Crimson Shadow, The - R. A. Salvatore Page 0,165

business.

Seventy ships from Avon lay anchored out in the harbor, great warships, many with catapults or ballistae set on the poop deck. In studying those magnificent vessels that day, Oliver and Katerin had agreed that it was a good thing Brind’Amour had intervened in Port Charley. Had they followed their original plan and tried to keep the cyclopians out in the water, this picturesque and enchanting town would have been reduced to piles of rubble.

Katerin, Brind’Amour, and Gretel joined Oliver at the dock a short while later. Immediately, the young woman scowled at Oliver, and the halfling pretended that he did not understand.

Katerin grabbed the plumed hat off his head and ruffled his purple cape. “Could you not have dressed better for the occasion?” she grumbled.

Oliver pulled the hat back from her and put his free hand over his heart, as though she had just mortally wounded him. “But I am!” he wailed. “Do you not understand the value of impressing your enemy?”

“If we are successful this night,” Brind’Amour put in, “then our enemy will never see us.”

“Ah, but they will,” Oliver assured him. “I will wake at least one and let him see his doom before my rapier blade pierces his throat.”

Katerin smiled. She loved the halfling’s accent, the way he made rapier sound like “rah-pee-yer.” She wasn’t really angry with Oliver’s dress; she was just teasing him a bit to get the edges off her own nerves. Katerin was a straightforward fighter, an arena champion, and this stealthy assassination technique was not much to her liking.

There was no other choice, though, and she understood that. Seventy ships, nearly a thousand cyclopian crewmen. There could be no mistakes; not a ship could escape to sail south and warn Greensparrow.

Port Charley was bustling that night. Many of the cyclopian sailors were ashore, even most of those who were supposed to be on watch out at the boats, lured in by the promise of fine food and drink, and other, more base, pleasures. The town’s three taverns were bursting with excitement, and so were the more than a dozen private homes that had been opened up to accommodate the crews.

The killing would begin at midnight, when most of the one-eyes were too drunk to realize what was happening. By that time, a hundred small boats would be well on their way through the fog, out to the anchored ships.

“The signal!” Gretel motioned toward a flickering light to the north. She held up her own lantern to the south, unhooded it for just a moment, then again, and the message was relayed all down the line.

Brind’Amour, Oliver, and Katerin stepped into their small boat along with two of Port Charley’s folk, a husband and wife.

“In Gascony we have such bugs as we are this night,” Oliver said to them, quieting his tone as both Brind’Amour and Katerin shhh’d him. “They come from Espan, mostly, and so does their name,” the halfling continued in a whisper. “Mosquitoes. Clever bugs. You hear them in your ear and swat at them, but they are not there. They are somewhere else on your body, taking drops of your blood.

“We are mosquitoes,” the halfling decided. “Mosquitoes on Greensparrow.”

“Then let us hope that enough mosquitoes can suck a body dry,” Brind’Amour remarked, and they all went silent, drifting out from the docks, the oars barely touching the water, for stealth and not speed was the order of business this night.

Oliver was first up the anchor rope of the first ship they came upon, the halfling swiftly climbing hand over hand to the rail. He paused there, and then, to everyone’s disbelief, he began talking.

“Greetings, my one-eyed, bow-legged, wave-riding, so ugly friend,” he said, and reached under his cloak and produced a flask. “You are missing all the fun, but fear not, I, Oliver deBurrows, have brought the fun to you!”

Most alarmed were the villagers in the rowboat, but Katerin, who was beginning to figure this strange halfling out (and was beginning to understand why Luthien liked Oliver so much), stood up and steadied herself in the boat, taking the longbow from her shoulder.

They couldn’t see what was transpiring beyond the rail, just Oliver’s back, his purple cape fluttering in the breeze. “I have brought you a woman, as well,” the halfling said. “But that will cost you a few of your so fine Avon gold pieces.”

Predictably, the eager cyclopian leaned over the rail to get a look at the goods, and Katerin wasted no time in putting her