Masquerades h-10

by Kate Novak

  It was attracted to the light of my sword, Dragonbait argued.

  "A quelzarn hunts by scent first. They say one can smell blood in the water a mile away," Olive commented. "If you hadn't smell ed juicier, it would have taken me. More importantly, it was upstream from all of us. It had to pass Lord Victor before it surfaced beside you and me. Then there's the moment in the side tunnel when it lunged at Lord Victor. He had bis hand in his pocket, fingering something. I'm willing to bet he has some charm against the creature."

  They sell such charms on the docks, Dragonbait pointed out, to anyone willing to pay two silvers. "But П1 bet his works better than those," Olive replied. It does not prove your point, the paladin insisted.

  "Not alone. You have to study the whole body of evidence," the halfling retorted. "Allow me to continue."

  The paladin remained silent.

  "There's the question of Victor's only known confidant-the person with whom he discusses his day-to-day problems." His father? Dragonbait queried by hand.

  "Hardly," Olive replied. "Oh, to be sure, he kept the croamarkh informed of Alias's discovery and our expedition into the sewers. He also reassured the old man that, where Alias is concerned, he has no intention, and I quote, 'of forming an alliance beneath his station.' But the most sinister point of all-guess who it is that Victor Dhostar has chosen as a confidant, who he trusts with all his schemes. Go on, guess." The saurial shrugged. "Kimbel." Dragonbait shook his head in disbelief.

  "Yes!" Olive insisted. "Kimbel, the geased assassin. The man whose idea of an amusing afternoon is torturing halflings. He and Victor both know that the croamarkh is the Faceless. They were talking about it."

  If Victor knew for sure, he would have told Alias, the paladin insisted.

  "Oh, hell tell her," Olive said. "But not until the time is right." What time is that?

  "When he's certain he's properly positioned to be installed as croamarkh. The halflings at House Thalavar think he's had his eye on the position for eight years, ever since his father cheated him out of it by running for his third term. Lord Victor's an ambitious little viper, but he can't just squeal on his father. He has an image to uphold as the dutiful, loyal son. If Alias accuses Luer, shell be the one to take the brunt of the nobles' anger for insulting one of their own. Victor will get the credit for helping her fight the Night Masks, but won't be blamed for turning on his father. He's using her, using the way everyone feels about her." You are speculating, the paladin signed.

  Olive hopped down from the chair and strode up to the paladin with her hands on her hips. "I am not speculating," she growled, stomping her foot soundlessly in the plush carpeting. "I heard him plotting to overthrow his father, plotting to take over as croamarkh, plotting to use Alias. Now, you have to decide who you're going to believe. There's me, who you've known for eleven years, who helped free you and Alias and Finder from the clutches of Cassana and Zrie and Phalse and who helped you free your people from Moander's slavery. Then there's this silver-tongued greengrocer who you don't know a thing about except that he looks good to your shen sight."

  Dragonbait folded his hands together. He did not reply immediately, but Olive could tell from the hamlike scent of worry wafting from his neck glands that she'd gotten through to him. Finally he signed, / must think more about this.

  "You do that," the halfling answered. "And while you're at it, think about how you're going to break it to Alias. She's likely to be upset, but she can't be kept in the dark. She's up to her neck in all this, and Westgate politics are even deadlier than the Westgate sewers. I'm going back to House Thalavar. I've managed to wrangle myself into duty as one of Lady Nettel's personal attendants for the ball, so 111 see you both there."

  The halfling let herself out, leaving the paladin to brood over her words. It wasn't until Mercy came in with a tray of fruit and bread an hour later that the paladin even moved. He returned the girl's smile and curtsey with a brusque nod, then returned to his thoughts. The young half-elf shook her head at the stuffy smell in the room and opened a window before taking her leave. She couldn't think why the room smelled so of smoke, but then she was unaware that that was the scent of the saurial's fervent prayers.

