Masquerades

by Kate Novak

  “So you say,” the man shot back. “What good is a healer who will not heal? I think you’re in league with him!”

  Someone now stood on the first landing, casting a shadow down the stairs and into the hallway. “If I were,” the woman argued, “why would I come here in the middle of the night? Let it scar, then I’ll call again. Until that time, I recommend you keep a very low profile. Good night.”

  Someone stomped very deliberately down the stairs and paused at the bottom. Alias peeked around the railing. It was a woman dressed in a tunic and leggings made from satin fabric printed with a harlequin diamond pattern. She wore a mask of black fabric that covered her face from her forehead to her nose. Around her neck was an iron necklace of a stylized mask—the unholy symbol of Mask, the god of thieves. The woman wrapped herself in a voluminous cape of wolf fur, nodded, and waved to someone down the hall, then let herself out the front door.

  Alias waited anxiously for several moments, expecting a servant to come down the hall, but only Olive appeared.

  “Did you see who she waved to?” the swordswoman asked the halfling.

  “The sculpture we were pushing around. Its supposed to be of the god Mask stabbing Kezef, the Chaos Hound,” Olive explained. Her voice was still a hoarse whisper. “Wishful thinking on the part of Mask worshipers. She’s a priestess of Mask. She was just making an obeisance to the image of her master.”

  Alias nodded as she wondered what was wrong with Melman that he required a healer in the middle of the night, and why couldn’t the priestess heal him?

  Alias checked the door to what had once been Cassana’s laboratory. The door was securely locked. Olive pulled out a tiny wire and began working at the lock as Alias and Dragonbait proceeded to investigate all the other first floor rooms.

  It didn’t take them long to ascertain that there was no one else in the other rooms. If there were servants in the house, Alias suspected they were quartered upstairs. Throughout their search she could hear pacing upstairs, punctuated by a man cursing occasionally.

  Alias took the precaution of securing and locking the front door against any other evening visitors. Then she and Dragonbait returned to the entrance of the previously locked laboratory. The halfling stood within, her lantern propped up on an accounting table. A huge smile graced her face. With its window bricked up, the room had been converted to a treasure vault. All about the halfling were sacks, crates, and chests, each labeled with a tag. Alias read the nearest one. In a crabbed, tight handwriting was the notation, “500 gold, 100 platinum, Duck Statue stolen from Family Urdo for later ransom.”

  Quite a hoard for a simple vintner,” Alias noted. “Grapes must have been exceedingly good these last few years.”

  Olive pointed to the last pages of a thin red leather-bound ledger lying on the accounting table. “According to these figures, Melman’s profits are minimal. Not even enough to require payment of business taxes.

  “So all this is just spare change he’s found lying in the street,” Alias commented.

  Olive held up a finger for Alias to wait, then thumped deftly on the side of the accounting table and a small, secret drawer sprang out. From it the halfling pulled out a second ledger.

  “This,” Olive said, cracking open the ledger and taking several moments to peer down the page, “shows that our man Melman is a major player in Westgate. He’s got his thumb in extortion, fencing, smuggling. It’s all written down here.”

  “So we’ve caught ourselves a big Night Mask,” Alias whispered with glee.

  “Actually,” Olive said, lifting a false bottom out of the secret drawer and pulling out yet a third ledger, “we’ve caught ourselves a big Night Mask who cheats. First ledger for the law, second ledger for his criminal cohorts and bosses, third ledger—well, that will have the numbers closest to reality. Melman was not only skimming off the top, but he was collecting outside his own territory. Here’s today’s entry from One-Eye in the second ledger. Two hundred gold, Gateside Protection, it says. In the third ledger it’s entered as three hundred gold, Gateside and the Shore.”

  “Let’s see if Melman is interested in talking about his books,” Alias suggested.

  Just as the adventurers began climbing the stairs, they encountered their man turning on the landing, coming down toward them. He was dressed in a long nightshirt and slippers, and oddly enough, a full cloak with a very deep hood, which concealed his features.

