The Mercenaries - Ed Greenwood [7]
There was a silent moment of disbelief, and then a ripple of derisive laughter. Jargoons were poor mens' rubies, but worth a hundred true gold each even in a bad market; a respected and successful pirate might give his crew two or three each for a year's pay. Pirates could work five decades or more and not see more than one or two rubies to call their own. Gems were the currency of choice in Tharkar because false coins were so plentiful that prices were often given in both "true coin" and "fool's coin" amounts.
The fat man sat patiently watching them until the laughter trailed off into silence.
"Just how big are these chests?" asked the gravel-voked, much-scarred veteran. "And how do we know youH hold to your end of the bargain?"
"Take the lid off the barrel behind you," Belmer replied, rising. The unlovely woman gave him a suspicious look, but the moon-faced sharper was already peering into its depths. His hand came up with a coffer, and he looked at Belmer.
The little man indicated the chest he'd been sitting on. "For the jargoons: this size and brim-full of cut, unfiawed stones. As for the bargain-" He waved at the sharper to open the coffer, and the pirate did so.
"Writs," he announced, lifting them with careful fingers.
"Contracts," the beautiful she-pirate explained to the youth beside her. "Binding us both. To be registered with the Lord of Tharkar, I presume?"
Belmer inclined his head. "Four copies of each writ-for you, for me, for the Lord, and for a Pirates' Witness of your choosing. The payments already lie in one of his vaults, spell-locked to me."
This was standard; six of the seven Sharkers had signed writs with Blackfingers-so much safely hidden but worthless paper now. Brows wrinkled, they were already reading these new writs, moving their fingers along the lines. Belmer leaned against the wall, crossed his arms, and waited.
"That's a lot of coin," Kurthe rumbled, and his companions fell silent. "A great amount for one killing. Who is this woman?"
The fat little man smiled slightly again. "A woman, as you guessed," he replied, "from Waterdeep. Her name is Eidola, and I'll not divulge my reasons for desiring her demise. I need your aid twice over: I don't want to be on the scene to be recognized when she disappears-and I need you to capture her first. My hand must be the one to slay, after I am sure that the captive is the one I seek. I've been fooled about such things before." Silence fell once more.
" 'Find,' you said," Sharessa reminded him. "Where'U we look for her?"
"In Doegan," he replied. "We'll take ship together, in a vessel I've hired-before dawn. If we tarry, or if someone here refuses this mission and word of it gets around Tharkar, a later departure may prove… difficult."
"Care to tell us who'll be working against us?" Kurthe asked. "Or what port well be heading for?" "No," Belmer replied.
The burly Konigheimer made a sound deep in his throat, and then turned and barked, "Belgin?"
"I'd sign," the sharper murmured, looking up. The dwarf, only a line or two slower in his reading, nodded.
Silence fell. The Konigheimer looked around at all of his comrades and then-slowly, face set in reluctant lines-nodded.
Belmer went to the barrel and lifted out two larger coffers. One held a candle, several quill pens, ink, and a striker; he set the candle on a shelf bracket near his head and lit it.
Without a word, Kurthe stepped forward, wrote his name, and made his pirate mark. His comrades folowed, Sharessa first. In similar silence Belmer opened the second coffer, drew out a decanter of firewine and eight tall glasses (peering, the dwarf saw another four gleaming in the depths of the container), poured each near-full, and passed them around.
Then he took his copies of the contracts, and read out the names. "Belgin Dree." The moon-faced sharper in the fine vest and breeches nodded and smiled.
"Brindra Arrose." The barrel-shaped woman inclined her head.
"Ingrar