City-wise: Part 5 [Solo | Miri]

Miri paused from her contemplation of the horizon. “Did you say something?”

“I – ” Evy visibly deflated, slowly. “I think I can see the gates of Maarlith. Up ahead. You know – Maarlith? Busy port, lots of horses? We’ve been traveling here for months?”

“I see it,” Miri grinned, although it faded nearly as quickly as it had arrived.

Evy let out a sigh – more of a huff, really – and leaned a little more against the railing. “Any plans, once we get past the walls?”

“No,” Miri shrugged. “Just thought we’d see the lay of the land. Maybe catch a bounty or two.”

“Sure,” Evy said, slowly. “… Sure, Miri.” She waited a few moments, then turned and strolled across the deck, joining the quartermaster for a light hearted, laughing chat.

Miri didn’t even notice; her gaze was fixed, now, on the distant gates. She almost didn’t see it; the vision of papers she’d seen months ago – receipts, scrawled notes, and tucked amongst them the charter for The Laughing Maid, a ship with permission to bring goods for trade to Maarlith – loomed much larger in her mind than any physical sight.

“Maarlith,” Miri looked down at her hands, realizing a moment too late that she was gripping the railing so hard her knuckles were bulging out against her skin. She let go, adjusting the wrap over her hair, and did her best to lean nonchalantly against the railing, gazing out over the city. She thought she could feel Evy’s gaze on her back, but the half-elf didn’t approach again.

---

“Plenty of bounties,” Evy strode into the inn room, cheerfully, waving a sheaf of paper. “I found one that seems particularly promising, Janther, a thief, and I – are you going out?”

“Got a few errands to run,” Miri finished strapping her rapier to her hip.

“Need any help…?” Evy asked, slowly.

“No,” Miri flashed her a quick grin, belting her leather pants and tucking her flowing purple blouse in. “Go ahead and get started on that bounty. I’ll be back in a bit.”

Miri left Evy standing in the doorway, striding out into the main room of the inn, then down the streets of the city, avoiding horse traffic here and there, and just as assiduously avoiding the occasional remains left on the street before the city’s industrious sweepers could get to them. Half a dozen streets brought her to the Broken Tankard, and she ducked inside, glancing around.

A large, well-built woman smelling faintly of horses sat at the bar, a half-empty tankard of ale in front of her.

“Shurri, I take it,” Miri slid onto the stool next to her, leaning forward. She opened her mouth to order a drink, then stopped, sitting back. Work first.

“Miri Blackstone,” Shurri tipped her tankard back, draining it. “Heard you were heading my way.”

“Did you,” Miri said, non-committal. “Another?”

“If you’re buying,” at Miri’s nod, Shurri pushed the tankard forward. The barkeep drifted over, refilled the tankard, then promptly drifted back out of earshot.

“I’m looking for a ship,” Miri sat back a little, all to aware of the tension in her shoulders, the faint edge in her voice. She forced a smile, strained at first, then more natural as she thought about what she would do when she found him. “The Laughing Maid. Heard of it?”

“No,” Shurri said, taking a sip of ale.

Miri paused, waiting for what felt like a year as the human slowly sipped, slowly swallowed, and slowly sat, silent. “… Er.”

“I can ask around, of course,” Shurri continued, as if there hadn’t been a long pause in the middle. Her eyes flickered to Miri. “It’ll cost you.”

Miri smiled again. She thought it was more natural this time. “You mean it’s not running the harbor, just now?”

“I mean I haven’t heard of it,” Shurri shrugged. “I don’t know every ship.”

Miri raised an eyebrow. “Ask around, then. If I hear something helpful, it’ll be worth gold.”

“Oh no,” Shurri grinned, slowly; the scars carved into her left cheek made the gesture almost grotesque. “I don’t want gold.”

Miri leaned forward, slowly, arms resting on the bar. “… What, then?”

---

“I think I have Janther scoped out,” Evy said, cheerfully, when Miri re-entered the room. “Should be a pretty easy snatch and grab for a forger, he’s hiding – ”

“What about another job?” Miri walked to the papers sitting on the table, ruffling through them. She stopped at one, sliding it out of the stack, and turned to Evy. “What about this one? Horant the Horsetaker.”

“Horant the– ” Evy paused. “They mentioned him at the guard station. He sounds… dangerous, Miri. They said he’s taken out half a dozen bounty hunters already, which has only added to the bounty on him for the original murders – some kind of energy transference thing. I think he’s also a horse thief – I mean, he must be, right? For the nickname?”

