he was … enthroned. I still miss that spiked helmet.”

The group laughed heavily, except for Entreri, who

kept his eyes on Sharessa, his lips drawn in a tight line. The dwarf, tears wringing from the creases of his eyes, called for another round.

“Well, I’ll happily take the place of Brindra or Anvil, or both,” Noph said. “I’m one of you, now. I’m part of Captain Blackfingers!”

“Not so fast, lad. You’ve got to prove yourself. There’s a kind of initiation to pass before you can become a part of this legend,” Shar said.

“Did Master Entreri pass the initiation?”

“Sure,” Shar said, peering at her employer. Her voice dripped contempt. “The main test and more. He’s a true pirate, a swashbuckling rogue—that’s him.”

“Well, then,” Noph said, drawing himself up with a breath, “I’m ready, whatever the test might be.”

Shar stroked his chin. “Let’s see, the first measure of a pirate’s got to be his sea legs. The only way to test that’s to clamber the lines during the height of a midnight storm. Not just the ratlines, now, but the shrouds and stays. I mean shinny out to the tip of the forespar, climb the ropes to all the spars of the foremast, and all of the mizzen, and main, and the stern mast, and back down the sheet to the tiller. Mind you, the tops’ve got to be rolling and pitching within inches of a fifty-foot sea on both sides the whole time.”

“And then,” said Rings, “you’ve got to go below to the bilges and sleep half-sunk in that icy, sloshing mess.”

“And if you’re not asleep before the storm’s done, you’ve got to wait for the next midnight squall and do it all over.”

Noph looked green. “Master Entreri did this?”

“Oh, yes, all the while the Black Dragon was tailing us, he did. And more,” Ingrar replied, somewhat truthfully.

Noph glanced admiringly at Entreri, who ignored him. “That’s just to test your sea legs,” continued Shar. “But a pirate’s not just a seaman. A pirate’s got to be as

loyal to his mates as he is vicious to his foes. To be a pirate, you’ve got to kill a dozen of the crew’s enemies, all with your bare hands.”

“And immersed in freezing water,” piped up Belgin.

“With sharks and barracudas in it,” added Rings.

Noph swallowed audibly. His voice was weak. “And Master Entreri did all this?”

“Oh, yes. Once we landed here in Doegan, he began slaying fiends, on land, in air, in freezing water. If it hadn’t been for him, we’d all be dead tentimes over.”

Noph nodded. “That’s a tall order.”

“It gets taller,” said Shar. “A pirate’s not just a seaman who knows his friends from his enemies. A pirate’s also an incomplete creature—missing part of himself.”

“You mean, like a wooden leg or a hook or something?”

“Well, yes. Or something even dearer. All of us has had a chunk ripped away.”

“It’s usually the softest part that gets torn out,” Belgin said, “your heart or your head or your stomach or your guts or your spleen—”

“What part was it for you, Belgin?” asked Noph.

The gambler hissed a sigh. “I don’t know what organ you’d call it, but it’s the part that used to feel surprise, awe, wonder—the part that responds when you confront something bigger than you could’ve imagined. I’m not surprised by anything, now. You could rip off your skin and emerge a crocodile, and in the middle of biting off my head, I’d think, ‘Hmm, the boy turned out to be a crocodile.’”

“What about the rest of you?” Noph asked.

“My eyes,” Ingrar remarked with a strange calm. “Though I feel I’ve gained something in the bargain. I can’t see the surface of things anymore, but I sense what lies beneath. For instance, Belgin, you’re thinking you’ll go sharping tonight, and you’ve got a marked deck of cards in your pocket, the crowns up your

sleeves; Noph, you’re aching for our dear Shadow. You’re not thinking she’s a cobra, but she is, so you might want to take your hand off her thigh.”

Noph complied, blushing, and shifted away from Shar. He noticed Belgin looked just as uncomfortable.

“How’d you know?” the sharper asked. “Some kind of psionic—”

“I used my other senses. Your marked deck still smells like mackerel from the night you won the fishing boat. And your sleeves have been dragging.”

Belgin crossed flowing silks over his chest. “How would a clever fellow like you feel about joining me at the table tonight?”

“Certainly,” Ingrar replied. “As for the rest of you, it’s smells, mostly. You know how they say an animal can smell fear? Well, I can smell just about every emotion coming from you.”

“What about me?” asked Rings. “What am I thinking?”

“You’re thinking youH have another ale.”

In the midst of the ensuing laughter, Rings waved a stout hand to the waiter, calling for a final round. Entreri stared hard at Ingrar. “Andl?” he said softly. “Do you know what I’m thinking?”

Ingrar turned his blind eyes toward the assassin, his face troubled. “I … I think so. No, no, I don’t,” he amended hastily.

Sharessa’s face soured. “Well, what’s been ripped out of me would have to have been my heart. It got shredded early on. I’d not have survived with it.”