Кейт Новак - Masquerades

“I was checking on Jamal’s troupe’s new play. Come down and see.” Although the paladin tried to sound casual, Alias could tell he was itching for her to come.

Alias sighed. “You always did have this childlike fondness for puppet shows.” She buckled on her scabbard and grabbed the last muffin to munch while she watched the show.

They did not have to go far. Jamal’s troupe had set up stage on the foundation of the burned down warehouse only three blocks from Blais House. A large crowd had gathered in the empty lot around the razed building.

A halfling with a gigantic green plume in his hat was juggling eggs. A green feather, Alias recalled, was the trading badge for the Thalavar family. Jamal must have good relations with the halflings of this town, Alias realized. Usually halflings wouldn’t participate in human theatrics, and human producers cast children with brushes tied to their feet in the roles of the smaller people.

Behind the stage bobbed the cutout of a ship. The crow’s nest, though, was real, and from it the Faceless looked down at the halfling. After a moment, the Faceless tossed an egg at the halfling, which the halfling skillfully added to the three it was juggling. The Faceless added a fifth and then a sixth egg, which the halfling also juggled smoothly. Frustrated by the halfling’s dexterity, the Faceless threw a seventh egg stage left. The egg splattered against a great wagon wheel decorated with golden stars—house Dhostar’s trading badge. The wheel began spinning and moved toward the juggling halfling with a menacing growl. The halfling alternated between alarmed looks in the wheel’s direction and tucking eggs in his pockets even as he juggled them. Before he could dispose of the last three eggs, the wagon wheel rolled into him, forcing him off the stage. The eggs hit the stage, plop, plop, plop , and then there was a splash of water up onto the stage.

The actress playing Alias leaped onto the stage. She waggled her finger at the Dhostar wheel. The wheel whined like a shamed puppy. The heroine pulled out a stage axe and began hacking at the mast holding the Faceless’s crow’s nest. One by one, the Night Masks began to attack her, but, one by one, she knocked them out with a quick bonk on their heads with the side of her axe.

“Now,” Dragonbait said excitedly, tugging on her sleeve.

Rising out of the water beside the ship came the halfling, pulled by someone in a costume that looked as if it had been put together from the parts of two other costumes, one the body of a crocodile, the other the head of a horse (now painted green). Alias laughed out loud. It was nothing like Dragonbait, but it could be no one else. She shot a look at her companion, who looked as proud as a new father.

The halfling was really damp, and he carried a bucket that appeared full. The stage Alias finally got the crow’s nest chopped through, but the Faceless leaped down beside her at the last moment. Jamal landed a little awkwardly, though, and fell on her rear end. When the heroine had to help the villain to “his” feet, the audience applauded and roared with laughter. The halfling strode purposefully toward the Faceless, with his bucket poised for attack. The actor playing Dragonbait grabbed the Faceless’s cloak. The Faceless tried to run, but succeeded only in limping quickly in circles around the stage Dragonbait as the halfling chased after him.

The girl playing Alias led the crowd in jeers as the Faceless tried to avoid being soaked. Finally, she and the halfling cornered the Faceless at the very front of the stage. The halfling swung the bucket forward just as the Faceless ducked. As one, the audience near the stage held up their hands to hold back the expected splash of water.

A cymbal crashed, and the bucket rained a spray of shiny blue confetti over the crowd.

The audience cheered and applauded, and those who’d just avoided a drenching cheered the loudest. The stage Alias and Dragonbait each set a foot on the Faceless’s prone form and took their bows. Then they dragged the Faceless off the stage by her arms, leaving the halfling to lead the crowd in one of those interminably long halfling songs. Alias recognized the chorus, but the lyrics of the verses had been twisted into a commentary on House Thalavar’s supposed cheapness:

“You look insufferably pleased with yourself,” Alias noted to her companion as the crowd bellowed the song’s chorus.

“A small part, but vital to the plot,” Dragonbait replied. “Given time and good reviews, I could see that character carrying the entire show. On the whole, I think its a valuable artistic inclusion.”

“Well, patron of the arts, I suppose your fifty gold was well spent. I wonder where Jamal gets all her information.”

“I was wondering that myself,” Victor Dhostar said behind them.

Alias spun about in surprise. “However did you find us in this crowd?”

“I saw you leaving your inn and followed you here. I’ve just come from the Tower, where Durgar was reluctantly reviewing your victories to Father. He sounded rather put out, claiming that you’ll clog all his jail cells before the magistrate can deal with the cases. Father suggested he should just have a watch patrol and a magistrate follow you around, and we could dispense with the jail and send the Night Masks right to the dungeons.”

Alias shook her head. “I’m afraid they’d make too much noise and warn off our prey.”

“Hadn’t thought of that,” Victor replied. “I guess that’s why you’re the pro. At any rate, the performers seem to be right. You are giving the Faceless a drenching.”

“We’ve made a start,” Alias replied, trying not to overemphasize their progress. “So what brings you here?” she asked.

“Well, Family Dhostar is commissioning a new trading ship tomorrow evening and capping the event with a party on board. I’d like to extend an invitation for you to be my guest at the party.”

Alias shifted uncertainly, remembering how Luer Dhostar had reprimanded his son yesterday for planning to have dinner with her. “Does this invitation come from your father as well?” she asked.

“Father? Why do you—” Victor paused as insight dawned on him. “Just because my father hired you for your sword, I don’t see why I shouldn’t have the chance to practice my courtly graces on you. Unless, that is, you’d object to that?” Although Victor’s voice sounded light, there was the trace of nervousness in his question.

Alias flushed, but she recovered her composure quickly. “I can’t think of any objections. I would be delighted to accept your invitation.”

Victor broke into a smile. “Good. Um. Will Dragonbait be chaperoning you?”

Alias gave the paladin a questioning glance.

“Trapped on a ship filled with partying merchants and traders?” the saurial harrumphed. “I’m sure I can find a less tedious way to spend my evening. But you go without me if you think it might amuse you.”

“Dragonbait says, ‘No, thank you,’ Alias replied.

“Well, then, that’s settled. I’ll send my carriage tomorrow around sunset. Dress is semiformal. No need for armor. Weapons must be peace-bonded. I’m afraid I won’t see you again before the party. I have several pressing duties.”

“I understand. I’ll look forward to tomorrow night,” Alias replied, offering him her hand.

Victor took up her hand and bowed low over it. Alias could feel his breath on her wrist. He stood again, but seemed reluctant to release her hand.

“Until tomorrow evening,” the swordswoman replied, drawing her hand away ever so gently.