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."
"True enough. I'm not so thoughtless and inattentive a host as you suppose. While it's true I've not entered the great hall-at least, not as you see me now-I've received several of my guests at brief private meetings."
She nodded, understanding at once. "They leave your presence speaking of things you'd like to hear said when nobles talk with nobles, rather than making idle chat about the cut of your clothes and the quality of your wine."
"Well said," he told her approvingly.
"And, of course, the nobles of Waterdeep being what they are, those who were given an audience will lord it over those who weren't," she added. "I'd wager gold against copper that within a tenday, half of those spurned will seek you out. Whatever the business at hand, you'll get a better offer from the come-lately folk than from those you spoke with tonight."
The elf's silver brows rose. "Well said, indeed. You know the fair flower of our citizenry well for a foreigner."
He allowed himself a certain dark pleasure at the sudden panic that flashed into her eyes. "You must be enjoying our sea breezes, Lady Evenmoon. Tashluta's very warm during the Flamerule moon."
If the girl harbored any uncertainty about this matter, she hid it well. "Warmer than in winter, certainly."
Elaith chuckled at her deft parry. He swept one hand lightly toward her, subtly unleashing a minor spell. "Please be seated. Not on the carpet, preferably, though I can see why you were on the floor when I entered the room."
Her eyes were wary as she moved away from the desk and took the chair he'd indicated. "I'm not sure I understand, my lord."
"Why, you've lost an ornament, of course."
The girl's hand immediately went to the green ribbon around her left arm-precisely the response Elaith had anticipated. He suppressed a smile. Toying with this girl was the most pleasure he'd had all evening.
"I was speaking of your earring," he said lightly. Striding around behind the desk, he plucked from the carpet a hoop of silver wire, from which was suspended an intricately knotted web of gem-like threads.
The girl's brown eyes widened and her hand lifted to her ear. She'd not felt the earring vanish with his simple theft-spell.
"Thank you," she said, accepting the pretty thing.
Her eyes followed him as he went directly to the hiding place and touched the carved wood in precisely the spot that released the hidden panel.
The young woman relaxed noticeably, hardly the response he'd expected from someone whose secret message had just been intercepted.
Elaith skimmed the note, a report about some merchants seeking to unmask the Lords of Waterdeep. From its tone, it was apparent that this girl, or someone who paid her hire, was an agent of one of the Lords. He raised his eyes from it to meet her watchful gaze.
"For whom are you working, girl?"
Uncertainty flickered over her face, swiftly blossoming into suspicion. Elaith realized, to his surprise and delight, that she assumed he was her contact!
Logical enough, being as he'd shown familiarity with the hiding place. Folk who knew little of magic seldom stopped to think about the precautions taken by those who did. Elaith knew of every magic in this villa, including those borne by each of his guests. Magical toys of his own collected such information.
"Who do you work for?" he repeated, phrasing his query in less formal terms and, not incidentally, in a manner one of his magical devices would recognize.
He glanced at one of several portraits hanging on the wall. The nondescript image shifted, taking on the features of Texter the paladin-an image taken from the girl's thoughts.
Well, well. Little surprise there; Texter had long been on Elaith's private short list of suspected Lords. The paladin's business often took him north, and he was the sort to rescue maidens in distress. No doubt he'd extricated this girl from the clutches of a rough-handed patron, thinking her a set-upon serving girl.
"A reasonable question," he continued, staring into her increasingly suspicious face, "given your former employment. Our good friend Texter holds a far more optimistic view of human nature than I do."
Color drained from the girl's face. "What do you know of that?" she whispered.
In a heartbeat, he was standing over her, dangling the ribbon from her arm tauntingly before her eyes. Too late, she slapped a hand over the small brand burned into her upper arm.
"A mark of indenture," Elaith said softly, recognizing the shape of the old scar. "All too common on the docks of barbarous Luskan. Your mother was a tavern slut and owed more than she could ever hope to repay on her own. She no doubt rejoiced when her belly swelled with a ten-fathered bastard, and sold the babe at birth. I doubt you were much past childhood when you started plying your mother's trade."
To her credit, the girl did not weep or plead with him to stop. A question burned in her eyes, more painful to her than her revealed shame. "Did he tell you?"
Elaith did not need to ask whom she meant. Something held him back from naming the paladin as his source. His reticence was not, he told himself, prompted by a desire to save the girl from disillusionment and pain. It was merely-practical. Let her believe in her Texter's shining honor, and so let her continue to send and receive messages. Messages the Serpent would intercept and profit from.
"I have some… small magical skills," he murmured, giving her his softest smile. "You may rest assured: Texter did not betray you."
The emphasis was not lost on her. "But you might."
"If it affords me an advantage, certainly. That's why I make it a point to know the secrets of everyone in my employ."
She frowned, lips thinning.
"It's not escaped my notice that you've avoided your first trade since arriving in Waterdeep-in fact, you seem to want nothing much to do with men."