“What,” Miri flashed a grin at her, “you don’t like a challenge anymore?”

“There’s a challenge and there’s…” Evy sighed a little. “All right, Horant it is.”

---

Horant the Horsetaker wasn’t hard to find. Evy had suggested, tactfully, that it was perhaps because he wasn’t hiding. He wasn’t inside the city walls; that would bring him too close to the guard’s sphere. Rather, he was camped deliberately and flagrantly about a mile from the walls, just far enough that the guard could claim he wasn’t their problem anymore – he wasn’t in the city, after all – but close enough that he could still entertain.

And entertain he did.

In fact, it wasn’t really necessary for Miri and Evy to sneak into the camp. By the time the sunset, there were bonfires spread throughout the meadow he’d taken over, spits turning on them, with a few scattered musicians here and there performing, plus a drum circle that seemed more amateur. Men and women nearly filled the meadow, and the damp mud beneath the trampled grass suggested this wasn’t the first night of the party. The air was filled with the smell of alcohol and roasting meat, the music and loud conversation providing a counterpart.

“This is Horant’s camp,” Evy announced, extending one arm out towards it.

“I thought Dambrathians hated horse thieves,” Miri pointed out.

Evy shrugged. She was wearing a pale blue top that left her midriff bare, and tight pants below. “I guess they like parties more. From what they said in town, it’s half about the party and half about the… notoriety, I guess.”

“This is going to get nasty, isn’t it?” Miri grinned.

“We could still go after Janther,” Evy suggested.

Miri flapped at hand at her, adjusted the edge of “shirt,” and strode into the thick of the fray.

---

Miri woke up the next morning with a pounding hangover, sprawled on what felt like leaves and pine cones and unable to account for her shirt. She groaned, rolling over onto her back, and spotted a flash of orange just nearby. She sat up, reaching for the cloth, and tied it back around herself as she glanced around. Her mouth was dry, and she had an odd and inexplicable bandage wound around her upper left arm. She poked at it, and winced as it promptly began throbbing. It felt very much like a knife wound.

The last thing Miri remembered was being at the party, looking at Horun – there had been a bottle of something being passed around. She had taken a drink, and then someone had tossed a packet into the nearby bonfire; the smoke had flared pale blue and, reflexively, she had breathed it in. She had felt the most exquisite sensation then, a feeling of overwhelming pleasure that had swept through her, like nothing she’d ever imagined –

After that, things were more or less a blank. She didn’t seem to be in the meadow anymore. Miri rose to her feet, then promptly doubled over and vomited what little remained in her stomach – mostly liquid – out onto the pine-cone covered ground. She spat to clear her mouth, then spat again, wiping it on the back of her hand.

After a moment of deliberation, Miri started walking towards where the trees looked thinner. She emerged at the edge of the meadow, looking out at a sea of burned spots, discarded skewers, sleeping huddles of people, and – was that Evy?

Miri skirted her way around one man snoring particularly loudly, and crouched down next to the half-elf, who was curled up next to a particularly pretty woman. “Evy,” Miri hissed, setting one hand on her shoulder and giving her a gentle shake. “Evy!”

Evy’s eyes opened, and she groaned, blearily. “Ugh – what happened? I remember… some blue smoke… and then…”

“Let’s go,” Miri said, extending a hand to her. “Now,” she glanced around.

Evy clasped her hand to Miri’s and rose, blinking blearily. “Ugh, my head,” she turned as green as Miri had a few minutes ago and stumbled off to vomit in one of the firepits.

Miri ignored the sound of retching, glancing around. How had she ended up in the woods? Where was Horant? Had she been in a knife fight? Where could she get more of that blue smoke?

---

“You’re sure these’ll work?” Evy asked, glancing down at the flimsy mask in her hand.

“Pretty sure,” Miri paused. “If they don’t, I won’t complain too much.”

Evy snorted. “You do want them to work, don’t you?”

“Of course,” Miri paused. “Look, I’m just saying, try to see if you can find out who makes the blue smoke.”

Evy laughed. “Now you sound like yourself, Miri. I’ve been worried.”

Miri rolled her eyes. Tonight she was wearing her corset with a pair of black pants, and Evy a lacy silk top that promised everything and revealed nothing. “Let’s go. You have the drops?”

“Check,” Evy patted one of the hidden extra pockets in her pants.

