latter than the former-like some vast dungeon. Fascinating, but she dare not spend the time to look at it properly. Maps were valuable, dangerous things. She'd seen sailors and treasure-seekers alike kill each other over the possession of an ink-scrawled canvas scrap. If she were caught here studying a map, no explanation would suffice.
She strolled past the desk to the window overlooking the grand hall. 'Well,' she announced idly, 'this is quite a view. Not that it makes those tail feathers on Lady Eirontalar's hat any more attractive, seen from above.'
She turned back to face the desk. Yes! There was the ship medallion. A quick glance assured her she was alone.
Lark went to her knees in a flash, touched the sail of the ship, felt the medallion drop open like a flap, and ran her hand up under her gown and snatched out the report. Slipping it behind the medallion, she closed the little panel again and straightened up To stare straight into the coldly amused eyes of a slender moon elf in a dark, jeweled doublet and hose, who was leaning against the doorframe with one hand resting comfortably on the hilt of a long, slender sword. His other hand toyed with a drawn dagger whose blade was little more than a needle.
A needle as long and glittering as Lark's forearm.
'Lady Eirontalar's headwear is indeed quite gaudy,' Elaith Craulnober said in singularly rich, musical tones, 'but her presumption is more than matched by other ladies here in my house this night. Wouldn't you agree?'
The Slow Cheese was neither the grandest festhall in Waterdeep nor the largest, and even a blind and none too choosy man would not have deemed its dancers as anywhere near the best, but it was all the rage at the moment for the very novelty of its newness and for its hanging balconies.
The Gemcloaks were crowded into one of them now, overlooking the oval stage where dancers were disrobing in a succession of little mime-plays of true love, roguery, and elopement, to the accompaniment of some pleasant but rather wandering airs performed on lute, harp, and string-of-bells.
Not that anyone could hear much of it through the lusty roars of inebriated patrons shouting bawdy suggestions down at the stage, the rumble of converse, and the groaning of overloaded balconies. The Cheese was packed this night.
Malark helped himself to another generous slice of peppered Tharsultan cheese from the little 'castle' of cheeses on the table in their midst. Exotic cheeses were the house gimmick, all of them strongly seasoned enough to make even iron-throated patrons order more drink.
'Thirsty?' Beldar inquired mockingly, watching Malark's eyes fasten in amazement on a particular display of bulbous flesh below.
Their own prized perch was one of dozens of small, elaborately filigreed and obscenely carved balconies that jutted so far out over the stage that they were barely a man's height above the heads of the dancers. All around the Gemcloaks, it was raining, a constant flashing fall of coins being dropped from balconies, aimed with greater or lesser degrees of lubricated skill to plunge down bosoms below. Wise dancers at the Cheese kept their mouths shut when on stage; one could choke on a freshly minted silver shard.
Malark delightedly watched some of those coins find their plunging destinations and others just miss and bounce, ricocheting most amusingly. One of them stuck, just for a moment, half-up a dancer's nose-and the roar of laughter that swept through the Cheese was deafening.
The balconies shook and quivered under the Gemcloaks-and under everyone else, by the feel of it, as drunken patrons started to clap rhythmically. The dancers obliged by hiking what little skirts they wore to kick in time, and the very stage swayed.
'Magic?' Beldar muttered. ''Tis like being on a ship fighting high seas in the harbor!'
'Hoy!' Taeros exclaimed suddenly, slapping his friend's arm. 'Look! Isn't that Jessra Belabranta?'
He was pointing at the next balcony, barely the stretch of two long arms away. His gesture was noticed by its occupants, who waved and grinned back.
Beldar and Malark looked, and momentarily forgot the balcony-shaking dancers below.
Jessra Belabranta was widely held to be the silliest and most slow-witted of the Belabranta sisters-as well as the fattest. Her natural endowments were ample in all directions, and she was proudly displaying a pair of them to everyone in the festhall at the moment.
Jessra had evidently just acquired a mer-scale bustier-a garment simply dripping with thumb-sized, teardrop- shaped deep sea pearls of the sort reputed to be the exclusive 'catch' of certain pirates of the Nelanther. She obviously wanted all Waterdeep to see those pearls, and the designer of her new garment understood that teardrop sea pearls are best displayed dangling from something and so designed the bustier to reveal to all the watching world the magnificent frontage of the wearer.
Jessra's frontage was… expansive, and the gems she'd glued all over them in a random array did nothing to detract from this.
She was also obviously of the school of taste that believes too much is better and had just tossed a pinch of glow-dust over her bosom. The effect was very much as if a lantern had been lit atop two… two…
Taeros whirled around to face Beldar, swept a flurry of cheeses off the little table, and with a finger wrote in the revealed dust beneath: Two blind whales trying to out-leap each other!
Beldar stared down at the symbols-a code they'd not used since they were young boys together, bored beyond yawns at the same revels. Then it all came back to him. He looked up again at Jessra Belabranta and whooped with helpless laughter.
Taeros promptly joined in, almost choking with mirth, as Malark sat there grinning at them and rolling his eyes.
Jessra cast them a slightly annoyed look through the trembling din of the sort that asks, 'And just what do you find so amusing?'
That, of course, only made Beldar laugh all the harder, slapping the table hard.
As if that had been the proverbial last stroke of a woodsman's axe, the table fell through the balcony floor. The slowly building groan of wood that followed was almost deafening, and a startled Taeros stood and spun around in time to see…
All the balconies swaying, sliding, their support-pillars leaning…
Boards popped free, folk screamed, and patrons toppled helplessly over the low balcony rails.
Then everything was falling, with an enthusiastic roar.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Elaith Craulnober lounged against the doorpost, watching the fear that had leaped into the young woman's eyes. Apparently she wasn't a complete fool. He had yet to ascertain, however, exactly what she was.
He watched as she gathered herself with admirable speed. Her panic faded, and her softly curving smile of invitation was more subtle than most he'd received this night from fine Waterdhavian ladies. The dock whores of Luskan evidently bred a finer class of trollop.
'In truth, Lord Craulnober,' she breathed, 'I was hoping you'd follow me here.'
The elf smiled. 'You're pretty enough, by human standards, to add temptation to that offer,' he said dryly, 'but I can hardly leave my guests long enough to make a tryst worth my while or yours.'
She cocked her head to one side. 'Strange words from one who's not yet appeared among his guests.'
'Oh? Who can say with assurance that I have not?'
The girl calmly made no answer. Some of Elaith's guests had responded to similar suggestions with barely disguised panic. Their eyes had grown wide and wild as they took hasty inventory of what they'd said, and to whom, and in whose hearing. This girl knew she'd committed no indiscretion. She'd said or done nothing, save intruding here, to offend her notorious host. That alone made her a rarity among his guests.
He regarded the girl with something approaching interest. 'You must have been wandering about alone for quite some time to not have heard the whispers in the great hall.'
'You'll have to be more specific, my lord,' she replied. 'Waterdeep knows no shortage of rumors.'