  Lord Victor surveyed the robe and sash he'd had made especially to match Alias's gown. The swordswoman's elven dressmaker had been obnoxiously discreet about what the swordswoman was wearing. Victor had had to visit her personally to talk her out of the information. It was worth his trouble, though, since it was important that people associate him with Alias tonight. Costuming was only one of several subtle but effective methods to achieve that end.

  Almost everything was in place for tonight. Before he dressed for the ball, though, he had one last piece of business with his father.

  The croamarkh was where he'd been yesterday afternoon at the same time, indeed, where he could be found every afternoon, in his library, balancing the business accounts personally, double-checking the figures of his accountants, ship captains, customs agents, and warehouse guards. Any discrepancy resulted in angry bellowing to send for the person responsible for the error, even if the error was in the Dhostar clan's favor.

  Victor entered the library and stood before his father's desk. "Father?" he said.

  "Victor," Luer Dhostar replied curtly, looking up with irritation at the disturbance, his pen paused in mid-stroke. There was a trace of concern in his eyes. He never knew these days what his son might tell him next.

  Victor remained standing silently in just the right spot to cast a shadow over the account book.

  Finally the elder Dhostar asked, "Is there something you need?"

  "Many things," Victor replied smoothly, inwardly pleased that he had managed to make his father ask him. "But first and foremost," he said, "I need to know if you have changed your mind about attending the masked ball this evening."

  "You know I have not," Luer retorted, snapping off the last word like a dry twig. "You are consorting with the help. It's no different than being caught in a compromising position with a chambermaid. I will not be seen appearing to endorse such a relationship."

  "I think you should reconsider," Victor stated. "This evening Alias is going to unmask the Faceless."

  The croamarkh's forehead creased deeply with concern. He set down his quill pen and closed his account book. "She knows who the Faceless is?"

  "She is very close," said Victor, "and she'll have the proof she needs by tonight."

  "Why hasn't she come to me with this information?" Luer demanded. "That's what I hired her for."

  "Why hasn't she?" Victor parroted. He shrugged. "Perhaps consorting with Jamal and her little troupe has given her a flair for street theater dramatics. Will you reconsider coming tonight?"

  Luer shifted uncomfortably in his seat, remaining silent as he considered his options. After a few moments, he shook his head. "Send for her. She must tell me first. I can't have half the nobles up in arms if she is wrong."

  Victor frowned down at his father. "She can tell you in private at the ball," he argued.

  Luer's face clouded with anger. He rose to his feet and shouted, "I will not attend this cursed ball! Send for Abas now!"

  A look of rage spasmed across Victor's face, but the croamarkh was not unaccustomed to his son's temper.Luer held his ground. In a moment, the younger Dhostar mastered his emotions, and his face transformed back to a mask of civility.

  Victor lowered his eyes to the table and whispered,

  “I’m sorry, Father. It's over now."

  "I should think so," Luer snapped. These tantrums are beneath you. Now do as I ask, please."

  Victor shook his head sadly. "I mean it's over for you. We know that you're the Faceless."

  Luer's face turned scarlet, and for several moments, though his mouth moved, he seemed unable to reply. Finally, the words exploded from him. That's preposterous! If that's what this cheap sell-sword thinks, I want her here now, before she does any more damage!"

  That's what she will think, and sh
e has proof." Victor produced the key he'd shown to Alias and explained, "I found this among your possessions. It's the key to the former lair of the Night Masters and the Faceless." "I never saw that key before," Luer declared. "So you say, but I do not think that Alias will believe you."

  "We'll see about that," Luer growled. He reached out and yanked on the bellpull. Almost immediately Kimbel appeared in the doorway.

  "I want you personally to fetch Alias and bring her here immediately," the croamarkh commanded the servant.

  Kimbel looked at Victor. The younger Dhostar shook his head. Kimbel entered the room, closed the door behind him, and stood before it, silent and still.

  The veins in Luer's face throbbed visibly. "What is the meaning of this?" he demanded.

