Rise of the Blade - Charles Moffat [3]
Looking about at his fellow Harpers, Pierce understood that the majority of them were thinking of the death of their friend, whereas the people on the shore were thinking of the death of a hero. Yet Pierce knew this was only temperary, the people of Waterdeep would soon forget the name of Witter. Oh sure, they'd remember how the ranger had died in defense of the city, but his name would be lost in the history books.
Pierce swallowed and remembered the feeling he had when he rode out of Waterdeep with Witter as a comrade on his first adventure. He had been a rolemodel back then, he had studied under the warrior, learning his fighting style the twin sabers, how to control a horse with simple leg movements and fight at the same time, but perhaps it was the noble heart of the man Pierce had wished for, the sheer disregard for his own life in favour of everyone else. The man had been pure virtue. The warrior sighed and shoved away the memories that brought tears to his already wet cheeks.
It was time to finish unfinished business.
In what passed for a broken down hovel on Waterdeep's waterfront sat a short pudgy man with freckled cheeks and a bulbous nose holding a monocle in front of his left eye. For a semi-retired ruffian, he had done well considering his rich, yet food stained, clothes. He looked up across his desk suspiciously, some sixth sense that kept him alive in this business told him he was no longer alone. He reached down for the blade hidden in his belt.
The sudden scrap of metal on wood warned him too late and he looked up at a three foot blade of blue steel posed at his nostrils. The monocle fell off his nose and he swallowed as he stared up with blurry vision at the tall, broad figure with dark brown hair and greying temples. He looked down at the distinctive antique bronze breastplate and managed a vague smile.
"Please sit down Dr. Pierce," he rasped and gestured with a hand to the empty oak chair across from him. "To what purpose do I owe this visit?"
Pierce sheathed the saber and sat, promptly pouring himself a drink from a dusty bottle marked elvenquist. He spat it out quickly and smiled. "What makes you think I have a purpose?" he asked, knowing full well what Jimox thought. He threw the bottle casually at the wall beside him.
Jimox placed his monocle back on his nose. He stared at the reckage of the bottle and the rat that scurried out of the cracks in the tiled walls to lick at the spilled wine. "You always have a purpose it would seem. You never just 'stop by'. Although I simply must ask why you just fed part of my wine collection to Waterdeep's rat population?"
"Well, for starters it was watered down, and secondly the crooked merchant you got it from laced it with a nasty liquor called hemotoxin." The Doctor smiled knowingly.
The ruffian raised an eyebrow. He had learned in the past that Pierce enjoyed exercising a superior knowledge of practically everything. How he learned such things however was open to question.
When the ruffian did not reply, the warrior explained. "Poison. Death in roughly two minutes starting with intense stomach pain, vomiting, fever, heart pains, your skin turns purple or pale white and your heart eventually slows and stops," Pierce said in his usual nonchalant manner.
Jimox pursed his lips. "I'll have to remember that." He glanced at the already dead rat. He swallowed his saliva and thanked his pride that he refused to drink the rot gut he served his guests. The ruffian looked back up at Pierce. "So?" he said slowly. "What will it be this time?"
Pierce smiled. That same annoying, knowing smile. "Just a name."
Valentino d'Or the IVth felt as secure as any smuggling lord could feel when he learned that a whole cargoship of smokepowder had been hijacked by Harpers and subsequently blown up. Which wasn't that good. Indeed, he was deathly afraid his associates, the giffs, would send an assassin to his