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Cavatina smiled. Though the halfling was a mere lay worshiper, Meryl never-ever-used formal titles. She even addressed Lady Qiluй by her first name.

"So what brings you to the Promenade?" Meryl continued. "Slain any demons lately? How are things in the Chondalwood? Are the elves still prevailing?"

Cavatina held up her hands, as if overwhelmed by the barrage of questions. Meryl seldom asked only one her tongue ran faster than her feet, more often than not. "Rylla's summons. Three yochlols. Good. And yes."

Meryl's head bobbed in a series of nods. She shifted her basket, and Cavatina heard metal clink inside it.

"Don't tell me you're stealing the silverware again," Cavatina teased. The jibe wouldn't sting Meryl, who prided herself on her stout-hearted loyalty. She'd been Qiluй's cook for decades, and personally tasted every ingredient for poison before using it. A simple prayer of detection would have accomplished the same result, but Meryl insisted on putting her life on the line. If poison took her, she said, she'd go to Eilistraee's realm happy and content-and with a full stomach.

Meryl feigned shock. "Me!" she blurted indignantly. "I never, ever, would contemplate such a thing. Not in a hundred lifetimes. A thousand. Yes, it's true; that was the gleam of silver you saw." She cracked the lid of the basket, giving Cavatina a peek. "But I'm taking these vials from the Hall of Healing to the High House, as you could plainly have seen from the direction I was headed." With a flourish, she snapped the lid shut.

Now Cavatina was supposed to apologize. That was the way the game was played. But her brief glimpse inside the basket puzzled her. Those vials were used to hold one thing, only. "Is that holy water?"

Meryl nodded.

Cavatina should have cracked another joke-to ask, perhaps, if Meryl's kitchen was infested with undead mice-but her customary bluntness kicked in at last. "What does a cook need with holy water?"

"They're for Qiluй. She told me to make sure there's an ample supply on hand when she gets back from her inspection tour of the shrines. She's used up all she had."

"Why doesn't she bless her own water?"

"I've no idea. But I'd recommend against asking her. Qiluй's been awfully short-tempered lately. A tenday ago, she got angry with Horaldin. I could hear her yelling at him, even from the kitchen. She told him to follow her orders or else. And yesterday she shouted at me for scalding the soup." The halfling made a face. "I never scald my soup."

"That's not like her."

"No." Meryl shrugged. "She's got a lot on her mind, I suppose." The halfling crooked a finger, beckoning Cavatina closer. Her voice dropped to a husky whisper. "Yesterday, just before Qiluй left, someone turned a blindfish into a golden crab. According to what I heard, the Protector who set out after it was eaten by a scorpion. It's all nonsense, of course-that statue was so rusted it couldn't possibly have swallowed anyone, and Leliana will show up eventually-but worrisome nonsense just the same."

"I see." It was no use asking Meryl to clarify this garbled tale; the halfling tended to jumble everything together, and was forever seasoning the resulting hash with a hefty dash of imagination. Rylla would clarify whatever Meryl was trying to tell her. She would also shed light, no doubt, on why the high priestess didn't bless her own water-if indeed Meryl had gotten that part right.

"I'd best be on my way," Cavatina said. "The battle-mistress is expecting me."

Meryl nodded. She shifted the basket into the crook of her arm. "Eilistraee's blessings," she said, touching thumbs and forefingers. "Dance in moonlight, and joyous song."

Cavatina touched her breastplate, her fingers resting lightly on its embossed moon-and-sword. "Joyous song." She watched as the cook entered a side door and disappeared into the high priestess's house, then sighed and shook her head.

She was just turning to go when the door opened again: Meryl, leaving, the basket still under her arm. Something about