  "Tonight," Victor explained, "Alias, under my direction, will identify you as the Faceless, leader of the Night Masks. Enough evidence will be found among your possessions to offer proof of this accusation." The young noble slid around the desk and put a hand on his father's shoulder. "There is still a way out for you. A ship to Mul-horand is putting out to sea tonight just before the ball. You can take passage on that ship, leaving a document behind that will abdicate leadership of House Dhostar to me and recommend me for the post of croamarkh. I, in turn, will ensure that these awful revelations are never made public."

  "If you believe me guilty, why would you do that?" Luer Dhostar asked with a laugh.

  "To preserve the power of the nobles and the power of this family," Victor retorted. "There will be talk, naturally, but nothing will come of it. Then, in a few years, when the Night Masks are under control and all of the rumors have died, I will send for you. You can return as an elder statesmen." He gave his father's shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

  "You think I will leave this house, this city, in your hands, knowing you have allied yourself with these criminals?"

  Victor's brow knit in confusion. While he hadn't expected his father to accede readily to his demands, he was not prepared to meet with a counteraccusation. "It is not I who've aligned myself with the Night Masks, but you," he insisted, throwing his hands up in the air.

  "I know about the smoke powder," Luer said. "Smoke powder? What about it?"

  "It occurred to me when Alias noted how much more common smoke powder is. She thought perhaps we weren't able to stop it from being smuggled in. She didn't know how efficient the sniffer dogs at the customs check are or just how much we've confiscated. It's all been recorded in the customs records. There should be quite a stockpile." The croamarkh poked a hard finger in his son's chest. "A stockpile I entrusted to you," he growled. "A stockpile I have since discovered has been seriously depleted. You've been selling it to them, haven't you? You've been supplying the Faceless with the smoke powder he uses in his evil schemes. You've made yourself his pawn."

  Victor snorted derisively. "I am no one's pawn, old man. I control this game, and when it is through, Westgate will no longer be a squabbling collection of petty nobles, but a powerful kingdom-something I might have already accomplished if you had supported me as croamarkh. We might have avoided this whole ugly mess if only you had given me a chance to prove myself."

  Luer's features softened for a moment, and he put his hands on his son's shoulders. "Whatever you've done," he said, "whatever hooks the Faceless has in you, I can put things right again. Escape yourself on that ship to Mul-horand, and I'll sort matters out on this end. Gods know, you're not the first noble scion I've had to pull from the mu-"

  Luer's voice faltered, and he gasped and looked down at his chest. A dagger jutted from between his ribs, and Victor, who held the blade's handle, thrust it in deeper.

  The green ichor in the blade's groove sizzled as it came into contact with the croamarkh's blood, and a black stain spread across the croamarkh's tunic.

  Father looked at son with an unbelieving stare. His lips tried to issue the word "Why?" but the sound was blocked by a bloody foam pouring from bis mouth.

  A moment later, Lord Luer Dhostar, Patriarch of Clan Dhostar and Croamarkh of Westgate, crumpled to the floor in a heap.

  “I’ll pull myself out of the mud, Father," Victor replied coldly. "It is too bad you wouldn't do as I asked. It would have been so much more convenient for both of us." He looked up at Kimbel. The servant was grinning.

  "I fail to see any humor in the situation," Victor snapped.

  "It's the irony," Kimbel retorted. "Where the warrioress has been led astray, an accountant comes to the truth."

  Victor sniffed in recognition of Kimbel's point, then ordered, "Get the body to the new hideout. When you finish that, begin to search and mark all the books with references to smoke powder so I have evidence of the former croamarkh's pilfering."

  "And may I inquire as to your plans, Your Lordship?" the former assassin queried as he opened the library door.

  "I have to get ready for the masquerade ball," Victor said with a laugh as he strolled from the room. "You know us merchants. Banes of the dance floor and dessert tables."

  Eighteen

  The Masquerade

  Alias returned to Blais House in the late afternoon, lugging a red velvet I gown made from so much fabric it weighed nearly as much as the adventurer's sword. Jamal accompanied her, | carrying the baldric and the masks. Alias had chosen for herself and Drag-onbait. The saurial had gone out, but he returned just as Jamal was buttoning up the side of Alias's gown.