  For such a heavy man Melman moved very quickly. The moment he spotted them, he grabbed from the landing a halfling-sized urn filled with dried flowers, tossed it down the stairs, and bolted back up to the second story.

  Dragonbait dodged aside, but longer-legged Alias leaped over the obstacle and charged after her prey. Olive caught the urn and fell back down the stairs with a curse and a crash.

  In the upstairs hallway, Alias caught sight of Melman disappearing into the only lit room in the house. He tried to slam the bedroom door closed, but he caught his cloak in the door frame and was forced to reopen it to pull the robe free. Alias threw herself against the door before the Night Mask could manage to lock it.

  The force of the swordswoman’s entry flung the vintner into the center of the room. His hood fell back, revealing his face, and Alias felt her throat constrict in horror.

  This must be what Jamal had meant when she spoke of the branded ones, Alias realized. Melman’s face was hideously burned all about his eyes, in the shape of a domino mask. The damaged flesh was covered with great white blisters and bright red all about the edges. Blisters even covered his eyelids, and in the brightly candle-lit bedroom his eyes squinted as if the light pained them.

  Alias recovered quickly from her shock and leveled her sword at the man’s chest.

  “It’s you! Alias the Sell-Sword!” Melman gasped. “When I saw you on the stairs I thought you were a burglar,” he explained. Meekly, he raised both hands, shaking back his sleeves to reveal there were no weapons concealed there.

  “I’m glad to see you recognize me, Master Melman,” the swordswoman said. “We have a lot to talk about.”

  “I haven’t got anything to say to you,” the vintner insisted.

  Dragonbait and Olive entered the room.

  Olive whistled at the sight of Melman’s brand. “I can see why he needed a priestess,” the halfling muttered.

  “The rest of the house is empty,” the paladin reported in Saurial.

  “I can summon the watch, you know. You’re all trespassing!” Melman declared, his voice rising in pitch.

  “It appears you’ve let all the servants have the night off,” Alias noted. “Didn’t want them to catch sight of your face? No matter. I’m sure Olive will be glad to fetch the watch for you … if you’re serious. The watch will probably be fascinated with the trove of treasure you’ve got downstairs. Especially those pieces that are undeniably stolen property. Then, too, there are the ledgers. So many different accounting books.”

  Olive made for the door, suppressing a grin, but she halted when Melman called out, “No need for that. What do you want? As you already saw, I can offer you a great deal.”

  Alias motioned for Melman to have a seat. “What I want from you, Master Melman, is information. Let’s start with the Faceless.”

  Melman sat down on the bed. “Who?” the vintner asked, but there was a quiver in his voice that belied his ignorance.

  Alias leaned forward. “The Faceless, Master Melman. You remember him. He’s the man who burned your face.”

  “This,” Melman said, pointing to his face. “An accident. Walked into a torch.”

  “Very funny,” Alias said. “We’ll see if the watch finds you so amusing. You should get along with His Reverence Durgar. He doesn’t know anything about the Faceless either. The Faceless, however, knows something about you. He probably knows you’d be dangerous in Durgar’s custody. I understand Night Masks do not always survive once they are taken by the authorities.”

  Melman flinched, and he licked his lips ner
vously. “Try to understand,” the man pleaded. “If this is my punishment for arguing,” the vintner pointed to his face again, “imagine what will happen if I betray them.”

  At a nod from Alias, Dragonbait stepped forward. He spread his clawed fingers to touch the perimeters of Melman’s shocking wound. At first the vintner shrunk back, but when it became clear that the saurial was not attacking him, he relaxed considerably. The paladin’s whispered prayer invoked the same healing blue aura over his hands as ever, but the blue light seemed to spark and dissolve as it formed. Melman’s face remained as damaged as before.

  The saurial looked at Alias and growled and clicked, “There is some evil force preventing the healing. I’ve never encountered anything like it.”

  “Is that what happened when the priestess of Mask tried to heal you?” Alias asked Melman.

  The man nodded. “He said it wouldn’t heal until it scabbed over.”

  “He who? The Faceless?”

  Melman nodded.

