And so had begun the fall of Luskan.
The halfling flipped a silver piece to the woman, thanked her for the information with a tip of his beautiful hat, and then started off toward the bridge.
He picked his path carefully as he stepped out onto the Upstream Span, for the stones were crumbling all around it, and in places he could see down through it to the filthy waters of the River Mirar. More than filthy, he realized, for they shone inky black and their foul smell drifted up to assail him. So focused was Regis on carefully marking his steps that he was more than a third of the way across before he even noticed that there were indeed others on the bridge, a trio of dirty men sitting beside a pile of stones and wooden planks, wearing the colors of a Ship’s crew he did not know.
The group stood as he neared, each reaching for a shovel or pick, and a fourth appearing from behind the pile.
Regis fought his instincts, reminding himself not to slow, not to show any concern.
“Now, what’ve we got here?” asked the nearest of the group.
“A visitor to your fair city, bound for One-Eyed Jack in search of a room,” Spider answered pleasantly.
“Jax, you mean,” the man corrected. “Jacks, then,” the halfling agreed.
A second man came up beside the first, holding his shovel like a battle-axe diagonally across his chest.
“Have ye enough coin, then?” the first asked. “Would I seek a room if I did not?”
“Enough for the room and for the toll?” asked one from the back, and only then, at the sound of her voice, did Regis realize that it was a woman.
“I see no signs for any toll, nor was any mentioned by the guards at the southern gate,” the halfling answered casually.
“Don’t need no signs and don’t see no guards, eh,” the first man said, and he hoisted his pick-axe up over his shoulder, and moved near enough to bring it down onto Regis’s head.
“Aye little one, open yer purse and we’ll let ye know if it’s enough to get you across,” said the brute with the shovel.
“Hmm,” Regis mumbled as he considered his options. He had some coins in his pouch, and many more in the secret compartment below it, which this crew would never find. It probably wouldn’t cost him more than a few silver to get across.
A few silver and more than a bit of his self-respect.
“No,” he said. “I do not think a long while to realize ees Regison I will pay any toll.”
“Wrong answer,” said the woman from behind.
“Kindly move aside,” Regis said, and he lifted his left arm, throwing his cloak back over his left shoulder and revealing his fabulous rapier. “Ah, ye runt!” said the first, moving to strike with his pick-axe.
But Regis was quicker, his right hand sweeping across to grab his rapier and draw it in one fluid motion, and his left hand coming across the other way right behind the lifting blade, moving just under the right fold of his cloak, where his third weapon sat ready just in front of his right hip, the holster angled back toward his center for an easy and quick draw.
Out went the rapier and out came the hand crossbow, unfolding as it went, and as Regis’s rapier tip went against the throat of the man with the pick-axe, just under the chin, his hand crossbow aimed out perfectly toward the man with the shovel, leveled for his face.
“Once I politely asked, but now I insist,” Regis said. “Move aside.”
The two men glanced to each other. Regis prodded with the rapier, drawing a bit of blood.
“Ye know what Ship ye’re threatening, do ye?” the woman protested.
“I know that one High Captain might find his crew short three men and a woman,” Regis answered. “Unless any of you survive the fall, of course, and the swim in those most-unappetizing waters below.”
That last part seemed to have a great effect, he noted, with the blood draining from the woman’s face.
“I’ll not ask you again,” Regis assured them.
They moved aside and Regis crossed the river, his grin from ear to ear.
Bolstered by his bravery, the halfling confidently strode into the tavern known as One-Eyed Jax a short while later. He was surprised by the spelling of the name, thinking, of course, that the place had been named after the two particular cards in a standard deck, but he just shrugged it off, realizing that few up here could even properly spell, likely, and fewer still would understand the difference between “Jacks” and “Jax.”
Barely inside the door, many eyes turning to regard him, he threw back his cloak and swept the water droplets from his beret. He knew that he cut a heroic figure, quite dashing, and didn’t try to hide that in the least. Boldness would get him through, he reminded himself continually, as it had on the bridge. He could not, would not, appear the least bit vulnerable.
He wore three weapons on his belt, which had been looped with a blue sash to match the color of his hat. His rapier sat on his left hip, the hand crossbow in front of his right, and his dagger in a new scabbard just behind the hand crossbow at the side of his right hip. He wore a black leather sleeveless vest and a white shirt, unbuttoned in the front just enough to reveal an undercoat of soft cloth lined with glistening mithral strands. His breeches were light brown and his boots, high and fashionable, shined of black leather to match the fine material of the vest, and indeed, had been crafted by the same leatherworker, one considered, and certainly priced like, the finest in all of Baldur’s Gate.
As he pulled off his riding gloves-leather, but dyed blue to match the hat and belt sash-he scanned the room, nodding politely at those who seemed most interested. Tucking the gloves into his belt, he moved to the bar to ord of the DesaiIcreoner some wine and inquire about a room.
“And how long might you be staying, master?” asked the barkeep, an attractive young woman with gray eyes and rich brown hair just a shade lighter than the halfling’s.
“Master Topolino,” he answered, and he tipped his beret to her. “Spider Topolino of Aglarond. And I would like the room until I find an appropriate caravan setting out for the North.”
“Mirabar? Auckney?”
“Icewind Dale,” said Regis. “I am bound for Ten-Towns.”
She put the glass of wine before him on the bar. “And what business might you have in that forsaken place?”
“My own,” he answered, thinking it strange that anyone living in Luskan at this time would label anywhere else in all the world as “forsaken.”
“Good enough for ye, then,” she replied. “Just making conversation.”
Regis offered her a smile. “My apologies,” he said. “I am unused to friendly conversation. The north road has precious little of it now, I fear, where more oft must I speak with my blade than my charm.”
“Then might be you need to be more charming,” said a man beside him, but rather playfully, he noted, so he laughed and told the barkeep to buy the man a drink on his tab.
“You’ll not need your blade in here,” the barkeep explained.
“You are the owner?”
“Me?” the woman said with a laugh, one that was shared by all others near enough to hear. “No, no. Just a drink-maker and coin-taker.”
“And a pretty eye-full to be enjoyed by the crews,” the man beside Regis added, lifting his glass in toast to her.
Others joined in and the barkeep curtsied and gave a little smile, then moved to the other end of the bar to the call of some other patrons.
“But you beware, little friend, that it’s just an eye-full,” the man warned. “Serena’s spoken for, by One-Eye himself, and he’s not one you’re looking to anger, no matter how well you can work those pretty weapons you carry.”