This time, when the fires flared blue, Miri raised a hand to her face as if to cough and pressed the thin cloth mask over her nose and mouth. The smoke drifted past her, but – disappointingly – she smelled nothing, and no sensation of incredible pleasure washed over her. Those around her writhed and moaned in exultation – except for a few who started to scream instead.

The drum circle picked up, the rhythm growing harder and faster. The eyes of those around Miri glowed blue and they moved towards one another, bodies colliding. Miri almost felt tempted to blush. The screamers were still screaming; distantly, framed by the fire, Miri could see a blue-wreathed figure thrashing and kicking as if being attacked by some invisible force.

When the blue smoke had cleared from the air, Miri lowered the mask and glanced around. Evy was standing two bonfires away, and caught her eye with a slight nod. Her eyes widened. “Miri!”

A blue-wreathed figure charged Miri from behind, snarling and scowling in a way that hardly seemed human. Miri recognized Evy’s friend from the previous night for just half a second before she was knocked off her feet, skidding back into the grass. The woman was shaking and thrashing, foam dribbling from the corner of her mouth. She howled with what sounded like rage again and took off through the campsite, running like a wild thing.

Evy was there, and Miri clasped her hand and rose, brushing the dirt off her leather pants.

“That was – strange,” Evy said, after a moment. “Any sight of Horant?”

---

Miri dodged left just in time; the handaxe whistled through the space where her head had been moments ago, thudding hard into the tree. She ducked down, scooping her rapier off the grass, and lunged forward.

Horant roared, covered with glowing blue energy, his face a distorted mass of veins and rage.

Evy dropped from the trees behind Horant, lunging forward at the same moment Miri did. Miri struck first, a neat, precise blow that made Horant’s face go white, and then Evy smacked him solidly on the head with the hilt of her dagger. He made a vague sounding noise, twitched once, then dropped to the grass.

Evy and Miri both paused, breathing heavily. The night air was cool, but both were sweating from the long chase and fight.

“Did the sleeping herbs finally kick in?” Evy asked. “Or was it…” she raised the dagger.

“… Hard to say,” Miri sheathed her rapier, slowly, and brought out two sets of ties. “Look, the color’s fading.”

The blue aura around Horant was shrinking, slowly, pulled back into his skin. Miri was distantly aware of the sun peeking over the horizon, the first faint pinking lightning up the night sky. She knelt behind Horant, binding first his wrists, then his ankles. He was enormous, easily the size of her and Evy put together, and she had to stretch to get the cord to actually fit both wrists.

“So then,” Evy paused. “… Do we… drag him back?”

Miri looked down at the half-conscious giant of a man, and groaned.

---

“Not bad, for a night’s work! Well, a few nights really,” Evy hefted the little sack of coins as she and Miri left the guard station. It was afternoon by now, another hot and dusty day. “I think I’m going to get some sleep – ” She yawned, jaw cracking, “but tonight we should celebrate, that was really quite a – ”

“I’ll be back later,” Miri said.

Evy stopped in the middle of the dusty street. Miri kept walking, and Evy started again after a moment, jogging to catch up.

“All right,” Evy said, finally. “I’ll see you later then.”

Miri nodded, once, and turned off at the next street, leaving Evy to return to the inn herself.

---

“Shurri,” Mir spotted the other woman at the bar when she entered the tavern, a different but no less dingy place than where she had met before.

“Miri,” Shurri bowed her head. “I heard you met Horant.”

Miri sat on the stool next to the scarred human, gripping the seat with both hands. “The Laughing Maid, Shurri.”

Shurri paused, looking at Miri. “I asked around, to those who would know such things. It no longer sails – not here to Maarlith, nor anywhere else.”

Miri was aware that she was trembling, ever so slightly. She cleared her throat. “It sank?”

“No,” Shurri said, slowly. “It was damaged in a storm but did not sink. The captain took his retirement and sold it for parts.”

“And where can this… captain be found?” Miri shifted her arms to the bar, leaning forward, aware that she was utterly failing at any pretense of nonchalance.

“Here in Maarlith.” Shurri said.

---

The corset was a bit sweaty, after the night Miri had had, but she had managed to straighten it enough, and to clean her arms and face of dirt and blood with the pump at the back of the inn. She had to think. The sensible thing to do was go back to the hotel, sleep, then – tonight, maybe, or tomorrow, go and find him.

It was him. Miri knew it in her bones; it was red shirt.

