Mistshore was a product of neglect more than anything else, but it had grown into a rotting infection on the back of an already struggling city. Waterdeep's harbor had become a steadily growing source of pollution and despair over the last century. The water had turned murky brown, and the breeze that blew off the harbor was rank with filth.
Ships had been scuttled haphazardly on the north shore of the old Naval Harbor; their owners were dead, gone, or content to leave them to the poisonous waters. One atop another, they'd gradually stretched wooden talons out into the brown harbor, forming their own private continent. The landscape on this strange plain could shift dramatically from day to day, with old wreckages dropping off into the depths and fresh tangles being added to the pile.
No one knew who it was that first discovered you could live on the floating, twisted wreckage-if living was what it could be called-but since then the newly christened Mistshore had become a beaching ground for wreckage of a different sort: the poorest, most desperate folk of Waterdeep.
Mistshore had earned such a dark reputation that the Watch patrols rarely visited the place. Their efforts to restore order on the battered harbor had earned them several slain officers and grief from the rest of the city, who preferred that Mistshore be left to its own devices. Kersh thought it comforted them in some way to have all the worst elements in the city confined to one area. As long as the violence didn't bleed over into the other wards, the people were content.
But Icelin was striding right into the center of the chaos. Worse, Kersh had sent her there.
Kersh entered a low-ceilinged building that housed the Watch garrison. Passing through with a wave to comrades he recognized, Kersh kept going, ascending a short flight of steps to a separate complex. Torches clung to the walls on either side of his path. The soot piles they left on the stone gave the air a dense, pressed-in feeling.
Or maybe that's your conscience prickling you, Kersh thought. He knew Icelin was innocent; it was the elf that worried him. Icelin would need the protection of the Watch, whether she wanted to admit it or not.
Turning down a south hall, Kersh stopped in front of an iron-bound wooden door. He rapped twice on the solid planks.
"Come."
The gruff voice sounded much deeper than Taythe's-the rordan who worked the night watch. Kersh felt a sinking in his gut.
He entered the small office. A broad table dominated the center of the room, lit by flickering candles that dribbled pools of white wax down the table legs.
A gray-haired man stood hunched behind the table, surveying a crinkled map spread out before him. A bronze, boxed compass sat at his right elbow. He looked up when Kersh entered the room.
Kersh swallowed and immediately saluted, tapping his forefinger against his temple. Gods, he'd come looking for a superior officer and found the commander of the Watch himself.
The Watch Warden of Waterdeep, Daerovus Tallmantle, surveyed Kersh through steely, narrowed eyes. A gray moustache draped the lower half of his face. In Waterdeep he was known as the Wolfhound, and Kersh could well see why. He moved around the table with a graceful, predatory air, despite the years on his body.
"Well?" the Warden asked, knocking Kersh from his stupefied staring. "What have you, lad? Don't lurk in the door. Close it behind you."
Kersh shut the door and came to stand in front of the table. Now that he was here, before the Watch Warden, he felt even more the betrayer. Icelin would never forgive him.
"I have news," Kersh said, "on the whereabouts of Icelin Team."
The Warden nodded. "Your patrol spotted her?" "Not my patrol," Kersh said, "myself alone." "Did you apprehend her?"
Kersh felt his throat dry up, but he was an honest man. "I did not. I spoke to her, and I let her go."
The Wolfhound sank slowly into his chair. He leaned back, crossing his arms. "So you've a tale to tell me about why you acted thus. Out with it, lad."
Kersh had expected fury from the Watch commander. He hadn't counted on the man's cool-eyed assessment, which, by its sheer weight, was harder to bear than any shouted censure.
"I believe Icelin Team has been wrongfully accused of theft," Kersh said. He relayed to the commander the whole tale, as Icelin had told him from under the bridge. He didn't have her gift of memory, but he thought he recalled the details as near perfect as he could manage.
"Do you believe her?" the commander said when he'd finished. "Do you think this elf, Cerest Elenithil, is responsible for Brant Team's murder?"
"I do," said Kersh. "I believe he has a personal vendetta against Icelin, and that she needs our protection."
"You have no proof that your friend isn't spinning her own tales," the commander pointed out. "Her name is known in this barracks, and among many in the Watch."
Kersh felt a flare of indignation. "That does not exempt her from our protection, should her claims prove true."
"You don't believe the murder of a Watchman should warrant our enmity?"
Kersh felt his face flush with shame and something else. Righteous indignation, he might have called it, though he'd never thought himself capable of such emotions. However you termed it, the wrongness sat bitterly in his mouth. "There was no murder," he said. "It was an accident, as all involved are aware. Blame the gods if you will, but no man or woman should be punished for the fell magic that has gripped this city since the Spellplague."
The Warden gazed at him steadily. Kersh felt his heart hammering against his ribs, whether from anger or fear of a reprimand, he couldn't say. He'd never been so bold before.
"As it happens," the commander said softly, "I agree with you, lad."
Kersh offered a quiet prayer of thanks. "I want to take a patrol into Mistshore." He spoke faster, planning it out in his head. "I should never have let her go. She could be killed-"
The Warden held up a hand. "Before you break ranks, lad, and start leading your own parrols, hear me out. You say she intends to seek out this thief, Ruen Morleth?"
"That was her intention when she left me," Kersh said.
"Then our solution resides with him."
Kersh kept his mouth from falling open with an effort, but he couldn't keep his tongue from moving, not now that it had got going. "He's an escaped criminal; he's not to be trusted with her safety. How can you consider such a thing?"
The Watch Warden almost smiled. Kersh could see the quiver in his moustache. "Ruen Morleth has never escaped from anything in his whole life."
This time Kersh did gape. "You know where he is?"
"Indeed. He is a fine thief and as crooked as they come, but he's also smart. Ruen Morleth is a survivor. He has contacts in Mistshore and the Warrens, and probably other places we aren't aware of. We made him a generous bargain: his freedom in exchange for access to those contacts in Mistshore. With Morleth as our agent, we can work within Mistshore, and none of our own men need die. It's a bargain both sides were more than willing to make."
"Why are you telling me this?" Kersh asked. He felt hollow, betrayed by his own ignorance.
"Morleth is many things, but he won't harm your friend," the Warden said, as if sensing his distress. "We'll contact him immediately. When he finds Icelin, he'll bring her in, and I'll see to her protection personally until this matter can be resolved to your satisfaction and mine," he said.
"How will you find him?" Kersh wanted to know.
"We'll attempt magical means. But as you know, such methods don't always function well within the city," the commander said. "Fortunately, we have other ways to get information into Mistshore. Go outside the door, lad, and call down to the commons. Then come back. I've work for you yet."
Kersh hastened to obey. He had no idea where the night would lead him. But when the Wolfhound spoke, he found himself eager to follow the man.