Morik let Bellany lead the way up the narrow wooden ramp, and went with her onto the deck and into Maimun’s personal quarters.
“A drink?” the captain asked, but Morik held up his hand, begging off.
“I haven’t the time.”
“You’re not coming out to mooring with us?”
“Kensidan won’t have it,” Morik explained. “I don’t know what’s going on, but he’s pulling us all into Ten Oaks this night.”
“You’d trust your beautiful lady to a rogue like me?” Maimun asked. “Should I be offended?” As he spoke of her, both he and Maimun turned to Bellany, and she fit that description indeed at that moment. Bathed in the light of many candles, her black hair soaked, her skin sparkling with raindrops, there was no other way to describe the woman as she pulled herself out of her heavy woolen weathercloak.
She tossed her wet hair out of her face casually, a movement that had both men fully entranced, and looked to them curiously, surprised to see them staring at her.
“Is there a problem?” she asked, and Maimun and Morik both laughed, which only confused the woman even more.
Maimun motioned toward her with the bottle and Bellany eagerly nodded.
“It must be very difficult out there if you’re willing to sit aboard a ship in a storm,” Maimun remarked as he handed her a glass of whiskey.
Bellany drained it in a single gulp and handed the glass back for a refill.
“I’m not with Deudermont and won’t be,” Bellany explained as Maimun poured. “Arabeth Raurym won the fight with Valindra, and Arabeth is no matron of mine.”
“And if a former inhabitant of the Hosttower of the Arcane is not with Deudermont, then she’s surely dead,” Morik added. “Some have found refuge with Kurth on Closeguard Island.”
“Mostly those who worked closely with him over the years, and I hardly know the man,” Bellany said.
“I thought Deudermont had granted amnesty to all who fought with Arklem Greeth?” Maimun asked.
“For what it’s worth, he did,” said Morik.
“And it’s worth a lot to the many attendants and non-practitioners who came out of the rubble of the Hosttower,” said Bellany. “But for we who wove spells under the direction of Arklem Greeth, who are seen as members of the Arcane Brotherhood and not just the Hosttower, there is no amnesty—not with the common Luskar, at least.”
Maimun handed her back her refilled glass, which she sipped instead of gulping. “Order has broken down across the city,” the young captain said. “This was the fear of many when Deudermont and Brambleberry’s intent became apparent. Arklem Greeth was a beast, and it was precisely that inhumanity and viciousness that kept the five high captains, and their men below them, in line. When the city rallied to Deudermont that day in the square, even I came to think that maybe, just maybe, the noble captain was strong enough of character and reputation to pull it off.”
“He’s running out of time,” said Morik. “You’ll find the murdered in every alley.”
“What of Rethnor?” Maimun asked. “You work for him.”
“Not by choice,” said Bellany, and Morik’s scowl at her was quite revealing to the perceptive young pirate captain.
“I’m not for knowing what Rethnor intends,” Morik admitted. “I do as I’m told to do, and don’t poke my nose into places it doesn’t belong.”
“That’s not the Morik I know and love,” said Maimun.
“Truth be told,” Bellany agreed.
But Morik continued to shake his head. “I know what Rethnor’s got behind him, and knowing that, I’m smart enough to just do as I’m told to do.”
A call from the deck informed them that the last lines were about to be cast off.
“And you were told to return to Ship Rethnor this night,” Maimun reminded Morik, leading him to the door. The rogue paused long enough to give Bellany a kiss and a hug.
“Maimun will keep you safe,” he promised her, and he looked at his friend, who nodded and held up his glass in response.
“And you?” Bellany replied. “Why don’t you just stay out here?”
“Because then Maimun couldn’t keep any of us safe,” Morik replied. “I’ll be all right. If there’s one thing I know as truth in all of this chaos, it’s that Ship Rethnor will survive, however the fates weigh on Captain Deudermont.”
He kissed her again, bundled up his cloak against the deepening storm, and rushed from Thrice Lucky. Morik waited at the docks just long enough to see the crew expertly push and row the ship far enough from the wharves to safely moor then he ran off into the rainy night. When he returned to Ship Rethnor Morik learned that the high captain had quietly passed away, and Kensidan the Crow was fully at the helm.
They entered from the continuing rain in a single and solemn line, moving through the entry rooms of Rethnor’s palace to the large ballroom where the high captain lay in state.
All of the remaining four high captains attended, with Suljack the first to arrive, Kurth the last, and Baram and Taerl, tellingly, entering together.
Kensidan had assembled them, all four, in his private audience chamber when word arrived that the governor of Luskan had come to pay his respects.
“Bring him,” Kensidan said to his attendant.
“He is not alone,” the woman replied.
“Robillard?”
“And some others of Sea Sprite’s crew,” the attendant explained.
Kensidan waved her away as if it didn’t matter. “I tell you four now, before Deudermont joins us, that Ship Rethnor is mine. It was given to me before my father passed on, with all his blessings.”
“Ye changing the name, are ye? Ship Crow?” Baram joked, but Kensidan stared at him hard and elicited a nervous cough.
“Any of you who think that perhaps Ship Rethnor is vulnerable now would be wise to think otherwise,” Kensidan said, biting off the last word as the door opened and Governor Deudermont walked in, the ever-vigilant and ever-dangerous Robillard close behind. The others of Sea Sprite didn’t enter, but were likely very close nearby.
“You have met Luskan’s newest high captain?” Kurth asked him, motioning toward Kensidan.
“I didn’t know it to be an inherited position,” Deudermont said.
“It is,” was Kensidan’s curt response.
“So if the good Captain Deudermont passes on, I get Luskan then?” Robillard quipped, and he shrugged as Deudermont cast him an unappreciative look for the sentiment.
“Doubtin’ that,” said Baram.
“If you are to be the five high captains of Luskan, then so be it,” said Deudermont. “I care not how you manage the titles as of now. What I care about is Luskan, and her people, and I expect the same from you all, as well.”
The five men, unused to being spoken to in that manner and tone, all grew more attentive up, Baram and Taerl bristling openly.
“I ask for peace and calm, that the city can rebound from a trying struggle,” said Deudermont.
“One yerself started, and who asked ye?” Baram replied.
“The people asked me,” Deudermont retorted. “Your people among them—your people who marched with Lord Brambleberry and I to the gates of the Hosttower.”
Baram had no answer.
But Suljack did, enthusiastically. “Aye, and Captain Deudermont’s givin’ us a chance to make Luskan the envy of the Sword Coast,” he declared, surprising even Deudermont with his energy. But not surprising Kensidan, who had bid him to do that very thing, and not surprising Kurth, who offered a sly grin at Kensidan as the fool Suljack rambled on.
“My people are tiring and hurting bad,” he said. “The war was tough on them, on us all, and now’s the time for hoping for better and working together to get better. Know that Ship Suljack’s with you, Governor, and we won’t be fighting unless it’s to save our own lives.”
“My appreciation,” Deudermont replied with a bow, his expression showing as much suspicion as gratitude, which was not lost on the perceptive Kensidan.