James Wyatt - In the Claws of the Tiger

“Ah, Janjan,” the sahuagin croaked, mangling Janik’s name as he always did. “Good to see you once.” His accent was thick and his Common terrible. His eyes bulged as he spoke.

Janik answered in fluent Sahuagin, though he had trouble with some of the clicks and pops of the language. “Seeing you again is like returning to the dark water,” he said formally. He found himself thinking idly that it was almost true, in exactly the opposite way that the sahuagin meant it-talking to Shubdoolkra was a bit like drowning.

“With meat on one shoulder and gold on the other,” Shubdoolkra responded in kind, and Janik couldn’t help thinking that he was meat in the sahuagin’s eyes. “Are you sailing through Shargon’s Teeth?”

“I am, and once more I offer tribute to Baron Kushe-” Shubdoolkra’s eyes bulged wider and he spat, cutting Janik off.

“Do not speak that name!” the sahuagin yelled, causing many nearby patrons to wheel around and stare, expecting a fight. Janik doubted any of them could understand their conversation, but Shubdoolkra’s angry voice sounded horrific. If that weren’t bad enough, the sahuagin’s ear fins stuck out in anger, and the spines on his back pulsed up and down. “The one of whom you speak is dying the thousand deaths in the jaws of the Devourer! Curse his name and curse any who speak it!”

Janik was taken aback. If Kushek’ka was dead, would that change the usual bargain? The old baron had ruled his village peacefully, negotiating with sailors from Sharn for safe passage through Shargon’s Teeth to Xen’drik. A new baron might take a different attitude toward human sailors, or drive a harder bargain. The violence with which Shubdoolkra had responded to his name suggested that he and his policies were not in favor under the new baron, whoever he was. All the same, Shubdoolkra was here, which suggested that he was still making deals.

“Curse my ignorance and stupidity,” Janik said carefully, hating the formalities of the language but apparently calming the sahuagin. “Who is the baron of your people?”

“Baron Yadkoppo governs us with wisdom and strength, as long as it pleases the Devourer that he may do so,” the sahuagin responded.

“May his reign bring meat to the village,” Janik said with some relief. Shubdoolkra had said, “with wisdom and strength,” which meant another relatively peaceful reign, as opposed to “in strength and slaughter,” which would bode ill for his mission. “I offer tribute, then, to Baron Yadkoppo through his loyal servant Shubdoolkra, and ask the baron’s favor upon my journey.”

“What tribute do you bring, Janjan?” The sahuagin’s bulging eyes glittered, and Janik watched his long, webbed fingers stretch greedily.

Better go high, Janik thought. “For the baron’s pleasure, I offer five thousand coins of gold. For his people, I offer one hundred steel tridents and one thousand bolts tipped with steel. For his loyal servant Shubdoolkra, I offer an additional five hundred coins of gold. I hope that my tribute is acceptable to Baron Yadkoppo.” Janik held his breath and kept his eyes away from Shubdoolkra’s, watching the sahuagin’s scaled and webbed fingers scratching idly on the table.

“Your tribute is acceptable to Baron Yadkoppo,” the sahuagin said, and Janik let his breath out slowly. “When will your ship leave Sharn, Janjan?”

“We sail with Captain Nashan on Hope’s Endeavor , departing from Sharn on the morning of the third day from this one.”

“Baron Yadkoppo promises that Hope’s Endeavor shall not come to harm on its passage through Shargon’s Teeth, in gratitude for the tribute you have promised. If promises be broken, the Devourer will judge.”

“My thanks, Shubdoolkra.” Janik stood, nodded a bow to the sahuagin, and left the tavern as quickly as he could manage, glad to be out of the crowd. He walked the noisy streets of Cliffside until he could find a skycoach to take him home, and collapsed gratefully in bed.

He awoke about four hours later, much less gratefully, to someone pounding on the door to his apartment. He shuffled to the door, trying to wrap a blanket around himself with one hand while rubbing his eyes with the other.

“Janik, open up!” Mathas’s voice came through the door.

“I’m coming,” Janik croaked as he fumbled with the locks.

“We’ve got a problem,” Mathas said as soon as the door was open. “Captain Nashan sailed for Xen’drik three days ago.”

Krael,” Janik said, the name like a curse on his lips.

“Almost certainly,” Mathas replied, walking into the sitting room. He took a seat on the chair that Janik had righted two nights before, arching an eyebrow at the one that was still overturned. Janik closed the door, bolted it, and turned to Mathas, lifting the chair off the floor and setting it upright so he could sit down.

“This is ridiculous,” Janik said. “He sends an assassin after me-twice! — breaks into my apartment and steals my books, and then steals the ship we’ve commissioned to take us to Xen’drik! What’s next?”

“If I had to guess, I’d say that next is getting to Mel-Aqat before we do, and getting his filthy hands on whatever it is we’re looking for.”

“That cannot happen,” Janik said. “I’ll give my soul to the Keeper before I let Krael beat me at anything again.”

“Careful what promises you make, Janik. But you’re right, we’ve got to stop him.”

“Are we almost ready to go?”

“I think we’re close. I brought our food stores to the docks to stow them aboard his ship and found out that Nashan left. Dania has our documents. I bought new boots, and I think she did as well. I think we could leave today.”

“Then let’s see what our letter of credit from the Church of Silver Flame can buy in this town, shall we?”

Mathas grinned. “I’ll contact House Lyrandar immediately.” He stood up and faced the door, then turned back. “We’re supposed to meet with that artificer, the dwarf.”

Janik groaned. “There’s not enough time to figure out who he is and whether we can trust him.”

“I agree.”

“Can you get a message to him? Let him know we’re leaving earlier than expected and we can’t meet him?” “I will try.”

“Do you think I’m being too cautious?”

“No, of course not,” Mathas said quickly. He paused. “But then, we both knew Maija for years.”

“So we did,” Janik muttered. “Maybe the three of us will be enough.” He opened the locks on the door for Mathas. “Sea of Fire, I’m not even sure I trust you any more.”

Mathas smiled. “I’m glad to know the feeling is mutual.” He stepped out the door. “I’ll let you know what I hear from Lyrandar. Where can I find you?”

“My office. Thank you, Mathas.”

“Watch your back, Janik. Krael knows he hasn’t won yet.”

“Thanks for the reminder,” Janik called as he pushed the door closed and bolted it tight.

Janik grabbed a pastry at the commons and spent the morning in his office, pulling journals off his shelves. He hoped to find the article he had read linking the Church of the Silver Flame to the serpent cults, but he could not remember where he had seen it. Frustrated, he sat on the edge of his desk, staring up at the rows of musty tomes and academic writings on the shelves above him. A knock at his door stirred him from his contemplation.

“Come in, Mathas,” he called out, knowing that Dania wouldn’t knock.

“Ah, excuse me,” came an unfamiliar voice, low and gruff. Janik stood up quickly, his left hand dropping to the hilt of his sword, and turned to face the open doorway. His visitor was a dwarf, but he seemed tall for a dwarf-only a hand’s length shorter than Mathas, in fact, though he probably weighed nearly twice as much as the slender elf. He wore his black hair moderately long, brushing the tops of his shoulders. His beard was neatly trimmed and his moustache waxed to two sharp points. At his belt was a mace with a head as big as his own head, and he wore a polished breastplate.