  Alias felt her stomach twist with excitement. An admission of the Faceless’s existence was a major concession from the man. Now if she could just press her advantage.

  “So basically the Faceless has made it impossible for you to leave your home for the next several days,” Alias pointed out. “In the meantime, you’re a sitting duck.”

  Melman did not reply.

  “You didn’t think we were burglars when you spotted us, did you? You thought we might be Night Masks assassins,” the swordswoman guessed.

  “That’s ridiculous,” Melman retorted, but without much conviction.

  “Is it? I don’t think so. This is the deal, Master Melman. You tell us all you know about the Faceless and the Night Masters, and if you’re telling the truth, I’ll help you escape from Westgate.”

  Dragonbait radiated the scent of his displeasure with this idea, but he said nothing, instead shifting toward the window.

  “You hold out on us, though, Melman, and I’m going to have to leave your fate to Durgar’s discretion.”

  Melman shuddered. “I’ll—I’ll tell you what I can,” he said.

  “Good. Let’s start with you. Are you one of the Night Masters?” the swordswoman asked.

  Melman nodded wordlessly.

  “Why did the Faceless brand you?”

  “I argued with him in council. I wanted you killed, but he insists he has some other plan to take care of you. He’s playing some bizarre power game that’s liable to ruin business for good. None of us have any idea who or what he might be.”

  At Alias’s prodding, Melman described the last several meetings of the Night Masters, highlighting the parts of the discussion that dwelt on her and Jamal. As he began covering the details, Melman began to relax, until finally it was as if he were sitting with other merchants in the bar, chatting about business.

  “The Night Masters report to the Faceless every other evening,” Melman explained, “always at low tide. The entrance to the hideout is on the western bank of the Thunn, beneath the River Bridge. It’s covered at high tide. It’s hidden by magic, but if you have the key, you can see through the illusion.”

  Melman reached into his shirt. Alias raised her sword just an inch. The Night Master gave her an uneasy smile and pulled out a chain around his neck. Hanging from the chain was an iron key with a circular grip. He held out the key, and Olive took it from him.

  “You look through the grip,” the Night Mask explained, “and you can see the door. The tide is just turning now. You won’t be able to see the door until tomorrow afternoon. The next meeting of the Night Masters won’t be until tomorrow night—”

  “Alias,” Dragonbait interrupted in Saurial. “There’s trouble coming this way. Night Masks. Assassins.”

  “Olive, check outside,” the swordswoman ordered.

  The halfling moved toward the window and peered out from the side. “I don’t see—wait. Hmmm. Night Masks, nine that I can count. Probably more around the other side of the house. Hanging in the shadows across the street. Surrounding us.”

  Melman’s face went white from shock, making the red markings of his burned mask stand out all the more. “He’s found me out already! Those are assassins! I shouldn’t have talked to you!” The vintner stood up, looking as if he might try to run past Alias, but Dragonbait pushed him back onto the bed.

  “Don’t be foolish,” Alias snapped, keeping her voice calm and even. “No one knows we’re here, and we can’t be detected magically. More likely the Faceless had already decided to bring your career to an end. You’re lucky we’re here to get you out of this.”

  “Looks like they’ve gathered a quorum,” Olive quipped. They’re starting to cross the street.”

  “They’ll soon regret gathering here,” Dragonbait said, drawing out his sword.

  Alias put a hand on the paladin’s arm. “It’s better they don’t discover we’ve been here. Faceless won’t suspect we’ve learned anything from Melman. We’ll sneak out through the basement. Let’s go,” she said. Picking up the lantern, she headed for the staircase.

  Dragonbait prodded Melman to his feet and out of the bedroom.

  “He knows everything,” the vintner insisted, his voice climbing an hysterical octave.

  “Look, you’ve been cheating with your phony ledgers for over a year,” Olive pointed out, following from behind. “If he knew everything, he’d have killed you sooner. If you just keep your mouth shut and keep moving, we’ll get you out of this. No sweat.”

  They were just coming down the lower flight of stairs when someone began pounding on the front door with a mailed fist and shouting Melman’s name.

  Dragonbait halted in the front hall and hissed at the door.

