Ironwolf Part 5 – Back to the Gate
Come visit picturesque Baldur's Gate.
Being back in the city makes me very uncomfortable though I can't say exactly why. Perhaps it is because the first place I've called in is the Flaming Fist barracks. Last time I was in here I was imprisoned for the murder of a Duke. Hardly a shining moment.
The new second in command of the Fist is a solidly built man with an ugly scar that begins on his left cheek and runs all the way down his neck and ends somewhere under his tunic. The scar is from an old blade cut and it is so deep that it shows even through his beard. He cannot grow enough facial hair to cover where it passes through his whiskers. Across his shoulders is a moth eaten bear skin cloak. Clearly he is a lower born man who has worked his way up through the ranks. Men with money pay healers to remove scars like that and the quality of his cloak and tunic scream “practical, not expensive.” The man himself is like so many senior officers, hard faced and unsmiling. He glares at me across his rough oaken desk.
“I've not got the time to chase every fancy weapon that some dandy is stupid to let get stolen. There're few enough men in the watch as 'tis!” I am amused to be called a dandy. Stout and capable as this man may be I am easily taller and stronger than he. Perhaps he resents the fact that I'm not wearing armour like “a proper warrior”.
“This is not a mere 'fancy sword'!” I say.
“That's as may be,” he says with a wave of a callused hand. “Nonetheless, I cannot spare men to run around for you. If you want something done why not do it yourself. 'Sides, you've already got one sword.” He gestures to the flame tongue at my belt. “What do you need two for?”
“It's not mine. I'm recovering it for a friend of mine.” He nods, not really listening to me. From beyond his office door there is the sudden clamour of shouts and men struggling together. The noise rises and the shouts fill the room.
“'Ere!” bellows the watch commander. “What's this bloody noise?” A young man in a red tunic, with the Flaming Fist blazon on his chest appears in the doorway. His uniform has a fresh tear and his hair is wildly dishevelled. He makes a fair approximation of a salute.
“Beggin' your pardon, sergeant.” He says in a rush. “It's old Marrone. We caught 'im again round the market. 'Ad a load o' gold bells on 'im. Dipped 'em out o' one of the temples.”
The watch commander shakes his head. “That's three times now. He'll lose an eye and be 'strung for sure.”
“Aye sir. That's why he's putting up such a fuss. 'E don't want to go into them cells.”
“Well you get back there and make sure 'e does, right.”
“Ay sir.” The young guardsman salutes again and rushes back down the corridor, where the shouts are receding. As the sergeant turns back to me I do my best not to smile. To think, this was once the life I wanted for myself. I'd have gone mad…or killed someone…or both!
“So, as ye see, I'm a busy man, so stop wasting my time!”
“Fair enough, sergeant. What I want is a letter of marquis, signed by you , or by the Duke of the Fists if you don't have the authority, authorising me to take back the sword from whomever I find in possession of it.”
“A letter of marquis?” The sergeant rubs his beard thoughtfully. “Do you have any idea how often I've seen one of them, let alone signed one?”
“If you cannot do it, I'll gladly press my case with the Dukes.”
“You'll do no such bloody thing! The Dukes are busier men than me and they don't take kindly to frivolous requests.”
“Especially requests that you could have handled yourself?” I add, twisting the knife.
“Right.” The sergeant looks over my shoulder at the doorway and bellows for someone named Triffle. A lanky scribe with thinning hair and ink stained fingers appears momentarily. The sergeant of the watch orders Triffle to draft a letter of marquis for the recovery Spiderbane. Once issued the letter will give me the right to take the sword from anyone within the city of Baldur's Gate and its environs. “I'll sign your letter,” the sergeant says, looking back at me. “For all the good it'll do you. Pro'a'ly get yourself killed by the Shadow Ghosts.”
“What,” I ask, with my curiosity definitely peaked, “Are the Shadow Ghosts?”
An evil grin spreads across the man's face. “The Shadow Ghosts are killers, and that's all we know.”
“What?”
“For the past tenday, every night, folks hear the sounds of battle in the street. 'Tween midnight and dawn. Yet when folks investigate they find nothing – just blood, like a brutal fight's just been finished. No bodies, no weapons, just blood. Folks say as it must be ghosts!”
“What is the Fist doing about it?” I ask, incredulous.
“Nothing for now.”
“Nothing? Why not?”
“No bodies, no crime!” the sergeant shrugs his shoulders, as though he has explained it all perfectly clearly.
“No bodies? Has anyone gone missing?”
“Few!”
“And what of them?” I wonder if I'm going mad. How can a watch commander be so casual about mysterious affrays in the night.
“No one cares. It's thieves as go missing, and folks as has no right being in the city anyhow. Maybe the Shadow Ghosts is doing our work for us!”
Thieves? Only thieves have gone missing.
Triffle returns with my letter. He hands it to the sergeant who melts bright red sealing wax in the candle on his table. He draws a circle of wax on the bottom of the letter and then presses his ring into it, fixing the seal of Baldur's Gate. I have my letter of marquis. Taking the parchment from him, I role it and place it into my scroll case.
“If I see any of these Shadow Ghosts, would you like me to tell you?” I ask as I make for the door.
“If you sees 'em and lives,” he says with a guffaw. “I suggests you tell the whole world 'bout it. Heroes deserve to tell their tales.” He continues to laugh at me as I walk out of the barracks rooms and into the sunlit street.
Shadow Ghosts slaying thieves and undesirables? Is Spiderbane mixed up in all this?
I think I'll take a walk tonight. Around midnight.
