D& D - Greyhawk - Night Watch (6 page)

“Ho, Cap’n!”

From the corner of his eye, Garett saw something hurtling at his head. An apple, he realized at the last instant, and instead of ducking, he snatched it out of the air, took a bite, and turned to greet the prettiest merchant this side of the Nyr Dyv.

“Hello, Vendredi,” he said, pushing his way as politely as he could through the crowd that was gathered around Vendredi’s baskets of fruit. Several customers gave him vile looks until they realized who he was. He worked his way around to the side of the counter board where he would be out of the press.

Vendredi stepped from the shade of her tent into the sunlight and smiled up at Garett. Her red hair shimmered, as did the flesh of her ample breasts above the low cut of her dress. “Nice catch,” she commented dryly as she reached up and took a bite of his apple before returning it to him.

“One day, I’m going to bounce one of these off your noggin, though.” She shot a look suddenly toward a customer at the far end of the counter board.

“Now isn’t that really stupid?” she scolded the man sharply. “What with a City Watch commander standing right here?” She gestured toward Garett while all the other customers grew suddenly quiet and backed up a bit.

The would-be thief paled as he stared at the gold-embroidered insignia so prominently displayed on Garett’s chest. Garett merely folded his arms and glared. The thief swallowed and slowly lowered his arm. A fat pear rolled out of the loose sleeve, back into the basket it had come from.

“I swear,” the thief protested. “It got there by accident.” He forced a weak smile and tilted his head.

Vendredi put on a stern face. “Then I’d better see a pair of commons accidentally appear on my palm before my friend here,” she said, again gesturing toward Garett, “becomes angry and decides to rush to my defense! ” She held her hand under the man’s nose.

“A pair of commons!” the thief sputtered. “For a pear?”

Garett took a bite of his apple, letting a trace of juice run from the corner of his mouth. He wiped it away with the back of his hand. “It’s cheaper than the fine a magistrate would levy,” he said quietly as he chewed.

The thief swallowed again and reached into a small leather purse that hung from his belt. That alone told Garett the man was no professional. The lowest apprentice in the Thieves’ Guild would laugh at a man who wore his purse so visibly. Frowning, the man extracted two copper commons and placed them on Vendredi’s waiting hand. Then he glanced surreptitiously at Garett and sped away.

“Hey! ” Vendredi shouted, waving another customer out of her way as she snatched a pear from the basket and drew back to throw. “You forgot your purchase!”

The pear struck the poor man squarely in the back of the head, splattering in his hair as it flew into several pieces, knocking him flat. In no time, though, he was on his feet

and disappeared into the crowd.

Vendredi’s customers cheered, grateful for a little entertainment, and resumed their shopping. For a moment, Vendredi became too busy to talk to Garett. The action had actually helped her business as the curious stopped to watch. Now they pressed closer for a better look at Vendredi herself, and inevitably, they bought.

“If you ever want to work security,” Vendredi told Garett over her shoulder, “I bet I could pay you better than the city.”

Garett didn’t answer. He finished his apple, nibbling it right down to the core while he watched her work. Vendredi was a bright point in his day. Almost every morning she tossed an apple at him, and almost every morning he stopped for a brief chat. She had a small farm and an orchard just outside the city walls and grew the best fruit in the district. It was a rare thing for a single woman to make her own way in the world, Garett knew, and he held a deep respect for her for managing it.

“I’d better be getting on,” he said when the apple was gone.

Vendredi stooped down, pulled out a tin box, and set it on a low stool. She opened it, with a watchful eye over one shoulder. It was half-full of coins of all kinds: copper commons, silver nobles, electrum luckies, even a few gold orbs. Bending a bit lower over the box, she pressed a hand against her bosom and more coins came rushing up from her cleavage and fell tinkling into the box. When the cascade ceased, she straightened and gave herself a shake. Still a few more coppers and a noble appeared on the ground under the hem of her dress. She snatched them up quickly, dropped them in the box, and shut the lid. She pushed the box back under a basket and turned another of her dazzling smiles up at Garett.

“I like the way you do business,” he said, unable to hide his grin.

She gave the neck of her dress a tug and twitched a bit as

she came to his side. “I think I’ve got a lucky stuck down here,” she said with a pout. “Would you like to get lucky?” Garett’s grin widened, but he held up both hands and shook his head.

