A turban covered his head and a fiercely forked beard thrust out from the bottom of his chin. He was a fat man dressed in silks, and Jherek smelled the perfumes and spices he wore on his body.

"No," he said softly. "I thank you for the offer."

Finished with Hagagne's ministrations and wanting to get away from Yeill's hostile gaze, not really understanding how she could be angry with him, Jherek picked up his cutlass and the hook. Both weapons badly needed cleaning.

Yeill and her father talked behind him, a frenzy of conversation that he chose to ignore. Four men had died in the sahuagin attack. The ship's crew had packed their bodies in the hold, to take back to their families in Velen. Wet sand covered the scorched places in the deck where the fire projector and the mage's spell had started brief fires. Finaren already had his ship's mage out assessing the damage, which appeared minimal to Jherek.

Hagagne followed Jherek. "You're a hero, lad, you should take something."

Jherek made his voice hard. "No."

"They'll view it as disrespectful."

Turning to the man, the young sailor said, "I can't take anything from them. Don't you understand?"

Hagagne looked back into Jherek's eyes, then gave a heartfelt sigh. "Aye, lad, I guess that maybe I'm not so old that I've forgotten how harsh that first bloom of youth can be. I've an alternative, though, if you're willing to hear it."

Jherek listened.

"Take something for the crew," Hagagne urged. "Saving Ulnay and Morrin used up the last of the healing potions the cap'n had on hand. He wouldn't admit it and doesn't know that I know that, but I do. Them Amnians, they took on a shipment of healing potions in Baldur's Gate. They can spare some to replace what we used defending them."

The option made sense, but Jherek still didn't like it. He wanted nothing more to do with the Amnians. He took a deep breath to collect himself, then turned back to Merchant Lelayn and Yeill and said, "There is something."

"Name it," the Amnian merchant stated.

Jherek noticed the reluctance in the man's demeanor, though. Merchant Lelayn didn't mind offering to give, but the giving left him cold. "Healing potion, sir."

"A smart lad could do all right by himself reselling it." The Amman merchant nodded in grudging approval and said, "How much do you want for saving my favorite daughter's life?"

"Whatever you think you can spare, sir," Jherek replied. "I won't haggle with you."

The answer seemed to surprise the merchant. He snapped his fingers and one of his men came forward. "Take ten healing potions from our stores and see that the boy gets them."

Jherek bowed his head in thanks. At the price the potions could command, Merchant Lelayn was being quite generous.

Captain Finaren joined them, his blouse stained with burn holes from the fire that had splattered from the lantern he'd smashed. Soot and blood stained his beard and face.

Merchant Lelayn turned to the captain. "Do you know how the sahuagin came to attack this vessel out of those upon the sea today?"

Finaren's eyes narrowed. "Anybody who travels the Sword Coast knows that the sahuagin are a danger. A man making his living at sea, he's taking risks. I've never encountered them before today, and maybe I was well overdue."

"You profess it to be merely bad luck, Captain?" Lelayn challenged.

Jherek chose to walk away, not believing the Amnian merchant could waver between being so generous, then turning so petty. His wounds stung. In truth, some of them hurt badly and a couple needed stitches that Finaren had put in himself. Once he got back to Velen, he knew Madame litaar would finish healing him properly.

He stood by the mast, watching Yeill. Even in her wet clothes, the merchant's daughter was beautiful. His wounds and the fatigue that always settled in after a battle dulled his senses. He was grabbed roughly from behind before he knew it, and someone slid a knife up under his chin.

"Don't you try anything," a gruff voice commanded. "Or I'll slit you from wind to water."

Jherek froze, the knife biting lightly into his flesh. He smelled the spice and perfume that covered the man holding him, knowing at once that he was one of the Amnian party. His guess that the man was one of the sell-swords employed by the Amnians was proven correct when he saw the man's bracer with the house crest on it.

Finaren turned toward them, his bearded face brimming with anger. "What in the nine hells do you think you're doing?" His voice cracked with authority, and every sailor within hearing distance turned at once, their hands upon their swords and daggers.

"Our being attacked was no mere bad luck," the Amnian sellsword stated angrily. "We were set up, Merchant Lelayn, and here's the evidence of it."

Jherek realized for the first time that he'd been walking around without his shirt. That fact was brought home to him even more when another Amnian sellsword grabbed his left arm and twisted it viciously. The sellsword held a torch close to reveal the colorful tattoo inside Jherek's left bicep.

The tattoo featured a flaming skull wearing a mask of chains leaving only the eyes and fanged mouth unbound. It didn't look like anything human. It wasn't supposed to. It was part of the legacy left him by his father.

"Do you recognize this mark, Merchant Lelayn?" the sellsword asked.

"Falkane's claiming mark," the merchant spat. "There's a price on the head of any pirate from Falkane's ship." He turned back to Finaren. "Maybe you'd like to explain how you came to get one of the bloodiest pirates of the Sea of Swords aboard your ship… as part of your crew."

Jherek's breath tightened in his throat. He glanced around at Butterfly's crew, seeing the surprised looks on their faces. None of them had known. It had been his secret, his and Finaren's. Now the secret was out and very likely to get him killed. His bad luck still claimed him, leaving him no one to turn to. The knife at his throat didn't waver.

Laaqueel glided through the dark waters outside Waterdeep Harbor, staying in the shadow of the pentekonter on the surface above her and mentally preparing herself for the coming battle. She swam just under the ship, between the oars that swept the water on either side of it. Her pale skin made her stand out in the darkness, not blending in like her fellow sahuagin did or even a sea elf would. Below her, the ocean floor looked dark and was kept clean of debris. She knew the mermen who lived in the waters around Waterdeep helped keep the area orderly. They were also one of the major threats to the subterfuge they were attempting.

The unaccustomed cold of the northern waters chilled her. This early in the year, chunks of ice still floated whole through the Sea of Swords, frozen islands reminding her of how far from home she'd swam.

The cold numbed her body, but her mind ran unfettered by discomfort. Her thoughts were filled with grim doubts and she murmured a constant prayer to Sekolah that they might be granted success.

The pentekonter was sixty feet long and stood tall in the water. It had a rounded prow that made it look sluggish, but whether pushed by wind or pulled by oars, it moved quickly for a surface dweller's craft. Two banks of oars, one of them below the raised deck, allowed even greater speed when necessary. Hollow outriggers helped the ship maintain stability, and promoted the use of the second bank of oars.

Big as it was, the ship provided plenty of cover for the malenti and the dozen or so sahuagin that had needed to immerse themselves in the life-giving sea again for a short time during their voyage. Less than two hundred yards away, her sensitive vision picked up the underwater torches marking the boundaries of Deepwater Isle. Along with the warships that patrolled the nearby waters, it was Waterdeep's first line of defense.