She couldn’t wait. The tension which had been building in her the last few months boiled and overflowed, filling her with a jittery, nervous energy more powerful than any kind of sleepiness. She jolted upright, shaking her hands clean, and began to walk, feeling the heavy weight of the rapier on one hip, and the hidden dagger at her back.

It wasn’t hard to find the house, with Shurri’s description. It was small, nondescript – but more than one might expect from the captain of a merchant vessel. Miri stood outside, staring at the door. She should stake it out – did red-shirt live alone? Was there a wife and children inside, grandchildren perhaps? He hadn’t been so young, fifteen years ago. Surveillance, that was the key.

Miri stepped forward and knocked.

A scowling man opened the door. He was older – fifteen years had etched deep lines on his face that hadn’t been there before. Even when he shifted, Miri could see the movement pained him; some old injury, although she couldn’t say what. None of it mattered. She knew him; she knew him with a shock that went straight through her.

His gaze dropped to her cleavage, then rose back to her face. He didn’t look pleased; if anything his scowl deepened. “I’m not buying, girl,” his voice was as harsh as his face.

Miri smiled. She could see from the look on his face that it wasn’t a nice smile.

He went to close the door and Miri flicked the sheath of her rapier forward, catching it in the door. She shoved in with her shoulder, slamming the door back open, and stalked into the house. The rapier swung back to her side, and she drew the dagger, slowly.

“Stay away from me!” The man growled. “You’ll not get my money – I don’t care what rumors you’ve heard. None of it’s here in the house anyway.”

Miri could feel she was still smiling. She wasn’t sure how, except that there was a fierce joy rushing through her, lighting her up. She took another step forward, slow and deliberate, the dagger held loosely in one hand.

The man took a step back, eyes fixed on Miri – then broke and ran, scrambling for a shortsword on a nearby table.

Miri cut him off and slashed the dagger calmly across the inside of the arm he’d been reaching with.

The man yelled aloud, blood welling out of the cut. He gripped his arm with his other hand, shaking. Now Miri could see one shoulder was lumpy and misshapen; she doubted he could wield anything that required both arms. Not that it mattered. There was a drag to his left leg too; she’d seen in when he ran.

“What do you want!” The man was shaking, staring at her. Blood slid down off his arm, dropping onto the dusty floor of the house.

Miri smiled wider.

It was the work of a few moments to bind him, both arms behind his back and his ankles hobbled together with the ties the guards had given back after they’d turned in Horant. Miri didn’t bother treating the cut on his arm. He was shouting at her, asking questions; Miri ignored all of them, busy with one hand holding the dagger at his throat and the other with the ties. Finally, she drew him up, forcefully, and hooked the ties on his hand to a lamp hook on the wall, leaving him standing with his arms stretched up over his head. From the pale look on his face and the sweat that beaded on his forehead, it was excruciating for his shoulder.

Finally, Miri stepped back and admired her handiwork.

The man hung his head, shaking. “What do you want?” He asked, looking at her. The blood was flowing down his arm now, slowly, leaving long red trails against the skin. “You must want something. Tell me. The treasure?”

“No,” Miri said, calmly. “I just have a few – questions, for you.”

The man was staring at her. He shook his head. “I’m a retired captain, nothing more, I – there’s nothing I can tell anyone,” his voice was hoarse and strained.

Miri nodded, knowingly. “And I suppose it was being a captain that took you to Athkatla? Say… fifteen years ago?”

The man swallowed, hard. “Athkatla? I’ve been there but – fifteen years ago? I don’t know. I don’t – I don’t remember.”

“Don’t you?” Miri raised an eyebrow. “I suppose it wasn’t anything special for you,” she tested the blade of the dagger against her thumb, a droplet of bright blood welling up on her finger.

“I don’t – I don’t know what you’re talking about,” The man shook his head. “I don’t.”

“No?” Miri sheathed her dagger. She walked over to the shortsword he’d left on the table. She picked it up, turning it over in her hand, then set it back down. “I do, you see.” She looked back up at him.

“You – you must have me confused with someone else,” The man’s face paled further. He had had a ruddy tan beneath unshaved salt-and-pepper stubble when Miri had entered. Now he was leeched of all color, an almost inhuman white.

“I don’t,” Miri said. “You made quite an impression on me.” She wandered around the rest of the room, closing a door here, a window there.

