The
impromptu levee continued well past sundown, with Dagult Neverember proposing
toast after toast – to the Lord’s Alliance, to the Order of the Gauntlet, to
the indefatigable Mintarn mercenaries who protected Neverwinter. Soon the collection
of empty wine bottles atop the table began to resemble the Gilded Eye’s
scale-model diorama of the Jewel of the North, as the torchlight reflected off
their glassy surfaces. The party
members matched Neverember glass for glass, though Bob was holding onto his
just for show. Mialee
Amonodel, for her part, drank entirely too much wine as she pressed an
increasingly uncomfortable Varien for details about his father’s life in the
Frozenfar beyond the Spine of the World. Bob was enjoying
the family drama unfolding before him, and he could feel a knot deep within
himself, something he hadn’t been able to pinpoint before now, begin to relax
as he surveyed his surroundings and thanked Sune that he was in a city again. Mialee
swayed on her feet with each gulp of wine, as an attendant struggled to keep
her glass filled every time she drained it. She stayed welded to Neverember’s
side, and it soon became apparent to all that the Lord Protector’s iron grip around
her narrow waist was the only thing keeping her upright. “Did Filean…did
Filean ever speak of me?” Mialee asked weepily. Before Varien could answer,
Radegast stepped in. “Mother, you should be asking Varien about the burning
sword that Dad took with him to Lorelei.” As Mialee
and Varien considered this, Radegast insinuated herself in between Neverember
and her mother. “We should probably get you home to bed, mother, don’t you think?”
Radegast tried to peel Mialee away from the Lord Protector. “NonsenseI’mfine,”
Mialee slurred as she bent almost backwards over Neverember’s arm like a towel. “I think
you’ve had enough, mother,” Radegast put just enough steel into her voice to
resonate in her mother’s wine-addled ears. Siegfried
took this opportunity to distract Neverember, intent on getting a better read
on him. “So, Lord Protector, what can we, the Champions of Phandalin, do for
the city of Neverwinter?” “When were
you named a Champion of Phandalin?” Varien muttered to himself. “Ah, my
boy, let’s not mix business with pleasure,” said Neverember. The Lord Protector
nodded at Fitzhugh, who was nursing his wine goblet. “There will be an opportunity
for a debriefing once I’ve had a chance to read Sildar’s latest dispatches, but
first, another toast!” “To House
Thann and to the favourable trade winds of commerce!” hollered Neverember,
tossing back another gulp of Siegfried’s family wine. Siegfried
raised his glass in salute. “And to Neverwinter’s continued financial prosperity.” “I’ll drink
to that!” Neverember roared, grabbing the last bottle of wine from a red-faced
Soman Galt, who looked three sheets to the wind himself. He dashed the neck of
the bottle off on the edge of the ironwood table and drank deeply. He peered at
an elaborate water clock in the corner of the chamber. “Ah yes, look at the
time. Now then,” he said, turning back to the party members. “I understand you’ve
just come to our fair city this day, but have you arranged for lodgings?” Siegfried
smiled. “Lord Protector, I had letters of introduction sent ahead to the Nidris
and Winterpole families. I would be honoured if you could suggest which of the villas
we should visit.” “Ah, Nidris
and Winterpole, you say?” Neverember repeated, scratching his beard. “Lady Sala
Nidris is a fine woman, a merchant who resides in the Blacklake District, and
Danas Winterpole is certainly a pillar of the community, though a rather short
one – she’s a Halfling like your houseboy here,” he said, pointing at Erwen. Erwen
narrowed his eyes and glared silently. “Anyway, I
would recommend you call on Lady Nidris, she’s quite fetching you know, and
knows how to entertain,” Neverember said with a twinkle in his eye. “I will
take that under advisement, Lord Protector.” Radegast
tugged at her mother insistently, and Dagult frowned slightly as he looked down
at the bard. “Now then, I will take good care of your mother, child.” Mialee
moaned and vomited dangerously near Neverember’s boots. “Lord
Protector,” Radegast said earnestly, “my mother and I have been separated for
some time, and this is the first opportunity we’ve had to reconnect. I would
love the chance to take care of her this evening.” Dagult took
half a step away from the puddle of vomit. “Er, yes, I understand completely.
Far be it from me to get in between a mother and daughter.” His lip curled lecherously. Radegast
bit down on her tongue with her back molars to keep from screaming. Neverember gracefully
transferred Mialee into Radegast’s arms, and as he did so, he leaned in and
spoke into Radegast’s ear. “I will need to speak with you about what you saw in
Helm’s Hold,” he said, with authority in his voice.
“After we’ve rested, certainly,” Radegast said placatingly. “And you’ll
be sure to bring your mother back around to my private quarters once she’s
rested? I would love to entertain the both of you.” “Of course,
Lord Protector,” Radegast said through clenched teeth. She intended no such
thing. “Splendid.”