  Alias pushed Melman toward the secret passage and pulled on the saurial’s tunic. “Remember how they burned Jamal’s home?” she whispered. “We’ve got to keep moving.”

  The paladin growled with displeasure, but he followed Melman down the hall and guided him to the passage behind the statue. As Alias followed behind them, the pounding on the door stopped, replaced by the sound of someone or several someones throwing their shoulders against it. Alias set down the lantern and turned about to usher Olive down the stairs, but the halfling was nowhere in sight.

  “Olive!” the swordswoman shouted.

  Outside, the Night Masks began smashing windows all around the house, including the transom window over the front door. Something thumped in the dark hall, and Alias could see a tiny flame glowing on the floor. It was the same explosive device the Night Masks had used in the Thalavar warehouse.

  The halfling appeared in the doorway of Melman’s treasure room, loaded down with two sacks.

  “Olive, get down!” Alias screamed, throwing herself at the halfling, knocking her halfway into the treasure room.

  The explosion rocked the house, and the noise was deafening. The swordswoman was just rising unsteadily to her knees when a second, third, and fourth bomb went off.

  “We’ve got to get out of here, Olive,” Alias shouted, but the halfling did not reply. She was still breathing, but her leg was oozing blood where a piece of twisted metal had cut a gash through the flesh to the bone. There was no time to bind the wound. Alias slung the woman over her shoulder and stumbled to her feet. She cursed under the weight, realizing a good deal of it was gold coin.

  Out in the main hall, the wall hangings were ablaze and the house was filling with smoke. Alias took a breath of the still-untainted air of the treasure room and dashed down the hall to the secret panel.

  Dragonbait stood at the top of the stairs, anxiously looking for the swordswoman.

  “Pull the panel closed behind us,” Alias ordered as she half ran, half tumbled down the secret stair with her halfling load.

  Dragonbait tugged on the panel, but the statue of Mask had toppled into it, wedging it into place. Sheathing his sword, the saurial moved out into the corridor to shove the statue over.

  The front door burst open, and a large wooden keg r
olled into the front hall. The paladin wasted no more time on the secret panel. He slipped into the stairwell and flew down the steps.

  Overhead, an even bigger explosion rocked not only the house but its foundation as well. Brick, mortar, and wood began pouring down on the paladin’s head, and the spiral staircase, which Dragonbait had just stepped off of, fell over into the basement. No one was going to notice that the secret panel was out of place, the paladin realized. In the dark he could sense the heat coming off Alias, Olive, and Melman, and he hurried down the passage to where they waited in the dark.

  He pulled his sword and whispered the command for it to ignite. By the light of the flame he could see Alias holding her hands over Olive’s leg, trying to stanch the blood that oozed from a great wound. Melman stood pressed against a wall, breathing heavily, his eyes wide with terror.

  Thinking they would be safe enough in the basement for at least a few minutes, Dragonbait handed the flaming sword to Alias and bent over the halfling to heal her wound.

  Alias stood up and was instantly aware of how much warmer the air near the ceiling was than the air at the floor. The flames from Dragonbait’s sword flickered toward the ruined secret staircase. Air coming in from the secret passage to the outside was feeding the fire above.

  Something overhead spattered to the floor and spread out with a gleam. Alias looked up in astonishment. One of the heavy floorboards beneath Melman’s treasure room had cracked in the last explosion and molten gold was now dripping into the basement.

  “I’ve stopped the bleeding, but she’s still unconscious,” the paladin said. His mouth dropped when he caught sight of the shower of gold. “Pity she’ll miss this,” he added.

  Alias thrust the flaming sword back in the paladin’s hand. “Get Melman out,” she ordered. She scooped the halfling over her shoulders again and ran after the paladin and the Night Master. At the secret door, she hesitated. She could leave it open, feeding the fire so that there would be nothing but ash left—making it certain the Night Masks wouldn’t expect to find Melman’s bones. Concerned that smoke might drift out and reveal the passage’s existence, though, she decided against it. With a quick tug, she pulled the door closed and hurried down the passage.