"She's quite pretty," Alias said. "The granddaughter, I mean." "Hmmm?" said Victor. "I can't look at her without remembering how she used to tear through the streets as a child with her halfling nannies chasing after her. She was almost as troublesome as the halflings themselves. Her nickname back then was Dervish."
On the turret where the ballistae were mounted, a small group of musicians had set up two rebecs, a larger viol, and a dulcimer, led by a bard with a songhorn. The players launched into a soft, somber number that drifted along the length of the ship. The ship's first officer bellowed an order to cast off. As crew members unfastened the lines to the pier, the oarsmen on the near side began pushing off with poles. A moment later, Alias could feel a slow, steady beat on the floor, and all the oars moved, as one, in rhythm with the beat. The musicians picked up their tempo to match the beat, and the Dhostar's new galleass pulled out into Westgate's harbor.
Most of the guests stood at the buffet tables lined up down the center of the ship. The tables were laden to the groaning point with expensive delicacies and elaborately prepared dishes. Servants dressed in crisp white sailors' shirts replenished empty trays and answered questions about the food. "Care for something to eat?" Victor asked. "In a bit," Alias declined. "I'd like to see the ship first."
From Victor's smile, Alias could see he was inordinately pleased with the chance to show off the new ship. Taking her arm, he steered her toward the bow as he began a lecture that sounded spontaneous, but must have been partially rehearsed.
"Most of the ships in our family's fleet are carracks, multisailed roundships," the young noble explained. "Useful for hauling large shipments of cargo, but not very fast, with maneuverability still dependent on the wind." Victor pointed to a Dhostar carrack in dock. It was, Alias realized, the same one that had been cut off at the harbor entrance by the Thalavar ship two days ago.
"For the past ten years," Victor continued, "while merchants along the Sword Coast have been adding even larger carracks, the so-called galleons, to their fleets, merchants of the Inner Sea, including House Dhostar, have invested instead in great galleys. Such ships are large enough to carry perishable and luxury cargoes: silks, spices, perfumes, wines, fruits, messengers, and passengers. They are also maneuverable enough to guarantee safe entry into any harbor.
"Most importantly, they are quick enough to outrun the swarms of pirates haunting the Inner Sea: those making their homes in the Pirate Isles, as well as those along the coastline of Th ay and Mulhorand, nations that are not exactly quick to rout out such predators. Should a great galley, despite its speed, be boarded by enemies, the rowers can abandon their oars for swords in the ship's defense." Victor led her up a staircase to the top of the foc's'le. Standing behind the musicians, they were able to look out over the bow.
"T7ie Gleason is classed as a galleass," Victor said. "It's basically a refitted great galley. It's much wider and somewhat longer, for more cargo space. It has fewer but larger oars, giving the captain more flexibility in assigning duties. Finally, of course, the galleass is fitted with more armament." Victor gave a nod toward the battering ram mounted in the fore and then removed a tarp from one of the ballistae to show it off. Alias peered at its well-oiled parts as Victor said, "We choose to have the ballistae manufactured in Neverwinter-their mechanisms are superior to any others. The local Gondsmen suggested we use bombards of smoke powder, but we consider that far too dangerous to transport. For projectiles we've settled on iron shot, and oil and flaming arrows." Victor flipped the tarp back over the ballista and led Alias back down the foc's'le stair.
"This is our first ship of this sort. We plan to use it as an escort for our carracks traveling to the Easting Reach."
"Have the other merchant houses in Westgate been building galleasses?" Alias asked.
"House Guldar built two, but they were lost at sea, no doubt due to the treachery of Thay's Red Wizards. House Vhammos has had one even larger than this half-finished in dry dock for a year, as they muster the resources to finish it. House Athagdal had one nearly finished two years ago, but their dockyard was prey to a mysterious fire, and they lost it as well as three other ships." "Night Masks?" Alias asked.
"They may have started the fire," Victor answered, "but it's very likely they were paid to do so by House Thorsar. Thorsar and Athagdal have a long-standing feud, fueled by petty jealousy."
At the bottom of the foc's'le stair stood a tall, heavy man with long, puffed-out black hair-Haztor Urdo. Alias remained on the stair, glaring down at the Night Mask merchant, her hand resting on her sword.
With a venomous look at Alias, the young merchant greeted Victor with a simple, "Dhostar." "Urdo," Victor responded in kind, his tone chill.
"Hiring swordswomen for your company now?" Urdo taunted Victor with a sly grin.
With an expertly executed shove, Victor pressed Haztor against the wall of the foc's'le and held him there with a finger pressed against the younger man's windpipe. With his face close to Haztor's, Victor replied, "Considering the company you are known to keep, you would do well to keep your mouth shut."
Victor turned to Alias, and in a mild and pleasant tone asked, "Would you excuse me for a few minutes? I have some business with this scion of the Urdo clan. Please, help yourself at the banquet table. I'll join you there."
Alias considered asking Victor to ignore the insult. Urdo wasn't the first to snub her this evening, and he probably wouldn't be the last. She recognized, though, that there was more to the conflict between the two men than an insult to herself. The young Urdo had challenged Victor's power on his own turf. "I am hungry," the swordswoman replied, and, slipping past Haztor, drifted over to the buffet tables.
A number of portly merchants were parked in front of the tables where beef, pork, and mutton were being served. At a table laden with seafood, several young men were challenging each other to down unhealthy portions of some of the more exotic offerings-fish eggs, pickled cuttlefish, and raw squid. Alias slid up to a table featuring a huge, edible centerpiece of fruits surrounded by slices of wine cheeses fanned out like playing cards. Accepting a plate from a servant, she filled it with pieces of Vilhon Blanc and Turmish brick, and some grapes plucked from the centerpiece. Another servant provided her with a slipper of mead. With her hands full, Alias backed away from the table.
The swordswoman took a sip of the wine. She started with surprise as the taste blossomed in her mouth. She took another sip to confirm her suspicion. Evermead! A wine made in only one place-the elven island of Ever-meet, twenty-nine hundred miles away. The Dhostars had imported it all the way to Westgate. Alias was more impressed by this feat of transportation than the building of all the galleasses on the Inner Sea. She sipped blissfully at the sw"}et wine with her eyes closed, remembering, as if in a dream, simpler days and friends long gone.
When she'd finished the wine, the spell was broken. She looked toward the bow, where Victor was speaking with Haztor Urdo. Victor seemed relaxed and friendly, while Haztor looked tense and nervous. Tour glass is empty," someone at Alias's side noted.
Alias turned to find herself face-to-face with Lady Net-tel Thalavar. It was like turning the corner in a cavern and running into a dragon, a smiling dragon. The old woman was far more imposing than any Westgate noble Alias had met yet. She stood as tall as Alias and held her ground. There was none of Luer Dhostar's bullying or Ssentar Urdo's viciousness about her. She was simply a strong woman, unafraid of strangers.