Neverember straightened up. “Your mother has a suite at the Moonstone Mask in
my name. The coach outside will take you straight there.” Radegast frogmarched
her mother out of the Hall of Justice. As Neverember had indicated, a very fine
coach pulled by a team of very fine horses was waiting at the entrance. A thin,
haggard coachman was leaning against the coach, smoking a cigarette. He straightened
up and hastily stubbed it out before flicking the butt away. “To the Moonstone
Mask, ma’am?” He asked Radegast. “Yes, and
quickly, too,” Radegast said as she levered her mother into the coach’s enclosed
compartment. Lying sprawled
on the couch, Mialee sobbed and gagged, and then sobbed again. Radegast rubbed
her mother’s back. “Too much too fast, mother, just like back home.” The coachman
gave a shout and the carriage jerked into motion. Mialee threw up again, and Radegast
smiled at the thought of her mother soiling the cad Neverember’s carriage. “Come on
then, let it all out,” she said, and then whispered “What is the plan, mother?
You have no idea what I’ve just been through out there in the savage North.” “Oh Pitt, I’m
sorry you have had such a hard go of it,” Mialee slurred sleepily. The
carriage wound its way through Neverwinter’s narrow streets, and skirted round
the immense battlements at the river’s mouth, where the city’s walls drew close
to the water’s edge. A trail led around the far side of the wall, along the
edge of a steep cliff. Radegast peeked out of the carriage’s window and was
nearly overcome with vertigo at the sheer drop to the jagged rocks and pounding
surf hundreds of feet below. Ahead of
them loomed an earthmote, floating in the air beside the western edge of
the Protector’s Enclave, high over the docks below. It hung at least a hundred
feet above the crashing waves of the Sea of Swords, bound in place by thick
chains strung to heavy anchors. “Neat,” Radegast said in spite of herself. A bridge that ran between the earthmote and the cliff allowed
visitors to enter and exit the Moonstone Mask, a lavish-looking multi-storey pleasure
dome. The carriage pulled up to the bridge, and Radegast helped
her mother out of the coach. The pair negotiated the steep climb up the wooden bridge,
which swayed beneath their feet as did the earthmote, drifting ever so slowly
in an arc bound by the massive chains, each link the size of a townhouse. “Cool,” Radegast said, taking care not to stumble off the
edge of the bridge. She did not fancy a hundred-foot plunge into a seething
sea. The two women entered the Moonstone Mask’s foyer and lounge.
It was fabulously posh, at least by the standards of Neverwinter, with chandeliers
strung overhead and rich wood paneling covered every surface. Radegast took note of the large number of Mintarn
mercenaries in dress uniforms, many of whom seemed ill at ease in a formal
setting. Most of the mercenaries’ chests bore intricate arrays of medals and pins,
as though they were veterans of many military campaigns. A tall brunette half-elf in an evening dress approached them.
“Good evening, Lady Amonodel, so nice to have you back home here at the
Moonstone,” she purred. Spying Radegast, she smiled a winning smile. “Lady
Amonodel, have you invited your sister to join you here? You are of course
welcome, milady.” Radegast took note of the woman’s strong cheekbones and plump
lips, her lovely features marred only by a vertical scar on the right side of
her forehead that sliced down to end just below her lower eyelid. “Pitt Amonodel,” Radegast offered. “Is there anything I can do to make your stay more comfortable?”
Liset asked. “Just a hair of the dog at daybreak for my mum here,”
Radegast said. “Of course,” purred Liset. “We will continue to ensure that
the Lady’s needs are attended to. Speaking of which, we’ve laid out some choice
items from her wardrobe in her suite suitable for tomorrow’s Festival of Spheres.” Radegast blinked. The Festival of Spheres was the concluding
celebration of Waukeentide, a tenday’s worth of celebrations that Waterdeep had
made famous. It was a religious holiday honouring Waukeen, Lady Luck herself,
and involved the intersection of faith and commerce. Spheres was a particularly
ostentatious celebration involving floating glass orbs filled with money, which
the nobility would break above the reveling crowds to bless them with bits of broken
glass as well as coin. She figured Neverwinter must practice a simulacrum of
the festival and was interested in spite of her scornful appraisal of Neverember. Liset looked Radegast up and down a little too slowly,
betraying some interest that was something more than professional. “Would you
be needing an outfit as well, miss?” “Yes, thank you,” Radegast said. “Please put it on my mother’s
tab.” Liset clapped her hands together. “Splendid! Lord Neverember
is taking care of Lady Amonodel’s bill.” Liset ushered Radegast and Mialee to Mialee’s suite, which
was furnished in a style unfamiliar to Radegast but whose wide windows gave a
commanding view of the Sea of Swords. Radegast gently laid her mother on the bed, removing her shoes
and tucking her in. “Now then, mother,” she said sharply. “What exactly are you
doing here? What’s your plan?” “Dearest Pitt,” her mother said drowsily. “A former Open
Lord of Waterdeep? What do you think I’m doing?” She stretched suggestively. “Oh, mother,” Radegast shook her head. “I watched my
ex-boyfriend die not a tenday ago.” “That’s nice, Pitt,” Mialee slurred, petting Radegast’s arm.
She giggled. “Dagult has been just a perfect gentleman…” with that she drifted
off and began to snore loudly. Radegast sighed, undressed, and joined her mother under the
covers, hoping for a good night’s rest for a change.