The Silken Rack was not, as visitors to Menzoberranzan sometimes assumed, a fine cloth emporium. It was, technically, a massage parlor, but only a vulgarian would call it that. Rather, it was a palace of delight, where the most skilled body servants in the Underdark provided what many dark elves considered to be most exquisite of all pleasures. Waerva Baenre was herself of that opinion. She had already soaked her pampered, voluptuous form in warm, scented oil, and she would have liked nothing better to lose herself utterly in the touch of her masseur. But that, alas, was not possible. She'd come to this shrine of the senses on business, business that could be conducted far more safely and discreetly there than in the Baenre citadel or the ambassador's residence in West Wall. That was why she, by nature gregarious, had hired a cozy private room containing only two contoured couches and a pair of hulking deaf-mute human masseurs in preference to her supremely girted Tluth. Happily, the tongueless slave she'd chosen for herself was also highly competent. He kneaded her neck muscles in a way that was pain and bliss at the same time, wringing a groan of sweet release out of her. Naturally, it was at this somewhat undignified moment that Umrae came though the door. Not that Waerva's momentary discomposure made Umrae smile. The Baenre couldn't imagine what it would take to accomplish that. A rather gaunt, homely female, her skin the unhealthy dull gray-black color of charcoal, the cut of her nondescript garments subtly divergent from the styles of Menzoberranzan, Umrae always arrived at these clandestine meetings stiff and awkward with nervous tension. Waerva supposed that was the difference between commoners and nobles. No matter how perilous the situation, an aristocrat always managed a certain grace.

«She's looking at maps!» declared Umrae. Her voice matched her appearance. There was no music in it. «I'm not surprised,» Waerva replied. «Your mistress is reasonably clever. I never thought she would remain complacent forever.» The body servant dug his fingertips into Waerva's upper back, and she shivered. «We'll talk about it, but first, please, set my mind at ease. Tell me that no one who matters saw you enter this particular room.» Umrae scowled, apparently irked by the very suggestion. «No, of course not.» «Then for pity's sake, take off your clothes. You supposedly came here for a deepstroke, and you want to look as if you've had one when you get back home. Besides, these fellows are worth the rent.» Still frowning as if she suspected Waerva was perpetrating some sort of joke at her expense, Umrae gestured brusquely to the human, slightly smaller and less muscular than his compatriot, whom the Baenre had left for her use. Careful not to make eye contact, the slave began to undress her and hang her garments on the hooks set in the wall. «So what are we going to do?» the commoner asked. «She's guarded. Even with the resource you gave me, I'm not sure I could kill her and escape, but surely you have skilled assassins at your disposal.» «Of course.» Waerva had to close her slanted ruby eyes as her body servant squeezed and rubbed another clenched muscle into warm, limp submission. It was remarkable how she didn't even realize they were tight until the masseur got his hands on them. «Murder would have its advantages. It would take her off the sava board for good and all.» «Then we're agreed?» Umrae asked as she lay down on her couch. Her body servant gently spread her mane of coarse white hair to expose the flesh beneath. Waerva grinned. «You sound so eager.» «I admit I'm not fond of her.» Umrae's human opened a white porcelain bottle of unguent, and a sweet scent tinged the air. «That's not the point. The point is to shield us all for as long as we need it.» «I quite agree,» said Waerva, «and my concern is that an assassination could prove counterproductive. Might it not call attention to your mistress's suspicions? Might it not lend weight to them? Does she not have a deputy of like mind ready to take over in the event of her demise?» Umrae scowled, pondering the questions, plainly not enjoying it much. Her slave spread a thin coat of amber oil onto her back. From elsewhere in the building echoed the faint, distorted sounds of shouting, laughter, and splashing. Waerva guessed it must be males amusing themselves in one of the bathing pools. The females of the city were scarcely in the mood for boisterous horseplay. At last Umrae said, «All right, what do you want to do?» «Counter the threat in a subtler way. She can't injure us if she's never afforded the chance to confirm her suspicions.» «How will you ensure that?» Umrae's voice quavered as her thrall began to lightly pummel her gleaming back with the bottoms of his fists. Good luck loosening up those petrified limbs, Waerva thought. «I am a priestess of the Baenre, am I not?» «The least of them.» «How insolent of you to say so.» Waerva tensed with annoyance until her masseur's hands rebuked her. «I only meant—» «I know what you meant, and I don't deny it. It's why I'm here, after all. Yet consider this: My aunt Triel has always depended on the advice of two people, Gromph and Quenthel. She can't really talk to Gromph anymore because she's keeping him in the dark with the rest of the males. I doubt she'll see much of Quenthel for a while, either. The tiny she-demon will stay busy contending with her own problems. She's endured some sort of mishap up on Tier Breche.» Umrae twisted her head around to look at her sister conspirator and said, «I've heard rumors about that. What actually happened?» «I don't know—» Though I wish to the goddess I did, she thought— «but whatever it was, it works to our advantage. We want Triel to suffer a dearth of counselors.» «What about her magical new son? They say he accompanies her everywhere.»

