Kate Novak - Masquerades

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 settled 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.

"Come on," Alias chided from the hallway. "I don't want to keep him waiting." Dragonbait followed bis companion from the room.

Victor stood at the bottom of the stairs, looking up at Alias with delight written all over his face. Was it possible, the saurial wondered, that the merchant's pleasure could be a ruse? With his shen sight, the paladin studied the man as he bowed low before Alias. Once more he saw nothing but the cool blue flame that symbolized virtue. Dragonbait shook himself. It was entirely possible that Olive was wrong and that Victor was everything he appeared. The paladin descended the stairs, determined to make no more judgments until he'd heard what the merchant noble had to say about the key and his father.

Victor made a polite, although less dramatic, bow to greet Dragonbait. From the corner of his eye the paladin caught sight of Jamal in the shadow of a pillar. She winked conspiratorially at the paladin as Victor ushered his guests out of the hotel.

From the anteroom behind the actress, a small voice noted, They've dressed alike."

Jamal turned to face the little half-elven servant girl, Mercy. "Pardon?" the woman asked.

"Lord Victor and Mistress Alias," the girl explained. The fabric of the sash about his waist is the same as her baldric-the same diamond design. And his tunic is dark red velvet, too. A darker shade than Mistress Alias's gown, but close. He has her favor on his tunic, too." "Her favor?"

"She gave him a lock of her hair the other night. I saw her cut it off. I was watching from my window," Mercy admitted. "It was so romantic."

Jamal frowned. "It looked romantic. That's not always the same as being romantic," she muttered.

"No, Ma'am," the girl replied, too well trained to argue. She scurried off to avoid any further disagreeable comments. The aging actress leaned back against the pillar, realizing she must sound like an ill-tempered old maid. It was a curse, knowing so much. It made it impossible for her to suspend her disbelief and accept a fairy-tale romance as fact. Westgate nobles did not court for love, and they certainly did not court commoners. What was Victor Dhostar up to? she wondered.

The ride to the Tower, where the ball was to be held, was brief but lively. Victor steered the carriage skillfully through streets full of people apparently gathered to watch the pageantry of the nobles in their splendor. The crowds recognized not only Lord Victor but Alias as well, and cheers and shouts greeted them all the way to the market. Still, Alias felt compelled by Dragonbait's dour look to lean over and ask the merchant noble, "Have you spoken with your father?"

Victor nodded and returned a wave to a gathering in an outdoor cafe. "I'll tell you about it later, in private."

The watch was posted around the perimeter of the market, allowing only those who had an invitation to the ball to approach. Victor pulled his carriage up to the edge of the green. A member of the watch in buffed leather armor and a white capelet with a white plume jutting from his helmet helped Alias down from the carriage. Victor's elderly driver stepped up from the green to take the horses' reins from his master and move the carriage out of the way of newer arrivals.

Lord Victor donned his mask, a mere strip of red velvet with eyeholes bordered with gold stitching. Alias and Dragonbait did likewise, then their host led them up a path covered with ornate carpets. The market had been cleared of its mercantile trappings, leaving the crowds about the green a clear view of the nobles as they climbed the path to the Tower.

The Tower was alight with magical faerie fire, which formed the symbols of all the noble houses of Westgate, from Athagdal to Vhammos. Alias shuddered to think about all the nobles' homes guarded only by sleepy servants. The Night Masks must make quite a haul on nights like these, she realized.

There was a small queue of glittering nobles inside the Tower's entrance. "What are we waiting for?" Alias whispered.

This is a formal ball," he explained. "We must be announced, so the others present know we are here." "And can give us the once-over," Alias mused. "Don't worry," Victor said. "You look radiant."

When they reached the front of the queue, Victor leaned over to give their names to the acting seneschal,another member of the watch with a white capelet and white plume.