Robert Salvatore - The Pirate King

“Argus Retch’s ship,” he said to Deudermont when the captain walked down from Sea Sprite . “Tell me ye got him in yer hold, and me day’ll be brighter.”

Deudermont shook his head and looked past the harbormaster, to a young friend of his, Lord Brambleberry of the East Waterdeep nobility. The man moved swiftly, with a boyish spring still in his step. He had passed the age of twenty, but barely, and while Deudermont admired his youth and vigor, and indeed believed that he was looking at a kindred spirit—Brambleberry so reminded him of himself at that age—he sometimes found the young man too eager and anxious to make a name for himself. Such rushed ambition could lead to a premature visit to the Fugue Plane, Deudermont knew.

“Ye killed him, then, did ye?” the harbormaster asked.

“He was not aboard when we boarded,” Deudermont explained. “But we’ve a score of pirate prisoners for your gaolers.”

“Bah, but I’d trade the lot of them for Argus Retch’s ugly head,” the man said and spat. Deudermont nodded quickly and walked by him.

“I heard that your sails had been sighted, and was hoping that you would put in this day,” Lord Brambleberry said as the captain neared. He extended his hand, which Deudermont grasped in a firm shake.

“You wish to get in an early bid on Retch’s ship?” Deudermont asked.

“I may,” the young nobleman replied. He was taller than most men—as tall as Deudermont—with hair the color of wheat in a bright sun and eyes that darted to and fro with inquisitiveness and not wariness, as if there was too much of the world yet to be seen. He had thin and handsome features, again so much like Deudermont, and unblemished skin and clean fingernails bespeaking his noble birthright.

“May?” asked Deudermont. “I had thought you intended to construct a fleet of pirate hunters.”

“You know I do,” the young lord replied. “Or did. I fear that the pirates have learned to evade such tactics.” He glanced at Quelch’s Folly and added, “Usually.”

“A fleet of escort ships, then,” said Deudermont.

“A prudent adjustment, Captain,” Brambleberry replied, and led Deudermont away to his waiting coach.

They let the unpleasant talk of pirates abate during their ride across the fabulous city of Waterdeep. The city was bustling that fine day, and too noisy for them to speak and be heard without shouting.

A cobblestone drive led up to Brambleberry’s estate. The coach rolled under an awning and the attendants were fast to open the door and help the lord and his guest climb out. Inside the palatial dwelling, Brambleberry went first to the wine rack, a fine stock of elven vintages. Deudermont watched him reach to the lower rack and pull forth one bottle, then another, examining the label and brushing away the dust.

Brambleberry was retrieving the finest of his stock, Deudermont realized and smiled in appreciation, and also in recognizing that the Lord Brambleberry must have some important revelations waiting for him if he was reaching so deep into his liquid treasure trove.

They moved up to a comfortable sitting room, where a hearth blazed and fine treats had been set out on a small wooden table set between two plush chairs.

“I have wondered if we should turn to defensive measures, protecting the merchant ships, instead of our aggressive pirate hunts,” Brambleberry said almost as soon as Deudermont took his seat.

“It’s no duty I would wish.”

“There is nothing exciting about it—particularly not for Sea Sprite,” Brambleberry agreed. “Since any pirates spying such an escort would simply raise sail and flee long before any engagement. The price of fame,” he said, and lifted his glass in toast.

Deudermont tapped the glass and took a sip, and indeed the young lord had provided him with a good vintage.

“And what has been the result of your pondering?” Deudermont asked. “Are you and the other lords convinced of the wisdom of escorts? It does sound like a costly proposition, given the number of merchant ships sailing out of your harbor every day.”

“Prohibitive,” the lord agreed. “And surely unproductive. The pirates adjust, cleverly and with…assistance.”

“They have friends,” Deudermont agreed.

“Powerful friends,” said Lord Brambleberry.

Deudermont started the next toast, and after his sip asked, “Are we to dance around in circles, or are you to tell me what you know or what you suspect?”

Brambleberry’s eyes flashed with amusement and he grinned smugly. “Rumors—perhaps merely rumors,” he said. “It’s whispered that the pirates have found allies in the greater powers of Luskan.”

“The high captains, to a one, once shared their dishonorable profession, to some degree or another,” said Deudermont.

“Not them,” said the still elusive Brambleberry. “Though it wouldn’t surprise me to learn that one or another of the high captains had an interest, perhaps financial, with a pirate or two. Nay, my friend, I speak of a more intimate and powerful arrangement.”

“If not the high captains, then….”

“The Hosttower,” said Brambleberry.

Deudermont’s expression showed his increased interest.

“I know it’s surprising, Captain,” Brambleberry remarked, “but I have heard whispers, from reliable places, that the Hosttower is indeed involved in the increasing piracy of late—which would explain your more limited successes, and those of every other authority trying to track down and rid the waters of the scum.”

Deudermont rubbed his chin, trying to put it all in perspective.

“You don’t believe me?” Brambleberry asked.

“Quite the contrary,” the captain replied. “Your words only confirm similar information I have recently received.”

With a wide smile, Brambleberry reached again for his wineglass, but he paused as he lifted it, and stared at it intently.

“These were quite expensive,” he said.

“Their quality is obvious.”

“And the wine contained within them is many times more precious.” He looked up at Deudermont.

“What would you have me say?” the captain asked. “I’m grateful to share in such luxury as this.”

“That is my whole point,” Brambleberry said, and Deudermont’s face screwed up with confusion.

“Look around you,” the Waterdhavian nobleman bade him. “Wealth—unbelievable wealth. All mine by birthright. I know that you have been well-rewarded for your efforts these years, good Captain Deudermont, but if you were to collect all of your earnings combined, I doubt you could afford that single rack of wine from which I pulled our present drink.”

Deudermont set his glass down, not quite knowing how to respond, or how Brambleberry wanted him to respond. He easily suppressed his nagging, prideful anger and bade the man to continue.

“You sail out and bring down Argus Retch, through great effort and at great risk,” Brambleberry went on. “And you come here with his ship, which I might purchase at a whim, with a snap of my fingers, and at a cost to my fortune that wouldn’t be noticed by any but the most nitpicking of coin-counters.”

“We all have our places,” Deudermont replied, finally catching on to where the man was heading.

“Even if those places are not attained through effort or justice,” said Brambleberry. He gave a self-deprecating chuckle. “I feel that I’m living a good life and the life of a good man, Captain. I treat my servants well, and seek to serve the people.”

“You are a well-respected lord, and for good reason.”

“And you are a hero, in Luskan and in Waterdeep.”

“And a villain to many others,” the captain said with a grin.

“A villain to villains, perhaps, and to no others. I envy you. And I salute you and look up to you,” he added, and lifted his glass in toast, finally. “And I would trade places with you.”