Vendredi lowered her eyelids playfully. “How about a pair of nice melons to take home?” she offered, running the finger of one hand lightly downward from her throat.

An old ore with bad teeth and gold earrings who had stood by listening, suddenly leaned closer. “I like melons,” he said with a dry rasp characteristic of his race, licking his lips. Without sparing him so much as a glance, Vendredi picked up a lettuce and hit him over the head with it. The creature slunk away.

“Sorry,” Garett said with genuine regret, knowing Vendredi wouldn’t be offended. They played this game with each other quite often. Sometimes she was the aggressor and he the prey. Sometimes it was the other way around. But one of them always politely, but regretfully, begged off, and nothing had ever happened between them. Garett doubted if it ever would. “It’s been a long night,” he added, suddenly weary, “and tonight’s going to be longer.” Vendredi abandoned the game at once. “Is it true?” she whispered, dropping her voice so her customers wouldn’t overhear. “Acton Kathenor was murdered last night?” Garett resisted the urge to laugh and gave a little sigh instead. The mayor and Korbian were fools. Already the story was spreading through the streets. By noon, there would be a dozen versions, each more fantastic than the last.

But Garett was supposed to keep it quiet. “Don’t you worry, my little redhead,” he answered with mocking paternalism. “Our new mayor and our captain-general have everything under control. They told me so personally.” “Thanks a lot,” Vendredi deadpanned. “I feel safer than ever.”

Garett said good-bye once more and started down the Processional. The street was crowded and dusty, and he was bumped and jostled more times than he could count. Each time, he paused and took a mental inventory to make sure he hadn’t been pinched by some pickpocket.

The guards at the Garden Gate saluted smartly as he passed through, but he didn’t stop to talk. His apartment on Moonshadow Lane seemed a long way off, and he only wanted his bed. Already his garments were sweat-drenched. It would be good to get out of his clothes and lave some cool water over his body.

A cart loaded with crates nearly ran him over as he turned up Cargo Street. “Opgn yer damned eyes!” the driver yelled at him, raising a whip as if to strike. Then he recognized Garett. “Oops. Sorry, Cap’n! Good day to ye!” The man cowered back down on his seat and drove on.

Garett shook his head and walked on up the street. Carts and wagons continued to trundle by. Cargo Street was the city’s main route to the docks and the river, and goods came down it bound for their various markets. Still, it was less crowded than the Processional, and he made better time.

Idly he wondered what would happen if he or Vendredi ever stopped playing games, and one of them said “yes,” and meant it. He had to admit she had a knack for making him smile, and he didn’t know of a lovelier lady in all of Greyhawk.

From Cargo Street he turned right up Moonshadow Lane and arrived at Almi’s tavern. The old woman had not risen from bed yet. The tavern required her to keep hours like Garett’s. But she had thoughtfully left a plate of beef strips, a chunk of bread, and a pitcher of watered wine on the table in his apartment.

He stripped off his weapons and his clothing as he ate, then stretched out naked on his bed. He would wash later. Right now, all he wanted to do was sleep.

Garett woke. His room was pitch black and stifling,

and for a frightening instant, he didn’t know quite

where he was. Then he threw back the sheet and swung his legs over the side. He hung his head in his hands and just sat there for a moment, feeling as if he’d been in a good fight and lost. His heart hammered, and he ached in a score of places. Gods, he was drenched with sweat, and so was his bed.

He rose shakily, disoriented, and fumbled toward the table in the center of the room. Overhead he felt for the cresset on its slender chain. It was cold. He groped his way to the window and threw back the shutter. Immediately a soft breeze blew into the apartment and a little light spilled in from the street below.

Beyond the window, night had fallen. Garett listened to a pair of voices, a young couple who made their way up Moonshadow Lane and entered Almi’s tavern. Damn! He’d forgotten to tell Almi to wake him early. That’s why there was no fire in his lamp. She usually lit it before waking him.

He cursed himself as he pulled on the same tunic he’d worn the night before. He didn’t have time to dig around for a clean one. Burge, Blossom, and Rudi would be waiting for him. What time was it, anyway? Almi hadn’t come up yet, so it had to be well before midnight. And if couples still felt safe in the streets of the River Quarter, it couldn’t be that long after dusk.