“On – on you?” The man stared, eyes tight on her. “I’ve never met you before in my life! Whoever you think I am – whatever you think I did – ”

“We haven’t met,” Miri agreed, cheerfully. “You were a bit busy at the time. What did you do with him?”

“Him? What him?” The man was shaking. He writhed suddenly, pulling at the ties, kicking and shoving. The only result was that the blood from the wound on his arm flowed faster.

“I know you remember,” Miri turned back to him, approaching slowly. “I can see it on your face. What did you do with him?”

The man slumped against the wall, shaking. “It wasn’t me,” he whispered.

“But it was,” Miri said, stopping just a foot away from him. Casually, she reached up and pressed a hand into the lumpy misshapen flesh on his shoulder.

He screamed, a hoarse, aching sound.

“I wasn’t the one to kill him,” The man gasped.

Miri stepped back, slowly, looking at him.

“I wasn’t! I wasn’t,” The man squeezed his eyes shut. “He wasn’t the only boy I took for them, but there weren’t so many – I remember him. A little black-skinned boy. You were the girl, weren’t you? The one who chased after us.” He was shaking.

Miri was silent now, letting him talk. She did her best to keep still, utterly still, one hand resting on the hilt of her dagger.

“I was only the one they hired,” The man cleared his throat. “To – to take them. The boys. It wasn’t my fault. They knew – things – about me. I didn’t have a choice!” His eyes were wild and desperate, fixed on Miri. “I couldn’t have done any different.”

Miri nodded, slow and sympathetic. “Of course not,” she agreed. “And they? The ones that hired you? Who were they?”

“I don’t know,” The man was shaking. “I don’t know. They – they were based in Waterdeep, mostly. A cult – worshippers of – something. I don’t know.”

“What do you know?” Miri asked, voice soft.

“I don’t – I don’t know anything!” The man shook more.

“If you weren’t the one who killed me,” Miri said, quietly, “then I’ve no reason to kill you. Just tell me – something about how to find them. The ones I should blame.”

The man nodded. The blood from the cut had reached his shirt, staining the sleeve, slowly turning the gray red. “I met them in – in a tavern. They had space beneath, a basement. In Waterdeep. It was years ago – more than a decade – I don’t know – the Cockatrice.”

Miri nodded, slowly. She picked up the dagger again.


“No reason,” Miri stepped forward, pressing the dagger to his throat. Fifteen years were burning a hole through her; she hadn’t realized until now had hard the waiting had been. “But I’ll enjoy it, I think,” she pressed down, hard, sick of listening to him. “His name was Darvin,” she whispered, softly, lips nearly touching his ear. “And I don’t care whether you were the hand that killed him or not. I couldn't find you then, but I have now." She pressed down harder, then ripped the blade across.

---

“Miri?”

Miri woke to the feeling of Evy’s hand on her shoulder. She wasn’t sure how long she had slept; it had been night when she’d reached back to the inn, and before sleeping she’d burned the corset and pants and rinsed herself, thoroughly, scrubbing until there had been no reddish-brown left in the water that streamed from her.

Evy sat next to her, looking down at her from the side of the bed. “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” Miri cleared her throat, sitting up. “What time is it?”

“Late,” Evy was looking at her. “Afternoon.” She paused. “Did you do it?”

Miri rubbed her face with her hands. “Do what?” She asked.

“Whatever it was we came to Maarlith for,” Evy said, simply. “Whatever it was that’s been driving you like this.”

Miri was silent, looking at her.

Evy groaned. “Miri, come on! I’m not an idiot, you know. You don’t have to tell me – you don’t. Not now, and not ever, not if you don’t want to. But if you do want to talk, I’ll listen. Gladly. I’m your friend, Miri! That’s what friends are for.”

Miri swallowed, hard, looking at Evy. She nodded, slowly, after a moment – but didn’t speak.

“All right,” Evy giggled. “I’ll take that for today.” She squeezed Miri’s shoulder, getting up and crossing to the chests that held their things, closing hers and looking back at Miri.

Miri stood, slowly, adjusting the thin fabric of her shirt.

“Home, then?” Evy grinned. “Back to the Sword Coast?”

Miri nodded. “Home,” she cleared her throat once more. “Yeah, I – uh – home works.”

“Home it is,” Evy laughed. “I know a ship that’ll take us to Purl! It’s not much of a town, but from there we can probably catch something to Calimshan, at least. Sound good?”

“Sounds good,” Miri smiled, slowly. She paused, taking a deep breath. “Thanks, Evy.”