"Urn brata nglath heem, Malveen?"
"Grata nglath heem weeta," replied Stannis. His voice was smooth and graceful even when uttering the guttural words.
The troll nodded once and sat on the floor.
"His name is Voorla, Slayer of Eight Chiefs," Malveen told Darrow. "Quite a charming fellow, if you speak the language. You'll have no trouble with him, for he fancies himself a troll of honor and has given me his word of conduct. All the same, mind the bars when you leave his supper."
Two cells past Voorla, a pair of elves stood against the far wall, between a pair of cots. They looked like brothers, each with the same cream-colored skin and long black hair. They wore ill-fitting tunics and kilts, obviously not their own clothing. One touched the other's arm as they silently watched their captor glide past.
"Don't they just ooze arrogance? No idea what they call themselves," said Malveen. "If they weren't so exotic, I wouldn't bother saving them for Radu."
Darrow looked at the elves. They stared back at him. In their green eyes he saw patient loathing. It gave him an odd pang in his belly, and swallowing didn't help it. He looked away from them, but he could feel the reproach of the elves' eyes upon his neck. He hastened to follow Stannis to the next cell.
The woman was so short and muscular that Darrow mistook her for a shaved dwarf at first. She had a dwarf's scowling expression for them, but her face was startlingly pretty.
"Darrow, this our most cherished guest. Maelin, I trust you will find Darrow more agreeable than your former keepers."
Maelin's curses were as colorful as any Darrow had heard on the wharf.
"Your mastery of the language never ceases to inspire, my child," said Stannis. "And here I deluded myself into thinking you would be grateful."
"Just let me in the pit," she said, "where I can spit your damned brother and be free of this filthy hole."
"All in due time, my dear. I assure you that Radu would like nothing better, but you are still far too valuable to us alive."
"There's no ransom," she said. "How many times do I have to tell you that?"
"Oh, but there is, my dear. Did I forget to tell you? We discovered the one person in all Faerun who cares whether you live or die."
She looked at him a long moment before speaking. "You're lying."
"Such directness is to be expected of one who fancies herself a swordswoman, I suppose," sighed Stannis. "Yet it is a habit you would do well to renounce, along with your predilection for a dockside vocabulary. One would have expected your father to have taught you better manners."
Maelin spat on the floor beneath Stannis, who pretended not to notice.
"Imagine our surprise when we found him within this very city. When Radu showed him your bracelet, he appeared most eager to secure your release."
"I want nothing to do with him," said Maelin. "He's got no money, anyway."
"Fortunately for you, my child," said Stannis, "he has much more to offer than money."
At night, Darrow listened to Stannis's tales and gossip, interjecting only rarely to ask a question. He wondered one night what had become of Rusk, the Huntmaster.
"Alas, my old friend rebuffs my hospitality, preferring to make his lair in the abandoned south wing. He finds my new form disquieting," said Malveen. "You don't find me repulsive, do you, dear boy?"
"No, my lord. You are the most majestic being I have ever seen," he said sincerely. Part of Barrow's mind knew and loathed Stannis for what he was, but another part was completely in thrall to his master. His servant mind was, by far, the stronger.
"Sadly," said Malveen, "few would agree with you. Most would prefer, my previous appearance. I was more handsome than any of my brothers, you know. They were jealous of me, even when we were boys."
"How were you…" Darrow struggled to find the words. "… how did you…"
"Transcend my former self?" "I meant no disrespect, my lord."
"Of course you didn't, dear boy. Your interest is flattering. You have heard of my mother's talent for magic, which I inherited?"
"Of course, my lord."
"And of her traffic with, shall we say, unsanctioned merchant vessels?" "Pirates, master?"
"Just so. One of her allies in this venture was native to the sea. When the other Houses combined to ruin her, mother summoned him from the sunless depths. By dusk, when he could venture above the surface, our vessel had burned to the waterline, and the victors were finishing us off with crossbows. Our ally found me quite helpless in the water, but still alive. Knowing I had no means to survive in the open sea, he embraced me as I drowned, adding his powerful blood to my own."
"How strange!" said Darrow with enthusiasm-but not too much enthusiasm. He had learned that Stannis enjoyed such formal interjections and had practiced them. "But how did you return to Selgaunt?"
"You understand the nature of my condition, yes? You wonder why I did not remain in my sire's thrall?" "My lord, I do."
"He grew curious about the contents of my mother's estate," said Malveen. "In short, he wished to add her plunder to his own. I could only obey, you understand. One cannot act against the desires of one's master. Fortunately, we arrived on the same evening Radu had chosen to visit the house alone. My brother was not pleased to see my new condition, so he severed me from my master's domination.''
"He killed the vampire?"
"He did!" Malveen applauded his own story with a childlike clap of his flabby hands. "And in so doing freed me from my servitude. Now I am the master of Selgaunt Bay and House Malveen."
"But, my lord, this happened twenty years ago. How could your brother have slain a vampire? He must have been still a boy."
"Oh, my child," said Malveen. His voice lost its mirth as he confided, "Radu was never a boy."
Within a tenday, caring for the prisoners became routine. There was little to the task, since the captives threw their own slops into the hall, where the sewage trough washed most away. Darrow swept the rest into the stream, whose source was a wide, overflowing basin at the end of the passage that filled itself as mysteriously as did the waterfall in the River Hall. The water was fresh and clean before spilling into the trough. He wondered whether the water was conjured from another place or merely redirected and filtered from the bay.
The important chore was to feed the prisoners. They were used to raw fish or shellfish with seaweed. The elves disdained the meat, while Voorla devoured the fish and eels with relish. Maelin looked in her supper bucket with disgust.
"You could at least cook it," she said one day. "You know how to cook, don't you?"
"Yes," said Darrow.
"Then bring me a cooked meal."
"Why should I?"
She looked him up and down. "I could make it worth the effort."
Darrow considered her implied offer. Her face was not pretty in the usual sense, but there was a fierce energy in her eyes, and he liked the fine lines at the corners of her lips. Her body was firm and her hips curvaceous. She was strong, though, and probably a better fighter than he was. He could make her put on manacles before he entered the cell, he thought…
Before the fantasy could take root, Darrow thought of the master's displeasure should he find him in her cell.
"Forget it," he said.
"Please," she said. "It's little work to fry a fish."
There was a kitchen upstairs, which Darrow used for his own meals.