Shrewd eyes and ears weren't needed to conclude that the stonemason was simmering with rage, and Taeros raised a hand in a warning gesture to his fellows.

"It seems you protected my daughters and my maid, and I owe you the thanks any father must tender. Please accept it." Dyre did not trouble to make that 'please' anything but a command, and swept straight on.

"You must forgive me if I have some suspicions as to why such grand young lords, free in idleness to pursue any amusement that might occur to them and range freely from end to end of great Waterdeep, come to be in the vicinity of a certain worksite in the heart of highly unfashionable Dock Ward-a worksite that a band of young lordlings recently reduced to a shambles! In doing so, it seems they also found it amusing to sword honest workers, to say nothing of setting fires that might well have devastated more than a street or two of fair Waterdeep."

Dyre's words came out cold, clipped, and inexorable, like measured lash-blows. "And so damaging a scaffold that another worker fell from it this morn: a man who'll be maimed for life if healings fail."

Taeros saw his own guilt mirrored on his friends' faces. Before any of them could find the right words, Dyre planted his large hands on his desk, leaned forward with his eyes ablaze, and asked softly, "Now, would any of you know anything about this?"

Despite the desk, his shorter stature, and several paces of floor between them, the stonemason seemed to loom over the younger men.

Taeros swallowed. "Master Dyre, goodsir, I assure you, we'll…"

The Mason Stonemason looked directly at him, and under the sudden fierce fire of his gaze and its comical juxtaposition with that huge snout of a nose, the Hawkwinter's mouth went dry.

"Sir," Malark said swiftly, "of course we'll make amends!"

"Of course," Beldar added grandly, reaching for his purse. "I am-"

"I know who you are, Lord Roaringhorn," Dyre said with a snarl, "and I know you'll pay for all you've done. I'll have the Black Robes make sure of that, whatever your intentions. I know our laws, which is why I'm not taking a blade to all of you, right now, and ending your foolishness for good! Waterdeep had more than enough of the haughty vandalism of Waterdhavian nobility years ago."

He drew himself up, becoming, if possible, even more imposing.

"I shall expect all of you to keep well away from my daughters henceforth, which should prove easy for you, my lords, because they spend their days in honest work. You have your grand houses to sport in, to say nothing of clubs my lowborn girls would not be allowed through the doors of, even if they had coins enough to waste."

The stonemason took a long breath and continued more calmly but even more firmly, "My daughters will have to earn their places in Waterdhavian society, and I cannot think they'll be aided in achieving the station and success they deserve by consorting with ruffians, however nobly born, who amuse themselves by harming and beggaring others whenever they're not doing the dirty work of the Lords!"

Taeros blinked. Dirty work of the…?

The Gemcloaks scarcely had time to frown in puzzlement ere the Master Stoneworker came slowly around the edge of his desk, hands hanging loosely at his sides, ready for trouble.

"Nor am I alone in such views. I've friends among the guilds and shopkeepers who watch the antics of you and your like with far less than approval. Many eyes will have seen your arrival here, and tongues will wag as to why. A good part of the city-the working part-will be watching you lordlings very closely in days to come, to see if any 'accident' should befall me. Not because I am important, or for any love of me, but because time and again dissent has been quelled in Waterdeep through the silencing of overly loud critics, by accident after accident, and they won't stomach much more of it."

He took a step closer, and more than one noble hand drifted toward a swordhilt.

"So, my lords," Dyre added softly, his eyes still blazing, "let us understand each other very well. I will accept your apologies and your coins, and you will keep away from the women of my household, and take very great care that no further accidents befall me, Dyre's Fine Walls and Dwellings, or any of my worksites."

The stonemason's slow stalk forward brought him nose-to-chest with Beldar Roaringhorn, who said quietly, "Have done, goodsir. Your anger is understandable, but your slander of Waterdhavian nobility is both misplaced and repugnant. I-"

"Don't like to hear truth. Your sort never does. Right now the most important truth confronting you is this: I am a citizen of Waterdeep standing in my own house, and I'm far too angry to be prudent, so you'd best begone. Now. In due time my 'prentices will bring you an accounting, and you can send the coins back to me here."

Dyre pointed at the door, his hard gaze never leaving Beldar's eyes. Korvaun Helmfast moved to open it as swiftly and quietly as any servant.

Two young men stood just outside, their faces set and pale. Their matching tunics bore the stone-sprouting-a-fist badge of Dyre's Fine Walls and Dwellings. The stonemason's apprentices were clutching ready mattocks in their hands.

"Baraezym, Jivin," Varandros Dyre greeted them grimly. "Our guests are just departing. In peace, I trust. Mark their faces, for there may come a time when you'll need to know them."

The Gemcloaks had already begun to stride silently out, faces set, but Beldar turned his head sharply. "Goodman Dyre, just what do you mean by that?"

"I mean, lords," the Master Stonemason said flatly, "that a time will come when consequences can no longer be laughed away."

Varandros Dyre watched, stone-faced, as the lordlings stalked away, fine cloaks swirling.

Then he whirled around so swiftly his apprentices jumped. Ignoring them, he peered around the hall for his daughters.

There was no sign of them, but the door to the kitchens was open, and the housemaid stood in it, steam curling from the covered serving platter in her hands. Her gaze was on the floor, and she was as still as a statue.

Dyre nodded approvingly. Some folk, at least, knew their places. He permitted himself a chuckle of satisfaction as he made the gesture that sent his apprentices hastening to close and bar the doors.

Lark kept her eyes down and wisely said nothing.

CHAPTER FIVE

"I don't understand." Faendra shook her red-gold curls in puzzlement as she thumped the dasher emphatically into the butter churn. "Father may be hard, but he's fair. It's not like him to condemn a man for the cut of his cloak."

Naoni glanced up from the piecrust she was crimping. "Father has no love for the noble houses. Best you remember that before you sigh over highnosed redbearded rogues."

"I'd much rather laugh than sigh, and Malark Kothont's a merry fellow. Though I suppose some girls," Faendra said slyly, "might prefer Korvaun Helmfast's golden hair and courtly manner."

Naoni felt her cheeks grow warm. Faendra's smile broadened into a grin, and Naoni hastened to speak of something else. "What if Father's right-if the Lords are all nobles and control the sewers and the thugs who lurk there? That puts Father's New Day squarely between the highest and the lowliest, and that's as dangerous as…"

"Pissing into lightning?" Lark suggested.

Naoni's chuckle was weak. "Father won't listen to us, and his friends are too cowed by his temper or dazzled by their New Day dreams. I-I don't know what to do."

"There's one who might," Lark said slowly, pushing the simmering stewpot back to a cooler spot on the stove and turning to face her mistresses. "Know you of Texter, the paladin?"