Blushing Mermaid

Infamous up and down the Sword Coast, the Blushing Mermaid is known as the best tavern and inn in Baldur's Gate for those looking to get their teeth kicked in, or to kick in someone else's. Always one spilled drink away from a brawl, the bar is the sort of place most don't visit unless they're well-armed or with a lot of friends—preferably both. The place takes its name from the life-sized wooden mermaid hanging above the incongruous reception desk, a dozen blackened and withered hands nailed to its body—souvenirs left by those who refused to pay their bill.
Beyond the combination lobby and common room, the Blushing Mermaid is a confusing maze of wings and oddly interconnected floors, hiding dozens of small and shabby rooms and at least four levels of cellars. Few people bother to sleep at the Mermaid, due in part to its operators' loud pronouncement that they aren't responsible for any losses, including those of life and limb. Instead, its plethora of back rooms and antechambers act as de facto offices for the menagerie of shady characters who spend their days drinking here. Ostensibly retired sailors, the bar's regulars are in fact contacts for a variety of unsavory organizations, from smugglers and bandits to fences, drug dealers, and panderers. Some work for The Guild, others for operations all along the Sword Coast. Those looking to do business with the Gate's underworld find that a handful of silver in the Mermaid can open doors, but the wrong word can find you dumped unconscious in the alley out back. While the Mermaid's criminal aspects are an open secret, the place is well connected enough that The Flaming Fist traditionally leaves it alone.
The Blushing Mermaid is a noisy establishment whose clientele is known to break into brawls over a spilled mug, a funny look, or an ugly face. It’s infamous throughout the Sword Coast as a place to do illicit business. Baldurians often warn travelers against visiting the Blushing Mermaid unless they’re well armed, know how to use their weapons, and bring plenty of like-minded, trusted friends.
The Blushing Mermaid consists of a confusing maze of wings and oddly interconnected floors. It has at least four levels of cellars. Its rooms are low ceilinged, dingy, and furnished with mismatched, secondhand items. Its windows have iron bars on the outside and heavy wooden shutters with wooden bars on the inside. Patrons are told, “The boards are there to use. Management is not responsible for losses of any kind, including life and limb.” Not many people actually sleep in the Blushing Mermaid, since raucous bar fights are liable to erupt at any hour.
The lobby is the only high-ceilinged room in the place. A life-sized, crudely carved, wooden mermaid hangs above the reception desk. A score or more shriveled, blackened hands are nailed to the mermaid’s body. According to the staff, “Folk who forgot their coin purses donated ‘em.”
Most of the Mermaid’s patrons are old, scarred sea dogs who whittle away the day and night nursing drinks and swapping tales. Each one is a contact for this or that cabal, thieving brotherhood, smuggler, bandit group, fence, panderer, or some other shady dealer. Some work for the Guild. Negotiations with such contacts begin with a palmful of silver to loosen one’s memory. If such a contact pushes a tankard toward a visitor during an interview, the sea dog is looking for a refill, but not of ale.
The fare prepared at the Mermaid is simple and filling. It’s all decent except for a vile stew based on pickled fish. Many sailors order crusty nutbread rolls with thick gravy ladled over them or handwheels of cheese. The Mermaid also serves raw fish on wooden platters, a tradition its chef (born in Kara-Tur) brought to the tavern. Its house beer is a thick sea ale that’s more bitter than most tongues find enjoyable. The establishment also serves stout, a Mintarn lager, and whiskey strong enough to strip paint from wood.

Tourism

The Prospect

The visitor will find in the Mermaid an astonishing collection of smoothtongued, scarred old sea dogs nursing drinks at all hours. Each one is a contact person for this or that cabal, thieving brotherhood, smuggler, mercenary band, fence, panderer, or other shady professional interest. Negotiations with such contacts usually consist of a nasty grin and a case of temporary deafness until at least a silver piece is given them where upon they recall their voice, hearing, and manners, and inquire as to your own fortune. If pleasantries proceed as far as your requesting a need or desire for something or someone, the sea dog will examine the ceiling, tell it how much such information is likely to cost (1 to 5 gp, usually 2 gp), and slide over his empty tankard for payment. Once he's satisfied the coins you've dropped into it are of good quality, he'll tell you what you want to know and arrange a meeting, or send you to a contact who can. I report all this secondhand, of course!
A stay at the Mermaid is apt to be quite safe, so long as one avoids battle and does nothing overly insulting or stupid. (Some sharp-tongued killers like to taunt and goad other guests to see if they can get a fight out of them.) The proprietors, who are unknown and never seen, have instructed their staff to make the House a relatively safe, neutral ground for all patrons, whatever their race, past, or profession. It's better for business that way.

The Provender

Meals at the Mermaid are of two sorts: elaborate food, brought in to order from nearby eateries, and food prepared on the premises. The brought-in food is usually good and of generous portions, but not overly warm by the time it reaches you. The fare prepared at the Mermaid is of the simple but good and filling variety, except for a truly vile salted smallfish stew. This stew consists of various rotting baitfish boiled with sea salt and seaweed, and even smells disgusting. Many sailors order only bread spread with drippings (crusty nutbread rolls with thick organ meat gravy ladled over them) or handwheels of cheese, but the Mermaid's kitchen also produces a splendid pork, thyme, and mushroom platter.
The most commonly ordered meal is ale, bread, and fish. Some patrons also like small squid pickled in vinegar, which I find revolting from three rooms away!
Sailors have prodigious appetites. It's not uncommon to look across the dining room at the Mermaid and not see several diners. They're entirely hidden by the roasts set in front of them!
Whole roast pigs are another favorite dish. It seems most seafolk are sick of marine edibles by the time they reach land, but land-treading travelers and sailors long ashore often order literal heaps of oysters, clams, or mussels and attack them with a knife. Hairy-chested men (those foolish enough to risk diseases and parasites) often eat the shellfish raw and a crazed few like to shell them alive from a saltwater basin and devour them still squirming!
Beer at the Mermaid is sea ale (thicker and more bitter than most tongues find enjoyable), stout, and a light, golden-hued lager from Mintarn. No wines are available, but one can get whisky strong and smoky enough to strip paint or tar from wood. It brings tears to the eyes of most who drink it, and probably worse things to their insides!

The Prices

Rooms are 2 gp per night, stabling included. Food for mounts is an extra 3 cp each. No tenday room rate or bathing facilities are available.
All food and drink is extra. A platter of fish, bread, and drippings is 2 cp, and meat dishes are all 3 cp per platter. Heaps of shellfish are 1 gp per serving, and whole roasts are 3 gp each. Ale is 3 cp per tankard, and whisky is 1 sp per tallglass (with no larger measure prices).

Travelers' Lore

Predictably, fourscore tales of treachery, hidden treasure, secret passages, and trapped chests swirl around the Mermaid. It's impossible to tell how many are pure fabrication or have grown wildly in the telling. Stolen or illegal items are definitely hidden quickly and well here for a fee.
Elminster says people willingly or unwillingly can also be hidden, Hidden rooms cost twice what regular rooms do, are windowless and buried deep to keep sounds to a minimum and discourage escape attempts, and come with manacles (if ordered). Gags, hoods (solid-face metal helms), and double forearm-and-finger clamps can be ordered if one wishes to confine a wizard. Elminster doesn't recommend the practice.

Type

Inn

Parent Location

Heapside