Before Lord Hawkwinter could respond in kind, Naoni said, "Lark attended that function at our request!" Then she stopped, mouth still open but indecision clear on her face. Dared she…?

Korvaun gave her a nod of encouragement. Keeping her eyes on his, Naoni took a deep breath and then said slowly, "You've tasted my father's anger, lords. Sharp and bitter, yes? Well, he's taken it into his head to bring about a New Day: To demand the Lords of Waterdeep unmask and henceforth be accountable to all citizens."

"Reasonable enough," Taeros Hawkwinter agreed, astonishing everyone in the room but his friend Korvaun. Shrugging away incredulous stares, he waved at Naoni to continue.

"My sister and I fear for our father," Naoni Dyre said carefully, seeking the right words, "but know not where to turn. Lark knew how to get word to a wise and good man, seeking his counsel."

"And what did this wise and good man advise?"

"We've not yet received his reply."

"I see. How's the elf entangled in this?"

Lark frowned. How indeed? She remembered the plans strewn across Elaith's desk and suddenly realized what they were: maps of the sewers under the city. If he was one of Waterdeep's secret Lords, could things be as Master Dyre claimed? Were the Lords spying? If so, who better to do so than the Serpent, rumored to command half the ruffians in the city?

All of this fit all too well, except for one thing: the fallen buildings had belonged to Elaith; surely he'd not toss away his own valuable properties!

Faendra elbowed Lark sharply, letting her know everyone was awaiting her answer.

Well, what answer could she give?

"He has many resources," Lark said at last, "and is readily able to convey messages."

"And that's why you've been seen with the notorious Serpent? You trust him to carry messages betwixt you and your advisor? Reliably and sharing them with no one else?"

"For a price," Lark replied, truthfully enough. Her eyes slid to the glint of silver at the Hawkwinter throat.

Korvaun's frown was grave. "A dangerous risk. Tales of Elaith Craulnober's treachery abound."

"Lark's very resourceful," Naoni said firmly. "You need not fear for her and certainly need have no fear of her!"

Three of the nobles inclined their heads in acceptance, but Taeros Hawkwinter's face suggested he was reserving judgment on this matter.

Korvaun lifted his tankard. "May I ask what Master Dyre says of these building downfalls?"

"He thinks the Lords control the sewers and dig new tunnels as desired to keep a close watch on citizens-tunnels that caused the collapses."

Taeros nodded. "All too likely. If anyone bears watching, 'tis the elf."

Lark frowned. "You believe as Master Dyre does?"

The Hawkwinter shrugged. "I'm willing to entertain any reasonable explanation."

"I believe it," dark-cloaked Starragar said grimly, "and if unmasking the Lords is needful to force someone to account for Malark's death, I'll tear off every last one of those masks with these hands!"

"Hear, hear," murmured Lord Thongolir. "It seems we have common cause with these ladies. Perhaps we should work together?"

"We've given our word to Master Dyre that we'd not seek the company of his daughters," Korvaun reminded him. "We're honor-bound to obtain release from this promise."

Faendra gave her sister a sly glance ere she told Lord Helmfast, "If you can sway Father, you can do anything. Let's go to him at once!"

"Hear, hear," Roldo said heartily, looking to Korvaun.

Lark needed no lord's approval. She rose and retrieved her mistresses' wraps, then took up the glittering amber cloak and held it out to Taeros, her gaze challenging. When he reached to take it, she snatched it away.

"I'm a servant, Lord Hawkwinter. One of my duties is to help people on with their cloaks."

He made a futile grab for the gemweave. "You're not my servant, blast it!"

"Nevertheless," she said firmly.

With an impatient hiss, Taeros turned his back and let her drape his cloak over his shoulders. She smoothed its glittering folds with swift, practiced hands…

And when they came away, the silver chain and the magical device it bore were hidden in one palm.

With it, she could repay her debt to Craulnober. The sooner she could get shed of that one, the better.

But… was she making a mistake handing a magic of unknown power to the Serpent? There were spells that could reveal the true nature of magics, but a wizard's fee was well beyond her means, even if she spent her every last, laboriously hoarded nib.

A sudden thunder of boots on the stairs drew every eye. Beldar Roaringhorn paused in the doorway, ruby cloak a-swirl, gazing bemused at the three women standing in what was perhaps the last place in Waterdeep he might have expected to find them.

Lord Beldar looked considerably the worse for wear. He was richly dressed, a-gleam with jewels and fine weapons, his mustache freshly trimmed, but grayness lurked on his sun-browned face, and his right eye was covered with a black patch.

"What in the Nine bloody Hells happened to you?" Starragar pointed at his own right eye to show what he meant.

Beldar waved airy dismissal. "Nothing of great consequence. My eye was scratched during the Dock Ward brawl, and a healer bade me rest it."

Lark recalled the bloodied face of the man who'd fainted in her lap. Beldar's wounds had been slight, and nowhere near his eye. Here was a man who kept secrets from his friends. A small, humorless smile touched her lips as she realized that wizard's fee was all but in her hands.

"I'm gratified to hear so, Lord Roaringhorn," she said demurely. "For a moment I feared you might have met with some lawless, murdering rogue-say, a half-ogre-and suffered thereby."

The consternation that arose on Beldar's face made Lark think a bit more highly of him. Perhaps he hadn't knowingly sold her to the half-ogre, after all.

"We're off to speak with Master Dyre," Korvaun told Beldar uncertainly. "Will you accompany us?"

Beldar, into whom healing potions had been poured not once but many times throughout a long and agonizing night, found no appeal whatsoever in this prospect. "I'll pass."

"As will I," Lark echoed quickly. She turned to Naoni. "Someone should press the new cheese and get it into the buttery before it spoils in this heat. I need to start highsunfeast, or Master Dyre will have to forage for himself-and make do with the bony ends of the salt herring and yestereve's rabbit stew. I'm not even sure he'll touch the stew; it's sure to have a top-skin of fat by now. None of which will please him."

"Very well," Naoni agreed absently, her eyes on Korvaun Helmfast. "At this time of day, Father's likely to be in his office meeting with tradesmen. We've a carriage outside that's large enough to take the rest of us there."

She turned toward the door, then looked back over her shoulder at Lord Helmfast. "And I," she added, in a tone that brooked no argument, "am paying for its hire."

Varandros Dyre was not in his office. He was standing in a narrow, stinking Dock Ward alley, gazing down at what was left of his youngest apprentice.

Jivin Tranter lay on his back, staring endlessly up at a sky that would never change for him, now. His mouth was agape. His eyes, which Dyre remembered as too clever by half, were covered with dust, yet still held dawning pain, fear, and the realization that something was very, very wrong.

Dyre wondered if the lad had found time and wits enough to know he was dying. Likely yes; by the amount of blood pooling under Jivin's head, the apprentice's heart had still been beating when that symbol was carved into his forehead.

"A necromantic rune," one of the Watchmen muttered. "No priest or mage'll get the killer's name from this one."