The seneschal told the carved eagle, "She gave her name as Lady Sylull Cassalanter, my lady. I conducted her into the Fleet, my lady, where she awaits your pleasure."
Mrilla Malsander's eyes opened wide, and her mouth dropped open even wider. Lady Cassalanter? Lady Cassalanter?
The Dame In White, known less respectfully as "the Dame with the Cane," was one of the oldest and most respected of Waterdhavian nobles. She was reclusive due to her failing bones and rigid standards of respectability. This was a woman who was said to regard unmarried ladies dancing at revels as doing something almost as sinful as the woman who, for a handful of coins, might take several partners at once up her bedchamber stairs in Dock Ward.
Not that Mrilla Malsander knew about such things!
Oh, no. .
Mrilla felt the warmth on her forehead and cheeks that she knew meant she was blushing crimson to the carefully shaven and powdered tip of her chin. The Fleet Parlor was the best of her receiving rooms, crowded with gold and hung with large and colorful portraits of the ships that had enriched the Malsanders racing through stormy-but vividly sunlit-seas, but still. .
"Jalarn," she said icily, "we do not keep the heads of Waterdeep's noble families waiting in our parlors. Apol shy;ogize deeply to her for the wait-abjectly, mind; none of your mockery! — and conduct her straight to me, here. Then you may withdraw, listening not behind the key shy;hole, but by the board at the doors, for me to summon you by means of the bell."
The seneschal bowed deeply-to the eagle carved at her father's orders rather than to her, Mrilla noted with fresh irritation-and withdrew. The moment the door closed behind him, she plunged into a whirlwind of throat clearing, nose picking, hair teasing, and straight shy;ening of throat lace and collar.
She'd safely settled herself back into her chair and assumed an easy, graceful smile by the time the door opened again. The seneschal struck its brass boom panel, and announced the guest.
Mrilla rose graciously. "Lady Cassalanter," she sim shy;pered. "So good of you to come. My humble home is unworthy to receive such grace."
The powdered, jowled figure in white silk blinked at her, nodded thanks and dismissal to the seneschal, and started forward, stooped over a cane that glit shy;tered from top to bottom with rare and precious gems from the farthest realms of Faerun. She bore down-slowly-on Mrilla Malsander, who found herself ensnared by piercing dark eyes divided by a nose as sharp and as hooked as a vulture's beak, but said not a word until the door boomed closed behind her.
Then she barked, "Malsander! I've words for you. Sit!"
Mrilla gaped at the woman.
The Lady Cassalanter lifted one white, bristling brow. "Sit down, woman! You look like an actress pre shy;tending to be a noblewoman, dithering back and forth there. This is your house. Sit and be at ease."
"I–I-" There were few folk in Waterdeep who could claim to have witnessed Mrilla Malsander at a loss for words-and she was proud of that-but Lady Cassalanter could now claim to be one of them.
Mrilla backed wildly to the nearest chair and sat down on its edge, straining to keep bolt upright and to remember how best to pose her hands-crossed but not clasped, in her lap, yes, that was it-and her legs-crossed at the ankles? Left together with knees bent and toes turned to one side? Drawn back under her-no, that was for young girls. Oh, gods!
Lady Sylull Cassalanter marched right past Mrilla and seated herself in Mrilla's own high-backed chair; the one placed to dominate the room. She crossed wrinkled hands over the massive sculpted silver rose that sur shy;mounted her jeweled cane, parked its encrusted length upright between her knees, and leaned forward to bark, "Oh, you ape nobility very cleverly, girl, and don't think your ambitions haven't been noticed. 'Lady Malsander' is what you dream of-don't attempt to deny it! — and scheme toward; none too cleverly, I might add."
The gaze fixed upon Mrilla became severe, then soft shy;ened. Its owner assumed a slightly less curt tone-a tone that someone who knew Sylull Cassalanter rather better than Mrilla did would have interpreted as "tenderness."
"You might be interested to know that some of us have admired your bold spirit, your hunger to become one of us, and your deftly underhanded business meth shy;ods. We have almost taken the step of petitioning the lords to ennoble House Malsander." The aged noble shy;woman lowered her voice and added in a growl, "I say almost, girl."
"Ah-y-yes?" Mrilla replied intelligently.
"There are just three things standing in your way," the Dame In White explained gruffly. "The first and foremost is your tightfistedness-gods, girl, you finally get someone noble into the house and you can't even stir yourself to offer even the tiniest glass of whatever wretched stuff you fondly believe to be 'high class' wine, or some of those chocolates you've tried to hide down there."
"Oh!" Mrilla cried, blushing bright crimson, "Ah-uh-please, help yourself. I'll ring for some wine. I-"
"Whatever bottle lurks in that hollow book you just glanced at will do just fine," Lady Cassalanter said in dry tones. "Don't fluster yourself, girl."
She watched Mrilla scurry to the bookshelf. Once her hostess had turned away to reach down the book, wrinkled noble hands moved in two small, deft gestures, and dry, patrician lips shaped two softly breathed words. Mrilla never noticed in her haste and breathless fumbling.
The book proved to contain both a flask and a pair of fluted tallglasses. When the pride of the Malsanders finally spun around with a glass of her best firewine trembling in her hand, the old lady had leaned back at ease in the eagle-crowned chair.
Reaching forth a hand for the proffered glass, she said, "The second thing is your clumsy campaign of unsubtle attempts to unmask and bribe as many lords as you can ensnare, girl. This is unutterably common. Cease at once-at once, do you hear me?"
The Dame In White held up her glass, surveyed its contents critically, and put it down untasted. "The proper way," she purred, "is to content yourself with just one lord and discreetly seduce him-as I did. Avoid crude jests, talking with your mouth full, and scratch shy;ing yourself in his presence, and you're in-oh yes, except for the third thing."
She fell silent then, with disconcerting abruptness, and fixed Mrilla Malsander with such a piercing glare that Mrilla, for all her years, wealth, and airs, squirmed on her chair like a young miss in the nursery, still aghast at the thought of Lady Cassalanter so casu shy;ally talking of seduction. . and in the end felt moved to fill the silence. "Yes," she asked earnestly, "this third thing? What might it be?"
"Consorting with undesirables," the Lady Cassalanter thundered. "Waterdeep, the eternal City of Splendors, cannot clasp to its bosom snakes who work to its downfall, or those who consort with them. Grasp shy;ing merchants are quite bad enough, but this Labraster man is beyond even our legendary tolerance! Sever your relations-whatever they may be-with Auvrarn Labraster, forthwith."
Mrilla went white then, instead of crimson, and her eyes narrowed a trifle. "How-how did you-?"
"Gods, woman, do you walk Waterdeep in a daze? 'Tis a city of people, girl, people with eyes and ears and wits every bit as sharp as yours, even if they be dock loaders or stablemen or chamber servants. If you treat them as furniture, stepping around them without noticing, how can you help but be surprised when they murmur that you've been talking to a drow slaver one night-"