Kate Novak - Masquerades

Dragonbait struggled to remember the sandbar the afternoon before, anxious to dispute the halfling, but, truth to tell, he had not noted the condition of the sandbar one way or the other. He could have waded in earlier before the tide was at complete ebb, and the water carried away his prints, he signed.

"His boots weren't wet, and there were no wet footprints in the sand on the other side of the door," Olive argued. "He not only failed to mention there was another way in, which he must have used, but he also lied to us to cover that fact."

Dragonbait thought of the smashed magical portal mirror they'd found in the lair last night. He scratched his head, trying to think of some excuse for the young noble. Covering for his father was one thing, but neglecting to mention a second entrance indicated something far more serious.

"Then there's the quelzarn," the halfling continued. "Those things aren't dumb animals. They cast magic. There were four tasty morsels in the water. One with a sword and scales-you-one with chain mail-Alias-one in leather- me-and one with no shell on him at all-Lord Victor."

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."