The touch of a hand-a feminine hand-drew the Open Lord from his crouch and set him into motion among the others.
Despite his dizziness, Piergeiron's feet fell into the duple rhythm of the pavane. He held the hand of the woman, an eel-headed thing, and swayed toward her and away from her,
'So, handsome,' the eel said through her gill slits, 'when's a charming rat like you going to get married?'
'Very soon, now,' be replied, stepping sideways.
He let go of her hand and clasped that of another. This woman was a tall leopard. She moved expertly in the dance.
'Is it you, Eidola?' Piergeiron asked.
'Perhaps, Open Lord,' the leopard replied enigmatically. 'Perhaps.'
He pulled away from her, too. His feet moved faultlessly in the two-step pattern as he circled the room. Sleepwalking. That was what this was. While part of his mind wandered freely, another part, accompanied by his feet, staggered and stumbled, carrying him deeper into nightmare.
Somehow it made sense. The guests were beasts. These monstrous semblances were the faces of their inner selves. Friend and foe alike, they were monsters.
Foes. What foolishness? Shapechanging malaugrym, back-stabbing nobles, plotting guildmasters. As he glided past ogre, beaver, and brownie, Piergeiron wondered if he had a single friend in all the room.
Eidola. She was here somewhere… He would find her.
A pig-headed woman took his hand. No, she was too short and unsure to be Eidola. Next came a puffy fat matron with the head of a hornet. A skeleton, an orc, a fly; a will-o'-the-wisp, a squid, a rooster, a dog, halfling, monkey, tick… Beneath those grey robes moved a multitude of female arms-these too fleshy, these too lean, these too weak. too hairy, too mottled…
Beneath the gold-gilded chandeliers, the details of the masks drifted down robes and arms and legs. Fur, warts, whiskers, rashes, scars, stains, tumours. Every detail of the beasts came alive. They were real. Grotesque creatures glided beside each other in a bizarre menagerie. Alien, hypnotic, menacing, graceful…
A tall, yak-headed woman took his hand. Her doelike brown eyes blinked realistically behind a thin mask of black felt Her stubbled lips glistened with costume droolThe woman's movements were so lithe within the costume that Piergeiron felt suddenly sure it was Eidola. A deep-throated purr came from the mask. 'I wish I had known sooner how exquisitely you dance, Lord. You'd not have had a free night in the past year.'
Ah, this was his lady love at last. 'How about a kiss for the groom?' Piergeiron asked, regaining some of his old spirit.
The yak-woman's eyes opened wide at the invitation and she ducked her head down. A long yak tongue emerged from between the creature's stumpy yellow teeth and licked wetly across the rat's face.
Piergeiron recoiled. The woman's head was no mask.1 She was a Zakharan yak-woman, wearing only a small black mask as her costume. She was a real beast,
The Open Lord staggered away from her, gracelessly breaking contact. He glanced dizzily around; nearly half, the creatures in this horrific zoo wore small eye masks. Perhaps they, too, were real. Perhaps every last fang, whisker, and horn in the place belonged to real gnolls and wyverns, drakes and sphinxes. Perhaps the staggering, stumbling Open Lord had stepped through the wrong doorway, and this was an infernal and endless dancer through the Abyss.
He drifted as if drunk. The dance churned around him. The deadly whirlpool of monsters flung him one way, then another, shouldering him up and dragging him down,…
And then, Eidolas hand found his.
'It's you,' said the rat-headed paladin.
'At last.' came the sharp reply from the lizard-headed woman. 'What's wrong with you? Are you drunk?'
Piergeiron shook his head, and his whiskers rattled against boar's teeth. 'I'm just flustered. That business with the maidservant and all, and now this dance…'
'Shake it off.' Eidola responded. 'The maidservant situation was a huge bungle, and it's over. We've got to move ahead. We've got to be ready for midnight.'
'Yes,' Piergeiron said, still stumbling. 'I'll try, but even being near you flusters me.'
'Let's get out of this,' she suggested. She led him in the dance toward one corner. 'The others are waiting.'
Piergeiron laughed once, vaguely, searching for some meaning in her words. His misgivings deepened.
Eidola's strong hand pulled him past a gaggle of geese and a line of appraising canines, through a pillared arch, and to a dark cluster of masked creatures.
A sheep turned toward them as they joined the group. 'It's about time you two arrived. You'd think you wanted to dance the night away and leave the real danger to the rest of us.'
'Shut up. We're here. What news?' snapped the lizardheaded Eidola.
'Nothing new,' said the sheep. “The imposter disappeared before the bodyguards could do anything about it. Piergeiron's acting as if nothing's happened, and the ceremony proceeds apace.'
'Good.' said the lizard. Only then did Piergeiron notice the odd, Calishite burr in her voice.
This was not his bride. This was the leader of a group of conspirators.
Still holding Piergeiron's hand, the woman pushed past the sheep. In one insistent motion, she drew Piergeiron after her and shaped the other six into a circle. She directed the Open Lord into the centre of the ring and said, 'Listen, now.' To the rat, she commanded harshly, 'Report'
The others leaned toward the sewer rat and turned ears of wire mesh and papier-mache his way. He muttered, 'Well, there isn't much.'
'If there isn't much, tell it fast,' the woman snapped. 'You're wasting time.' He coughed. Masquerading as a noisome rat was difficult enough for the paladin. Doing so when he knew the present company thought him to be someone else was nearly intolerable. But doing all these things and lying atop it all would be too much.
Still, this was a conspiracy. Perhaps he could learn what they were up to by playing along. He would not lie. He would only stall,…
'Everything's in place,' he said evasively. The woman's scowl was apparent in her voice. 'It's been in place for a tenday, now. Surely you have more than that'
Piergeiron ventured, 'The Open Lord suspects something'
'Damn,' said the sheep. 'I knew it.'
'How much does he suspect,' the lizard pressed.
'He knows there is a conspiracy.'
'Damn, damn,' the sheep said. 'The whole thing '
'Shut up,' the woman advised. 'Not the whole thing. Not even the beginning. Of course he knows that much, After the whole fiasco with the maidservant, even the Thickskull could figure out that Eidola was in danger. But what does he know about us, about our plot? What specifics?'
'What specifics?' asked Piergeiron hopefully.
'Who is conspiring. Does he know who, and what the plan is?'
'Who?' Piergeiron replied, knowing he was against the wall
'Us, you idiot,' snapped the sheep.
'Well, he suspects you, for one,' Piergeiron responded to the sheep. 'He is planning to tell the guards to keep an eye on you.'
'Damn, damn, damn!' growled the sheep.
'That's it, then,' the woman said. 'Terr, you're compromised, Check your head at the door and get out of Waterdeep before dawn.'
'There's more,' Piergeiron ventured, trying to keep the group together. He hoped to steer the conspirators toward a smaller, less-public place, where he could corner them and force them to remove their masks. 'But not here. There are too many listening ears…'
'Like these?' the sheep asked, dragging a smallish tiger into the circle. 'I thought he'd been listening.' He yanked off the head mask to reveal Noph of the family Nesher. The thin nobleman struggled uselessly in the rogue's implacable grip. 'Ah, a rich-boy fink. I'll take him with me, slip a knife between his ribs, and dump him in the
