Кейт Новак - Masquerades

“When Kimbel first came to Westgate, he called himself an adventurer. He wasn’t the sort that kills monsters in their lairs, though. He was the sort that breaks into castles and tries to kill croamarkhs.”

“He tried to kill your father?” Alias asked with astonishment.

“Yes. Poisoned all the watchdogs and got as far as father’s bedroom door, but he got unlucky and tripped on a cat. He killed eight men before the rest of the guards managed to bring him down. He claims he was hired by the Night Masks, but he didn’t know enough about them to betray them. Father decided he was too useful to waste with an execution. We had a geas cast on him. He’s magically compelled to serve our family and constrained from harming anyone with Dhostar blood or in Dhostar employ. Father expects him to complete the terms of service due us by the eight men he killed, such terms to be served consecutively.”

Victor scooped up a handful of pebbles and began tossing them in the water. “It sounds awfully creepy, I know. It is awfully creepy. He can’t break the geas, but still, he’s a killer. And there’s nothing in the geas to protect people who aren’t part of our trading house. Who knows what he does when he’s out of sight? Father says Kimbel serves as a good warning to others, though I suspect Father also keeps him near to show people he’s not afraid of assassins. I wish he wouldn’t.” Victor tossed the rest of the stones in the water all at once.

Dragonbait had been right, Alias realized. Victor was like her. He defended the croamarkh just as she had once defended Finder, defying his reason to quell his heart. She knew exactly how Victor felt, and she found herself sympathizing with the young merchant despite her dislike of his father.

They came to the end of the peninsula, which ended in a knob-shaped quay of stonework. Beneath the harbor lighthouse, guards in Westgate’s insignia patrolled the flagstone plaza in rigid geometric formations. The lighthouse was an ancient, conical tower built of mortared stone with an external staircase spiraling up its side. Sailors called it the Westlight, and “seen the Westlight” was used throughout the Inner Sea nations to mean that a person had reached land or safety.

Victor nodded to the captain of the guard, and the three were allowed to approach the lighthouse without challenge. Feeling suddenly lighthearted, Alias dashed up the structure’s stairs without stop until she reached the walkway at the top. She looked first out to the sea, letting the breeze ruffle her hair until Victor and Dragonbait finished the climb.

“Are you always so energetic?” the merchant lord asked as he stood clutching his side and gasping for breath.

Alias smiled, but did not reply. She studied the light in the center of the walkway—a polished brass framework surrounding a floating marble sphere, which, even in the daylight, shone brightly enough to be noticed far out to sea. “There’s a continual light spell cast on the marble?” the swordswoman asked.

Victor nodded. “There are also protections to keep the magic from being dispelled by accident or to keep others from destroying it. The bronze frame can be used to hold up colored screens so we can send coded messages to ships at sea—fire, plague, send help, and so on.”

Alias nodded and turned to look back out across the harbor and the city. Victor moved to stand beside her. “There’s no better place to start to get oriented.” He pointed leftward, out across the bay at various landmarks. “There’s the River Thunn. Between the river’s east bank and the city wall is Castle Malavhan. Just across the river from that is Castle Vhammos. It was once the royal castle. Those four clustered due south of us are Castles Guldar, Athagdal, Thorsar and Urdo. They were all built at the same time by rival architects from different nations.

“The building in the center of the market is called the Tower. It serves as the city’s registry and headquarters for the watch. The jail is in the dungeon beneath the Tower. Against the western wall is Castle Ssemm. South of that is Castle Thalavar. In the northeast corner, by the sea, is the Temple to Talos, and to the west of the Tower is the Temple to Mask. At the base of the harbor’s arm are the temples to Loviatar and Gond, and just west of them is the Temple to Ilmater.”

“You’ve pointed out the castles of all the merchant families but your own,” Alias noted.

“Castle Dhostar isn’t in the city. We’re latecomers to the city, here for only three generations. When Father decided to build our family’s castle, he decided it was more important to use the land we owned in the city for our warehouses. So we built out to the west. You can see how the city’s starting to expand in that direction beyond the walls.”

“Can you see your castle from here?” Alias asked.

Victor put his hands on Alias’s shoulders and turned her to face westward. Dragonbait’s tail twitched nervously. Alias did not like being touched by strangers. To the paladin’s surprise and relief, she did not shake off the young man’s hands or growl at him.

Victor stood directly behind her and pointed over her shoulder. Alias looked out with attentive interest. “Follow that line of islands there, to that forested bluff. Just behind that is Castle Dhostar.”

“Yes, I can see it,” Alias said.

“I often come up here to think,” the merchant lord said. “Well, really, to dream.”

Alias leaned her head back against Victor’s chest to look up at his face. “What do you dream about?” she asked with a smile.

Victor gave a small, self-deprecating laugh. “I dream about what I’ll do should I find Verovan’s treasure hoard.”

“Verovan’s treasure?” Alias asked with a teasing laugh.

“Yes. About a hundred twenty years ago, Westgate was a monarchy ruled by an incompetent tyrant, King Verovan. He nearly bankrupted the city with his excesses and destroyed it with his intrigues. He fancied himself a great boatman, and challenged the other rulers of the coastal cities to a race. The city coffers couldn’t cover the cost of hiring the boat and team Verovan wanted—a windjammer with blood-red sails, crewed by Turmishmen. So Verovan passed a grain tax, clinching his unpopularity with everyone. On the day of the race—”

“On the day of the race,” Alias interrupted, “Verovan’s crew set a course for a rocky shoal, then teleported away, leaving Verovan to fend for himself. He couldn’t. The boat was wrecked on the shoals, and Verovan was presumed drowned. Some people speculated that the ‘Turmishmen’ were really Red Wizards of Thay who avenged themselves on the tyrant for his intrigues against their nation. The city’s leading merchants led a revolt before Verovan’s son could be crowned. A mob stripped the royal castle bare. The patriarch of the merchant house of Vhammos moved his family into the castle, and he and the other merchants took charge of governing the city.”

Victor gave the swordswoman a puzzled look.

“I was born in Westgate,” Alias explained with a sideways look at Dragonbait. The saurial was enjoying the view, watching a round ship from Sembia, riding low in the water, try to maneuver into a dock across the way. “I know all about Verovan. He was real. His treasure, though, is a fable, like the stories about the liches that live in Westgate’s sewers or the sea serpent that lives in its harbor.”

“You forget you’re dealing with a merchant,” Victor said. “The books, you see, do not balance. The sum total of everything removed from the royal castle does not even approach the vast amounts of wealth that ever went in. Verovan skimmed a share of every fee and tax the city ever collected, and he bought valuable pieces of magic and art that disappeared into the castle. He never purchased anything with his own money, but with the city’s, and he left scores of debts for things he’d ‘purchased.’ ”