Waerva smiled. «Jeggred's not a factor. He's a magnificent specimen but scarcely a font of sage advice. I assure you poor, uncertain Triel will be absolutely frantic for plausible insights from other Baenre priestesses, even the lowlier ones like me. I will buy our friends the time they need to work free of outside interference.» «You will if Triel trusts you.» «In this, she will. We Baenre are proud. It will be inconceivable to Triel that one of our females would wish to abandon the First House in favor of a new life elsewhere. Of course, she wasn't born at the absolute bottom of the internal hierarchy, was she, with dozens of older sisters and cousins taking precedence over her and holding all the important offices. Even if I started recklessly trying to pick them off whenever one lowers her guard even slightly, it could still take me centuries to ascend to a position of genuine power within the family.» «All right, that makes sense. What will you tell her?» «The obvious.» Waerva sighed shakily as her human went to work on her sacroiliac. «For all we know, it may even be the truth.» «I suppose.» Umrae lapsed into a sullen silence. Her body servant's hands made slapping and sucking sounds as they played about her slick, moist, bony back. «By the six hundred and sixty-six layers of the Abyss,» said Waerva, «what ails you? If you're having seconds thoughts, the time for that is well past.» «I'm not. I want to be something better than milady's secretary. I want a surname. I want to be a high priestess and a noble.» «And you will. When your cabal crushes the established order, they'll reward me for my help by making me matron mother of a new but exalted House, whereupon I will adopt you as my daughter. Why, then, do you appear so morose?» «I just wonder. This silence … is it really a boon for us, or a calamity? Are we seizing a great opportunity or madly rushing to our doom?» How much better I'd rest if only I knew, thought Waerva. «Let me ask a question,» the Baenre priestess said. «Deep down in your heart of hearts, did you serve out of reverence or fear?» «I served for power.» «Come to think of it,» said Waerva, «I did, too. So let us seize the power that still sparkles within our reach.» «I—» Umrae moaned and curled her toes as her human finally managed to send a thrill of pleasure singing along her nerves. Waerva thought it was a good sign.

Pharaun drank in the spectacle of the Bazaar. Born and raised a Menzoberranyr, he had of course visited this bustling place countless times before, but after several tendays of house arrest spent wondering if his life was at an end, it seemed rather wonderful to him. Many of the stalls shone with light, be it phosphorescent fungus positioned to flatter the vendor's wares, magical illumination cast for the same purpose, or merely the incidental fallout of some other enchantment. The gleaming was never so fierce as to offend a dark elf's eyes, though. The citizens of the city wended their way through the aisles in the nurturing darkness that was their natural habitat, and what an interesting lot those citizens were. A high priestess, from House Fey-Branche judging from the livery of her retainers, emerged from her curtained litter to inspect riding lizards with an eye as knowledgeable and a hand as steady as any groom's. A somewhat seedy looking boy, perhaps a disfavored son from one of the lesser Houses, engaged a cobbler in conversation while a confederate opened his voluminous mantle to slip an expensive pair of snakeskin boots inside. Male commoners, obliged to lower their eyes to every female and step aside for every noble of either gender, compensated by sneering and swaggering their way among the creatures less exalted than any drow. These latter were a motley assortment of beings—gray dwarves, the goggle-eyed fish-men called kuo-toas, and even a huge, horned ogre mage from the World Above—bold enough to trade or even dwell in a dark elf city. Lowliest of all, at least as numerous as the free but in their utter insignificance far easier to overlook, were the slaves. Orc, gnoll, and bugbear warriors guarded their masters and mistresses, harried, starveling goblins fetched and carried for the merchants, and little reptilian kobolds collected litter and hauled it away. Pharaun knew from occasional errands there that if this hub of commerce had existed in one of the lands that saw the sky, it would have been exceptionally noisy. But the Menzoberranyr, to keep their cavern from roaring with a constant echoing clamor, had laid subtle enchantments about the smooth stone floor. Sounds close at hand were as audible as was natural, but those farther away faded and blended to the faint drone he and Ryld had heard while sitting on the brink of Tier Breche.

In the Bazaar, several of the magical buffers operated in close proximity to one another. To newcomers, the effect could be a little disconcerting as a single step sufficed to carry them from whispering quiet to raucous noise, the full volume of an auctioneer's shout or a piper's skirling.