Prince Cappa Mannicci stared in the direction of the guest quarters in alarm.
"Great Lords of Baator! What was that?"
Miliana looked up in alarm.
"It wasn't me!"
"Of course it wasn't you! How can a mere girl make an explosion?" The Prince separated himself from Lady Ulia. "It's from that boy's quarters… the one from Lomatra…"
Lomatra. The thought made Prince Mannicci turn a cold gaze to the palace's west wing.
"Tonight, daughter, you shall devote an evening to our errant suitor. This time next year, I wish you to be a Lomatran bride."
"Father!" Miliana's eyes blinked wide; appalled, she took a step closer to the prince. "Father, no!"
"I wish it. It shall be done."
Face set and angry, Miliana used the mask of her great lenses to hide her cold, determined eyes. Headache forgotten, the girl gave an obedient curtsy, then smartly turned about and marched herself away.
A Lomatran bride indeed! Miliana clenched a hand about her brand new pearl-Lorenzo's pearl-and felt it spread a spell of warmth past the fury in her soul.
She had a friend now-a real friend. And a more-or-less magical bird monster-thing to stay by her side. Between them, they would blow her father's plans straight to the Abyss!
Back in the courtyard, Lady Ulia watched Miliana leave and let a crease of suspicion gouge a line across her brows.
"Why, my dear, do you suppose your daughter is so compliant today?"
The Prince of Sumbria focused his attentions on the girl.
"Perhaps the seriousness of life has finally sunk home."
"Yes-or, perhaps, a double life…" Lady Ulia turned the horns of her great lime-green hat belligerently toward her prey. "There have been some very strange things going on within this palace.
"I think Miliana's activities deserve a closer scrutiny, my dear. It may prove to be the very-pearl-of the problem."
"Lorenzo? Lorenzo!"
Moving with all due caution, Luccio Irozzi peeked his head about his apartment's door, then edged into his quarters at the head of a band of nervous palace workmen. Moving like men venturing into a dragon's lair, the little procession scanned the room's bewildering array of pipe work, burners, and bubbling pots; they crept across the floor as though expecting pitfalls or showers of burning oil.
No new explosions seemed imminent. Luccio strode across the pitted carpet to Lorenzo's bedroom door, tried the lock, then rapped lightly on the woodwork with his fist.
"Lorenzo? Lorenzo, it is I!" The man's knuckles rippled as he drummed a dirty ditty on the door. "Be a good little pyromaniac and open up the door before I blow your house down…"
Movement came from behind the door-a hiss, an eerie flicker of light from under the doorjamb, and a sudden smell of scorching metal. A muffled and somewhat distracted voice wafted through to Luccio from the far side of the wall.
"Not now! I need five minutes."
"Five minutes?" Luccio puffed out his chest like a fighting rooster and nearly capsized a pile of glassware with his waving arms. "Lorenzo, my dressing routine has been disturbed. The delight of a hundred eager young damsels hangs in the balance! I have not a minute to spare, let alone five!" Pained by the potential disaster, Luccio hurtled himself against the portal in theatrical dismay.
"Think, Lorenzo, think! Consider their anguish; the screams, the wails, the suicides! Temples swamped as vast columns of poor, disillusioned girls sorrowfully line up to take their chastity vows."
The door opened just a crack, and a vague, disoriented Lorenzo stuck his head out into the room.
"I am trying to prepare a demonstration. Can't you leave me in peace?"
"Alas, O Lord of Soot, I wish it could be so." Luccio performed a bow and elegantly indicated the workmen ranked at his rear. "These noble minions of mine host wish to take possession of the famous painting of the sea goddess. It is to be prepared for display."
With a frustrated sigh, Lorenzo withdrew back into his room.
"It's in the sitting room, just by the door. Don't lift the covers if there's any dust around-the varnish is still not completely dry. And don't take the easel!"
With a flourish of his hat, Luccio allowed the door to be slammed shut in his face. He indicated the sitting room to his tail of servants, then threw himself into a chair to relax as the workmen maneuvered the awkward canvas out into the corridor.
Luccio's preparations actually required very little work; why bother trying to improve on perfection? The man's clothes were deliriously and scandalously slipshod; marked cards were in his pocket, weighted dice in his belt. The Mannicci's reception offered gaming tables, business contacts, and an endless ocean of curvaceous companions. A secret note had been slid beneath his door in the wee hours of the dawn-a note in feminine handwriting carved upon a sheet of purest mother-of-pearl. All in all, Luccio's evening promised glorious possibilities.
Again a flash of light came from beneath Lorenzo's door; a spot on the wall glowed cherry red, and the wall plaster flaked off with a disappointed little sigh.
"Damn!"
Lorenzo seemed to be having his own troubles. Luccio rested his feet on a table and helped himself to a half-empty bottle of wine.
"Lorenzo, O heart and soul of science, do be careful with your toys…"
Luccio sipped his wine, then almost catapulted clean across the room; some suicidal varlet had laced the stuff with raw liquor. Luccio could already feel his lips turning numb. He raced for the water jug, rinsed his mouth, and prayed for sensation to return before the evening began.
"Lorenzo-what in Talona's name have you been drinking?"
"What?"
"This-this paint stripper, this vile incendiary-this distilled sunfish urine left upon your desk!" Luccio made a face and searched for a piece of fruit to help drive any lingering taste away.
"It's not mine…" The door latch fumbled itself open, and Lorenzo's face appeared in the door. "It's left over from last night. Miliana drank about two bottles of it."
Luccio flicked his gaze from the bottle to his companion in alarm.
"Dear gods! Do you mean to tell me that the woman you've been mooning over drinks this by choice?"
"Well… not by choice." Lorenzo emerged from his room, bringing with him the smell of scorched metal and cherry fondant. "It was more sort of an accident. I coaxed her into escaping from the palace with me last night, and we went to a tavern. She just started, well… drinking it. First she laughed a lot, and then she told us she was a princess. Finally, she just fell over and threw up for most of the rest of the evening."
"Miliana?" Luccio sat bolt upright in his chair. "Princess Miliana?"
"Yes, that's the one."
Discomforted and somewhat alarmed, Luccio raised his brows.
"We are speaking, dear heart, of the flower of the Mannicci house? The woman, I believe, I once begged you to pursue?"
"Oh, I couldn't pursue her!" Lorenzo scowled in clear disapproval. "She's my friend."
A knock came at the door. Lorenzo frantically dusted off his clothes as though he had one chance in a million of restoring the ravaged cloth back to life.
"They're here! Now Luccio, please keep out of sight and keep your comments to yourself. These people are very, very nice, and very, very important to me."
Carefully hiding the bottle of soldiers' champagne, Luccio regarded his companion in puzzlement.
"My dear Lorenzo-what on Toril are you doing now? You can't possibly entertain guests. We have a party to attend in half an hour!"