Kate Novak - Masquerades

Alias grinned at the woman's sales acumen and nodded in agreement. As the merchant held up a mirror of polished steel, Ah as pulled out and pocketed the emerald studs she normally wore and slid in the silver wires attached to the stars. She shook her head and smiled with satisfaction. She could hear the small, interlocked stars jingling softly, and they twinkled in the light. Now all I need is an outfit to go with my jewelry, she thought. Bidding the merchant farewell, she strolled deeper into the heart of the market, toward the Tower.

The Tower was a circular stone keep five stories high situated on a low hillock in the center of the market. The hillock, Alias suspected, was artificial, built up to cover not only the tower's foundation wall but the first level of dungeons beneath. Two later additions abutted the east side, made of similar though not perfectly matched stone. The larger addition held rooms for public business: the registry offices for imports, exports, and other licenses and the courtroom. The smaller addition was a guarded entrance into the tower itself. Within the Tower the city kept its counting house and treasury, the nobles kept offices and meeting rooms, and the watch kept its armory and some barracks. Beneath the tower, an unspecified number of subterranean levels served as jails and dungeons.

Outside the entrance hall flew the banners of those in residence at the moment: the watch, Durgar, several other noble lords, and the croamarkh. The doorway of the entrance was a stone oval, which could be barred by an iron portcullis, which hung overhead, a security design repeated at the other end of the hall-at the entrance to the tower itself. There wasn't a speck of rust on the heavy gates, and the chains that operated them were dust free and gleamed with oil. Durgar, Alias realized, must run a tight ship to keep in perfect working order gates that hadn't been necessary for decades.

The entrance hall was abuzz with people coming and going-the watch, messengers, servants dressed in the livery of their respective noble houses, local petitioners and foreign merchants waiting to speak with the nobles, and, on occasion, an individual whose wealthy garb and wake of bodyguards, supporters, and supplicants indicated a member of a noble family. Only nobles and their parties were allowed to pass through the second portcullis unchallenged. All others seemed to be required to register their name and business at a desk stationed with three watch officers before being told to wait or go ahead. There was a long line before the desk.

Alias took her place in line behind a woman dressed in the full crimson regalia of a Red Wizard of Thay, who was speaking in hushed tones with a dwarven mercenary dressed in black. Two Turmish merchants, complaining in their native tongue about some tariff, took their place behind her.

The swords woman wondered uncertainly if she might not be wasting her time. While she really wanted to be eure the Night Mask swordsman was sentenced severely, Durgar might get officious on her and refuse to discuss his prisoner. He might even be too busy to see her. Just as she considered stepping out of the line, a member of the watch came up to her-the first female member she'd seen. "Alias the Sell-Sword?" the guard asked. "Yes," Alias said with a nod.

"I'm Rizzi, Ma'am. I'm to fetch you up to the croamarkh." "Actually," Alias explained, "I've come to see Durgar." "He's with the croamarkh. Ma'am. Please, follow me."

Alias did as requested, glad at least to be free of waiting in line.

As she stepped through the entrance into the main section of the keep, someone going the other way slammed into her, hard, jamming his elbow into her side. More surprised than harmed, Alias retreated back two steps and instinctively checked for her money pouch.

A short but powerfully built, scar-faced man with annoyingly familiar, but unplaceable features stood before her. He was dressed all in gold and black, with a huge black opal set in a medallion around his neck.

"Terribly sorry," the man snarled, his eyes glittering with undisguised hatred. "You had better be more careful," he added. It was the most threatening apology Alias had ever heard.

With a sense of confusion, the swordswoman watched the man and his entourage stream out of the tower until Rizzi touched her shoulder and whispered, "Ma'am?"

Alias turned and followed the guard across the vast, open hall on the first floor of the tower and up one of the two staircases that climbed along the outer wall. What, she wondered, did the droamarkh want? Merely a congratulatory meeting? Considering the croamarkh's emphasis on performance, that was unlikely. Perhaps some command for special protection of some place or thing. The swordswoman studied her escort for a moment before asking, "What's going on?"

Rizzi shook her head. "Better you should speak with the croamarkh, Ma'am." At the top of the first flight of stairs there was a curved hallway with a doorway at each end and a third along the inner curve. Two of the doors were solid oak, but the one at the far end of the corridor was oak carved with dragons and stiff-limbed elves. Rizzi led her to the more ornate door and knocked softly. Durgar opened the door, and, upon seeing Alias, motioned the swordswoman through the door. The priest dismissed Rizzi with a quick nod and closed the door.

The room was a meeting suite decorated in neutral colors. Consequently, while everything was impeccably matched and well built, the room hadn't the least hint of creativity. The rugs on the oaken floor were a mottled black, gray, and white. The pattern woven into the tapestries covering the walls was a repeating abstract in cream, tan, and brown. No one's mind was likely to wander staring at the floors or walls. The round oaken table. was covered with a white cloth and surrounded by twelve oaken chairs padded with white cushions. The chairs were of the heavy, thronelike variety favored by merchants in cities where they had no need to worry about a king who might take offense that they sat in cushier chairs than royalty.

Croamarkh Luer Dhostar sat at the far end of the table, dominating the room with ill humor. He glared like a basilisk as the swordswoman entered, and drummed his fingers impatiently on the arm of his chair as he waited for her to approach. Victor, seated on his father's right, looked nervous and worried, but smiled weakly. Kimbel, who stood behind the croamarkh, to his left, blinked like a lizard. Alias strode over to the table and stood behind one of the large chairs.

"Last evening you attacked a group of individuals breaking into the Thalavar warehouse," the croamarkh announced.

Alias wondered if she should nod in confirmation, but the elder Dhostar stormed on, "One of these individuals was Haztor Urdo, the youngest son of Lord Ssentar Urdo. Lord Ssentar has just been in here to demand an apology for your mistake."

With a flash of insight, Alias realized that Lord Ssentar must be the rude merchant noble who'd slammed into her as she entered the tower. And Haztor… "Haztor Urdo?" she asked. "He wouldn't be an arrogant young man with mediocre skill with a blade and black hair that pigeons could nest in, would he?" "That's him," Victor agreed in a whisper.

"I made no mistake," Alias said coolly. "Haztor Urdo may be a pitiful excuse-"

"You made a mistake!" the croamarkh interrupted with a bellow. "I know you made a mistake, because Lord Ssentar informed me that his son is innocent. And because I need the support of the Urdo family in council, I had to a-pol-o-gize." Lord Luer spat out each syllable of the last word as if it were poison. "Apologize for someone in my employ, even if her position is on a trial basis."

Angrily Alias replied, "As I was saying, Haztor Urdo may be a pitiful excuse for a thief, but he is a Night Mask, albeit a petty one." "He is not a Night Mask!" exploded the croamarkh. "Because Lord Ssentar said so?" Abas asked in disbelief.