He pulled on his leather trousers and stamped into his boots. His cloak was around somewhere, and so were his weapons. Damn, he thought. He was usually so orderly about such things! He opened his door, and a thin ribbon of illumination fell across his floor. It wasn’t much light, but enough to help him move about and find the things he had so carelessly discarded. In no time at all, Garett was dressed and armed.

He paused long enough to pour himself a cup of the leftover watered wine, then took a long sip as he glanced out his apartment door. A trio of characters came up the lane, locked arm in arm, laughing and staggering. They had the look of bargemen about them, kind of rough, but good-natured. Garett watched them until they passed out of sight and quiet reigned in the street once more.

He wiped the back of his hand over his forehead where a bead of sweat trickled from his hairline toward his left eye. Was it the heat or was it that damn dream again? He glanced toward his bed. The strewn sheets were clear evidence of his tossing and turning. His body was stiff, as if he’d gotten no real rest at all.

And yet, for the life of him, he couldn’t remember anything about the dream. All that remained was a deep foreboding, a restless sense that something loomed out there in the night, waiting.

He swallowed the last of his wine and set the cup back on the table. Using the key in his purse, he locked his door and descended his stairs into the street.

Almi was in her window as she usually was. After all, she had hired girls to see to her customers. Minding the business of the street was her main occupation. “you’re up early,” she said by way of greeting.

“I’m late,” Garett answered curtly, frowning at himself.

Almi ran a hand through the wild knot of hair that crowned her head. “Well, saves an old lady from climbing those steps,” she said. “Got time for a bite? Take something with you?”

Garett ran a hand over his stomach, but he shook his head.

“Well, you be careful tonight, Garett Starlen,” Almi said strangely. She rolled her eyes up toward the dark roofs on the other side of the street as if searching them, then craned her old neck back farther to see the narrow strip of star-speckled sky. “There’s trouble in the air.”

Garett followed her gaze. “I know,” he answered before he could stop himself. His frown deepened. It was an odd, pointless thing to say.

Almi’s gaze settled on Garett again, and she sighed heavily. “I’d have a tough time getting as much as I get from you if I have to rent that room to someone else.”

Garett spared the old woman a brief smile. “Two bowls of gravy tomorrow night,” he told her, “and half a loaf of bread to go with it. And you can rub my back, too, before I get up.”

“Hard beans and water.” Almi scowled teasingly as she waved him on. “That’s what you deserve!”

There was a bit more spring in his step as he turned east onto Cargo Street, where a string of citizens meandered his way. The raucous sounds from the Strip a few blocks away drifted to him, and the people he passed were obviously headed there. He almost envied them. Burge was right. He was forgetting what pleasure was. When was the last time he’d gone out for a good time?

As he stepped out onto the Processional, he watched a crimson and gilt palanquin with drawn curtains come his way, borne on the shoulders of four stout servants and guarded by four more blue-shirted, cudgel-bearing night watchmen. They turned up Cargo Street, no doubt also bound for the Strip. Some noble out slumming, Garett thought with a disparaging sneer. Blue-shirts or no, that one would be going home without his purse. The thieves would have it, or the gaming houses.

He proceeded north toward the Citadel and through the Garden Gate. The High Market Square, so full of activity during the day, was abandoned now. The gray, hard-packed ground shone silvery in the light of Oerth’s two moons. Garett thought briefly of Vendredi, home now in her bed, or perhaps reading by the light of a fire. A smile flickered over his lips. Perhaps someday he would call on her.

There were fewer people on the streets of the High Quarter. A few lamplights gleamed in the unshuttered windows of the nobles’ estates, and here and there a figure or two shifted on a rooftop veranda. A small carriage, drawn by a single horse, approached and passed him. He listened to the sound of hoofbeats until they faded in the distance. The other parts of Greyhawk sometimes ran like a circus with no closing hour, but the High Quarter was usually quiet.

A couple of off-duty guards leaned against the wall to the jail. They nodded toward Garett as he walked across the High Market Square. He responded with a curt wave and went straight to the entrance to the Citadel. Two of the four sentries there, however, moved suddenly and blocked his way with their lances.