She did not think of Namra's cold and distant hus shy;band, whose face flickered with disgust at the very sight of her, or of the sadistic drow-whose name she didn't even know-now impersonating him. As for dreams of the future, Anlaervrith had none beyond endless indulgences. This drow, at least, was no threat to the kingdoms of the Sunlit World, so long as she always had a full belly and new gemstones poured into her lap often enough. She neither wondered nor cared about what plots might be driving those who offered her this chance to play at being human. In short, she was very far from the vicious, restlessly cruel schemers Qilue had met in her dealings with drow merchants, slavers, and mercenaries.
Well, so be it. 'Twould almost have been beyond belief to find a secret leader of this invasion inside the head of the very first drow she impersonated. While Qilue searched for someone who'd know more, she'd be Namra Dunseltree, or more accurately, play at being Anlaervrith playing the role of Namra. The real Namra had doubtless gone to slavery-or even some orc's cookfire-months ago. If Anlaervrith's obviously spotty memories were anything to go by, the servants hasten shy;ing-reluctantly, but not daring to dawdle-to answer her summons would be arriving just about-
Qilue turned and drew herself up, pointing her walk shy;ing stick imperiously down at the mess of shattered glasses and decanters, the spilled wine, and the tray, and snapped, "Well? Must I wait all morning for some shy;thing to drink? ”
The foremost of the two servants stared down at the chaos of the fallen tray in astonishment, and something very like delighted glee flashed across his face for just an instant before he swallowed, gulped, and said, "What beverage would be my lady's most immediate pleasure?" Qilue waved a careless hand. "An array of wines, very like these. I'm quite unsettled. Do you know that the little bitch-Isryl, man, don't gawk at me as if you can't think who I'm speaking of! — threw them at me, and fled?"
The servant in the rear made a queer strangled sound that might almost have been a swallowed chuckle, then stiffened to attention as his lady master Namra leveled her stick at him and added, "You shall go and hunt her down. She is to be whipped until bone is laid bare, somewhere on her, then brought to me spread and bound to a tapestry frame, for my. . private deal shy;ings with her. If you find her not, you shall serve in her place!"
The servant gulped, paled, and sprang away in fran shy;tic haste. "Lady-'tshall be so!" his call rang back to her, as he pounded away down a passage.
Qilue smiled grimly and said to the first servant, "Send others to clean this up, and to bring me three sharp kitchen knives and a bottle of cheap perfume. They are to be set on yonder table, for my later discus shy;sions with disobedient Isryl." Her smile broadened as she lurched forward to stroke the fearful servant under the chin with one end of her walking stick. He swal shy;lowed carefully as the metal cap caressed his throat. "I find," the merchant's wife purred casually, "that the sting of perfume, poured into open wounds, quite drives off the stink of fear."
She went on silently smiling into his eyes until she saw deepening terror there, and the trembling man felt that his lady master must be expecting-waiting for-a response.
"Y-yes, Lady Namra," he managed. "Shall I bring your wines now?"
"With a tallglass, yes," Qilue commanded, and tapped his throat with her stick. "And be aware: I shall not be pleased if it takes you long."
His eyes flickered before he nodded almost furiously and spun away. By some trick of air currents, Qilue could clearly hear sounds occurring down the passage-and she could have sworn, amid the sounds of his dashing feet, that she heard him reply under his breath, "A shortcoming that afflicts many, you old battle-axe. . may all the gods rot you."
She gave the nearest mirror a smile and brought the end of her walking stick down hard into her own palm, hearing the smack of flesh before the sting began. It was a little like one of the slavers' goads she'd felt, years back. Qilue felt old angers stirring in her, and her usual unease at being away from the faithful of Eilistraee. Walking in the dirt, cold stone, and noisy crowding of a human city she also realized, with real surprise, that she was enjoying herself, unknown dangers and all. She'd been out of harness for too long.
Welcome back, Mystra, she said in the silent depths of her mind, and I do mean welcome.
She hadn't expected a reply, and none came, but as she set the walking stick down on the table, one of its metal ends flashed with a momentary blue radiance, as if it were winking at her.
"Obedient wife," Master Merchant Inder Dunseltree told the tabletop, in a voice that dripped with cold sar shy;casm, "we are expected this even at the house of the glover Halonder Eldeglut, and his wife Iyrevven, for revelry until dawn. Shall our usual agreement apply?"
Namra dug her ring-adorned fingers greedily into a glistening mauve mound of hammerscale roe. From under her brows she shot the hovering server a "get hence" look that sent the servant scuttling for a distant doorway.
"Suppose, dearest Inder," she said to the fish eggs in front of her, "you reacquaint me with our 'usual agree shy;ment.' "
She thrust her fingers into her mouth and gave her shy;self over to murmured appreciation of the flavorful roe.
Her "husband" looked as if exasperation would master him for a moment, then fell back from the brink of a furious outburst to say in silken tones of menace, "You ignore any dealings I may have with. . ladies, remaining your usual pleasant self, and I shall do the same for you as regards both handy male flesh and, ah … your excesses at board and bottle."
Namra lifted her eyes to his and said with a gentle shy;ness that surprised Inder, "I still find this agreement acceptable, and I must confess to feeling a quickening interest within me, this day, for the man who now sits across from me."
She watched him rear back in astonishment, then saw his face slide from that into incredulous disgust. Qilue decided a seduction of the drow playing Inder would arouse more attention than was good for any hope of successfully learning more about those behind the drow invasion, and their plans.
She gave Inder a hard look to know that his reaction had been observed and found wanting, and asked the half-destroyed mound of roe in front of her, "Must I attend this revel at all?"
Inder lifted a dumbfounded eyebrow. "This is a taking, Namra. We are under orders to be there. The Eldegluts have widespread business interests, and much influence. Many of their guests are true humans, as yet unaware of us. You and I, among others, are assigned to conceal from them both the drugging and the assumption."
The drugging and the what? Qilue reached for her large and brim-full wineglass and asked, "This is expected to be an unusually clumsy assumption?"
Disgust washed again over Inder's florid face. "Just how little did Daerdatha train you?" he snarled, taking up his own wine. "Some humans can go on for half a night; others pitch on their faces the moment they take their first swallow, but it always takes hold suddenly when it does work. Human merchants poison each other so often they know in a trice just what's happened to anyone falling over senseless in mid-quaff." Mockingly he saluted her with his own glass, and drank deeply.
Qilue echoed the gesture, and helped herself to more roe. She'd been feeling a bit stomach-sick of mornings, lately, but this-the fare or the company, she didn't know which-was making her feel less than well right now.
"And do we know just what's going to happen to these humans, after?"
Inder chuckled harshly and replied, "We're none of us supposed to know or talk about that, and yet every last one of us wants to know. I'm always surprised at how much we seem to care about the fates of hairy, stinking humans-but I admit, I'm curious too."