  To Alias's questioning look the paladin explained in Saurial, "I've been to see Mintassan about a few matters."

  "Anything in particular?" Alias asked as she slipped the diamond-patterned baldric over her head.

  Dragonbait shot a glance at Jamal. The actress was beginning to fuss with Alias's hair. "It would be better in private," he answered.

  On the pretext that Dragonbait was too modest to change with the actress about, Alias asked Jamal to excuse herself. The actress agreed, promising Alias she'd be waiting in the hotel lobby to see them off. "Well?" Alias prompted once she'd closed the door behind Jamal. "Olive was here earlier," the paladin explained. "And?" Dragonbait shifted uncomfortably. He didn't really know that he credited Olive's story, which made it very difficult for him to present it at all. Of course, if he actually believed the halfling, the truth would be even harder for him to reveal. "She doesn't trust Victor Dhostar," the saurial said.

  Alias chuckled as she worked her way into the white slippers Jamal had loaned her. "Neither does Jamal. It seems to be a way of life in Westgate-mistrusting all the noble merchants. According to Jamal, it should be a crime for people to make that much money for so little labor or talent." "What do you think?" Dragonbait asked.

  Alias tied her scabbard to the baldric she wore. "Well, Fm sure there's more than a few Haztor Urdos among them." "I meant about Victor," the paladin explained.

  Alias smiled. "Victor's different," she said. Dragonbait said nothing, but continued to stare at Alias until she felt obliged to elaborate. "He's wonderful, charming, clever, thoughtful, and, to use a phrase Jamal's fond of, he's a fine figure of а тал."

  "Olive thinks he lied to us about the key, that he did not enter the Faceless's lair the way he claimed, that he knows his father is the Fadeless, that he is using you to depose him."

  Alias glared at her companion. "That's ridiculous," she snapped. "You do not think he suspects his father?"

  "Of course he suspects his father. He's just loyal to him, the way I was to Finder, like you said. Remember? The day you told me how sky-blue virtuous he appeared?"

  Dragonbait nodded. "Suppose I hadn't told you that. Would you think the same of him?"

  "Of course I would," Alias said in an exasperated tone. "Because he is. It's not his fault his father might be a criminal."

  "Olive thinks Victor must have used a different entrance to the lair and lied to us about using the key."

  "Oh, and Olive has never been one to jump to conclusions," Alias said with sarcasm. "I'll find out about the key from Victor tonight. We'll get this settl
ed then. You should be getting dressed. Victor will be here soon." She turned to the window and began vigorously yanking a brush through her hair.

  Dragonbait changed into his best tunic and strapped on his sword. As he peace-bonded his weapon with a cord of silk, he said, "I spoke with Mintassan about the magic that makes the Faceless and the Night Masters undetectable."

  Alias turned about. "Probably something like what makes me undetectable. Cassana could have bought or stole the skill from the priests of Leira. Durgar won't believe in the Faceless because he can't be detected by magic. I wonder, if he tried to detect me, would he conclude I don't exist, do you think?"

  "No," the paladin replied. "Not if it contradicted the evidence of his eyes. Mintassan suspects that the Faceless's helmet of disguise was not the only piece of magic looted from the Temple of Leira before it was burned. There might have been objects that could misdirect other sorts of magical detection. Perhaps even something that could blind my shen sight."

  From the street outside came the sound of carriage — wheels rumbling on the cobblestones.

  "That could explain why you read the croamarkh as completely neutral, if he is the Faceless, " Alias noted as she turned to look out the window.

  Dragonbait nodded, but did not add his worse suspicion. He was unwilling to admit there was any magic that could thwart his shen sight, which was, to his mind, a gift from his god. Without proof, he could not bring himself to slander Lord Victor.

  "That's Lord Victor's carriage," Alias announced, snatching up her porcelain mask. Her gown rustled as she swept toward the door in a most unladylike dash.

  It was too late to say anything more, the paladin realized, picking up his own feathery mask. The timing was all wrong. She would not hear it anyway. Although she had made no admission, it was clear to him that she loved Victor Dhostar.