Kate Novak - Masquerades

While the fighting capabilities of the ship were not hidden, tonight the vessel was obviously decorated for festivities. The rowers' benches were curtained off, screening them from view of the guests, and vice versa. A giant banner emblazoned with the wagon wheel and three stars of House Dhostar draped down from the top 3tory of the sterncastle, reaching nearly to the waterline, while a smaller House Dhostar banner and the banners of the croamarkh and the city of Westgate fluttered from poles fore and aft. The stern lantern, fitted with magical light stone, was covered with a square of fine red silk, bathing the ship's deck and the dockside with a rosy glow.

The pier rattled, and Alias turned to see a chair on wheels, with an awning, like a miniature carriage, rolling toward her. The wheeled chair was white, with a green feather painted on the side panel, and pushed by six halflings. The passenger was an ancient human woman attended by a pale, blonde girl in her teens. The girl's main duty seemed to be to keep the halflings from pushing the chair into other guests in their zeal to move the device toward the gangplank. Several guests broke away from their constellations to chase after the chair, with as much dignity as they could muster, until the vehicle came to rest at the end of the pier. Then the followers paid their respects to the elderly passenger.

Someone brushed up against Alias, and the swordswoman turned quickly, expecting a pickpocket despite the standing of the crowd all about her. She faced the back of a woman in an elegant gown of yellow satin hemmed and edged with fox fur, with a tiny golden dagger dangling from her gold-link belt. Her dark hair, which hung down her back, was swept back from her face with a barrette fashioned like a basilisk. The woman turned and murmured an apology, which Alias accepted with a nod and a weak smile.

The woman smiled broadly. "You're new," she noted with a tone of delight and surprise.

"Yes," Alias admitted. "I feel like a fish out of water. I'm afraid I don't know anyone here."

As Alias spoke, the other woman took full stock of her, her gaze fixing at last on her right arm. The stranger's eyes became glassy, and her face seemed to petrify. "No," she replied frostily. "You wouldn't." She turned on her heel and made for the next little group over, leaving Alias staring at her retreating form and the eyes of her basilisk barrette.

Alias frowned. Obviously the woman had recognized her from her tattoo. She couldn't believe she'd been snubbed just for being a swordswoman. Surely Westgate merchants socialized with adventurers on other occasions. She continued moving toward the gangplank, scanning the crowd for a friendly face. As she passed the woman with the basilisk barrette, the group the woman now stood with broke into gales of laughter. At least two other women turned to look at the swordswoman, then hurriedly looked away.

Alias spotted a flash of blue and purple, and thinking it might be Durgar, moved in that direction. At this point, even the opinionated priest would be welcome company.

Fortunately, her rescue was much more pleasing. She spied Victor bolting down the gangplank in long, swift strides. His eyes were fixed on the pavilion at the end of the pier, where the carriages were still unloading guests. He could be looking for someone else, but Alias was determined not to let him hurtle past her without speaking to him. She stepped into his path with her hands folded in front of her as he approached.

Victor checked his stride so suddenly that he almost tripped himself. The anxious look he'd worn was fading into one of delight. "I'm sorry I wasn't at the pavilion to welcome you. There were so many last-minute-" The young noble interrupted himself. "You look radiant. I'm so glad you came."

Alias smiled. "So am I," she said. "Now. You look nice, too," she complimented him. He wore a three-quarter length tunic of cream-colored silk, trimmed in brown satin, and his hair glistened in the lamplight. Tonight he looked every bit the nobleman.

As Victor took her arm and ushered her up the gangplank onto the ship, a herald began announcing the ship's imminent departure. All guests, the herald insisted, should board the ship now.

There was a flurry of activity as the guests tried to move toward the gangplank quickly, yet without looking hurried or rudely jostling one another. Still, many people on the pier remained where they were, without moving.

"They don't all seem to believe your herald," Alias commented. r

"They haven't all been invited," Victor explained. "They're petty nobies, lesser merchants and their hangers-on, come to see the boat off, hoping for some last-minute invitation."

Alias looked down and saw the woman who'd snubbed her among those not chosen for the voyage. The woman shot Alias a glare as killing as that of the basilisk that adorned her hair.

The last to board the ship was the ancient woman from the personal carriage. She hove herself out of her chair and ambled up the gangplank, leaning on a large, ornately carved staff on one side and the pale, blonde girl on the other. Despite the supports, there was nothing feeble about the woman's appearance. Her back was as straight as an elm tree, and she carried her head high.

"That's Lady Nettel Thalavar," Victor whispered in Alias's ear. "She's the only one of the merchant nobles who has even a dram of old Verovan's blood in her. She's a third cousin, two generations removed. She's outlived three husbands and rebuilt her clan's fortunes to nearly what they were in Verovan's day. The girl on her left is her granddaughter, Thistle."

"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.