Mirt rapped on the glowing door with his fist, snatched his hand back, and shook his fingers to clear away the tingling pain, 'Strong wards,' he commented, eyeing it and wondering if he'd have to knock again.
A breath or two later, the center of the door began to glow brightly, and then something swam out of that radiance, spun together, thickened like rising smoke, and suddenly coalesced into a floating, glowing eye.
The orb regarded them all, bobbing slightly as it turned, Mirt held up his Harper pendant in front of it. The eye blinked, peered at it for a moment, and then drew back to look around at them all again. Then it abruptly swooped back to the door, vanishing into the radiance once more.
Almost immediately, they heard bars fall and chains rattle, and then the door grated open. A young lady in a dark court dress with full skirts, a low bodice, and high shoulders stood looking at them, A wand was held ready in her hand, and her eyes were dark with fear. 'Who are you, and why have you come here?' she asked.
Mirt was dripping sewage only a pace away from her.
He bent in a low bow and said gravely, 'It grieves us deeply to trouble you at this hour and in this manner, great lady, but we are in desperate straits, and beg immediate audience with thy lady master.'
The apprentice stared at him in disbelief for a moment, and then stifled a sudden giggle. 'Lady!' she called over her shoulder, and a moment later, another face appeared.
It belonged to a tall, very beautiful lady with huge dark green eyes and glossy black hair.
'Ladies,' Mirt said to Shandril and the Harpers, as he went to one knee, 'may I present to you-Myrintara of the Masks.'
Those beautiful eyes looked at the bedraggled old merchant and blinked in sudden recognition. She groaned, Not you again!'
Mirt grinned wolfishly and replied, 'Just get us out of here.'
'To do so speedily will be my distinct pleasure,' Myrintara replied. ushering the filthy foursome up narrow stone steps. Her apprentice, eyes still wide with wonder, stood at the far end of the cellar they emerged into and held a lamp to light their way,
As they ascended from the cellar to the floor above, a richly decorated dwelling opened around them. A floor higher up, Shandril amended that first judgment to 'palatial.' She tried not to look back at the interesting trail they were leaving in their wake, all over the carpets.
You're sure you don't want to bathe?' Myrintara asked as she ushered them up another broad, gilded flight of stairs.
Mirt shook his head. 'Not unless you feel like fighting off all the Zhentarim in the citadel.'
Myrintara leaned her head to one side as if considering his suggestion rather longingly, and then shook her head with regret. 'We'd never get the place cleaned up again before business hours.'
On the upper landing, several men were cleaning and polishing the marble and carved, gilded railings. They broke off their work to stare at the four filthy guests.
Shandril's eyes widened. So far, she'd counted sixteen servants in their brief climb through the house.
'You must be very rich,' she said.
Myrintara laughed, 'My girls often say that, too-usually just before asking for money.'
'She's generally thought to be the most successful pleasure-queen in all the Moonsea North,' Oelaerone told Shandril.
Myrintara looked pleased, 'I'm also a Harper and a sorceress, though I'd prefer if both those things were kept from the ears of the Zhentarim.'
'How do the masks come into it-in your name, I mean?' Shandril asked curiously.
'She's an expert at cloaking magic; such spells used to be called 'masks' in the Old Empires,' Mirt said. Shandril looked at him, 'How is it you know all about her?'
Myrintara laughed again, 'We were lovers, girl, Years ago.' She looked fondly at Mirt, and added, 'Before he got fat.'
Mirt looked injured; Shandril giggled at his expression, Myrintara glanced teasingly at him and sang a snatch of an old song: 'Go upstairs, take off your armor…'
'No time now,' Mirt growled at her, 'But if there were, Myrin, ye'd have to watch sharp-or I'd slide ye down the stair rail again.'
Shandril looked back down the long, gleaming bannister of the stairs in wonder, At her expression, both Mirt and Myrintara exploded in laughter.
They were still laughing when Myrinlara ushered them through an arched doorway into a small room that was bare except for what looked like a massive stone coffin filled with water, Then she turned, face suddenly serious, and asked, 'My dear, will you submit to one of my masking spells?'
'Will it make me subject to someone else's will?' Shandril asked quietly.
'No,' Myrintara assured her, and Shandril nodded, 'Step into the tub,' Myrintara directed, 'and lie down.' Belarla and Oelaerone looked down at their soiled clothes and peered longingly at the water but said nothing.
Shandril looked up at Myrintara. 'Like this?' Myrintara nodded, 'I'll cast the spell on the water and then push you under the surface. Hold your breath and don't be alarmed; Ill let you rise very soon.'
A few breaths later, it was done, and a dripping Shandril rose from the tub, Its once-clear water was now a muddv brown; Myrintara looked at it and sighed as she helped Shandril out. 'Immersing you ensures you're completely covered,' she said, 'cloaked from all detecting magics. When you use spellfire again, my mask will be destroyed, but until then-no magic can find you, or see you if it is bent on someone or something known to be with you.'
She led them down a passage and through an ornate archway into a chamber that took Shandril's breath away, Under her dripping feet were white fur rugs-whole pelts of northern snow bears. Each one stretched a good six paces in length; they formed a path toward a shallow stairway. The steps led to a raised area where a circular bed floated in midair. Polished, curved mirrors floated around it and spells made stars seem to glimmer in a night sky, Belarla whistled, looking up, 'That's nice.'
Myrintara smiled, 'The moon rises to match the real Selune in the sky outside-Tears and all.'
Oelaerone made an acquisitive, purring sound in her throat, and turned on her heel to survey the rest of the room-a gleaming, luxurious array of smooth-finished chairs, dangling chains, restraining rings, and statues that were astonishingly lifelike, exquisitely beautiful, and breathtakingly explicit. Mirt was looking around with a sly smile and a raised eyebrow.
'See something you like, Old Wolf?' Myrintara asked him challengingly, an eyebrow raised.
'I should have stayed,' Mirt said regretfully.
Myrintara laughed again and left them to a screen at the back of her huge boudoir. Behind it, another archway led into her wardrobe, Shandril had never seen so many clothes in one place before-racks and racks of them, some hanging on wooden forms that dangled from the ceiling on chains. She stared around as Myrintara took them briskly through the corridor of clothes into dimness at the back of the room. There, for the first time, they found a few discarded chairs, with folded draperies piled atop them. Beyond was a small, plain door, Myrintara swung it open; it led into a small, dusty, empty closet.
'My quick way out,' she said with a smile. 'Touch the back wall and you'll be taken to my favorite inn, where I go to rest from time to time, I fear the trip, for you, works only in one direction.'
'We can force ourselves to be content with that,' Mirt assured her sagely, 'I'd kiss ye farewell, Myrin, but ye might catch something,' He waved at her, and stepped into the closet, The others followed.
The world seemed to blink for a moment, then Shandril found herself standing on a grassy bank with trees all around her. The sun was high and warm; it was just before highsun.
'Where are we?' Belarla asked before Shandril could, Mirt waved an expansive hand. 'Step around those trees, ladies, and cross the road.'
They all went together, Shandril found herself looking at the village of Eveningstar, at the spot where the overland roads met, by the bridge over the River Starwater. Across the way rose the friendly, ramshackle bulk of The Lonesome Tankard, its signboard creaking slightly in the breeze.
'Ah, the Tankard,' Belarla said with pleasure, 'Well, Myrintara certainly knows the good places to stay.'
'A hot bath,' was all Oelaerone said, fishing around for her purse in the bodice of her soaked, stained, ruined gown.
Mirt chuckled. 'We've business with Tessaril, ladies,' he said. 'My thanks-perhaps well talk, this even or on the morrow.'
