Кейт Новак - Masquerades

“So why is he called the Faceless?” Alias asked.

“According to the branded Night Master, the first Faceless had a face like a lump of clay. The Night Master thought the first Faceless might have been a doppelganger. The new Faceless’s face is a blur of colors. The Temple to Leira, goddess of illusion, once possessed a magical helmet that caused exactly such an effect. The helmet was of mesh chain covered in platinum coins struck with the goddess’s glyph. Shortly after the Time of Troubles Leira’s temple was looted and burned and the magic helmet went missing.”

Dragonbait asked, “Will it really hurt the Night Masks if Alias captures the Faceless, or will it only make room for some Night Master to take the place of their lord?”

Alias translated the paladin’s question for Jamal.

Jamal was silent for several moments as if considering her answer very carefully. Mintassan drummed his fingers on the tabletop in the silent pause. Finally the actress replied, “I think if you can seize the Faceless’s treasury, you’ll have dealt them a mortal blow. According to the branded Night Master, the treasury contains an artifact discovered by the first Faceless. It protects his identity and that of all the Night Masters. With it, Durgar could detect them or any who tried to take their place. My sources estimate there are at least two thousand Night Masks, but without the Faceless and the Night Masters they won’t be anywhere near as organized. Also in the treasury are magical items the Night Masks have used to rescue or kill members who know too much and who’ve been caught by Durgar’s watch.”

Alias sipped her tea thoughtfully.

“If I might make a suggestion,” Jamal said.

“Murf?” Dragonbait prompted the actress.

“House Thalavar brought in a wine shipment yesterday,” Jamal explained. “One hundred twenty barrels of fire wine from the Old Empires—dark, strong, spicy, and worth more with every mile it moves west. If the wine makes it to the tables of Waterdeep, it means a major profit for the Thalavars. If not, they stand to lose a great deal. It’s sitting in the Thalavar warehouse until it can be loaded on caravan wagons tomorrow morning. Odds are good that the Night Masks will try to steal it or destroy it. Instead of roaming the streets looking for trouble tonight, why not see if you can get trouble to come to you. Stand guard in the warehouse. My guess is you’ll round up at least a dozen Night Masks, and if it rains, you’ll stay nice and dry.”

Alias tilted her head suspiciously. “You know, I smell a halfling behind this plan. Probably the same one who took your copper pieces for her story about yesterday’s incident on the docks. I don’t suppose it came from an annoying redhead named Olive Ruskettle.”

“Oooh, I can feel my ears burning all the way out in the street,” a new voice declared from the doorway. Alias didn’t need to turn around to know that Olive Ruskettle had entered Mintassan’s shop. The halfling joined them at the table, climbed into a chair, snitched a sugar cube from the tea tray, and popped it in her mouth.

“Olive tells me you’re well acquainted,” Jamal said.

“Oh, yes,” Alias replied. “I hadn’t realized until now that you knew her, too.”

“We’re both in the entertainment business,” Olive explained.

“So, you’re expecting me to do your guard duty for you?” Alias asked the halfling.

“No. Thalavar halflings can do their own guard duty,” Olive retorted sharply. “As a matter of fact, Lady Nettel is secretly going to put all her available guards on this consignment at the risk of leaving her other properties undefended. We’re not worried about defending the wine, but capturing Night Masks is a little harder work. Since you’re so keen on sending them in to Durgar, I thought I’d offer you this opportunity. You won’t find more Night Masks roaming the streets tonight. It’s already started to drizzle. They’ll all be tucked in front of warm fires sipping ale—except for the ones assigned to plunder House Thalavar.”

“She may have a point, Alias,” Dragonbait said.

The swordswoman succumbed to Olive’s logic. Privately, however, she suspected she might actually find a fruitless evening of hunting in the rain more enjoyable than hiding out in a warehouse with a gang of halflings.

Alias and Dragonbait met Olive shortly after sunset at the gates to Lady Nettel’s castle. The family sheds were located in a shallow vale between castles Thalavar and Ssemm. Olive, however, led Alias and Dragonbait outside the city walls to the Thalavar stockyards. There, in a horse pen beside the city wall, sheltered from view by a copse of trees, was a secret tunnel leading beneath the city wall. The halfling guided them through the tunnel to a ladder that climbed up into the warehouse inside the city walls, where the wine was being stored.

The building was a windowless fortress of solid stone walls and a clay tile roof. There was one door large enough for a wagon and a smaller one for people, both bolted shut. The only other way in, aside from the trapdoor in the floor that led to the secret tunnel, was through one of the five skylights used for ventilation. These were covered with hinged doors, also bolted shut.

The Thalavar halflings were all hidden behind crates stacked in the loft overhead. Olive and Alias took up a position beside the cribs holding the wine barrels, while Dragonbait paced the perimeter of the shed, both upstairs and down, checking on the halflings stationed about and using his shen sight on the walls around them. Then they waited.

Alias wrapped her cloak around her. For a summer evening the air was cool, and cooler still inside the warehouse, like an outpost on the edge of the Negative Material Plane. By the light of the hooded lantern beside her, the swordswoman could see her own breath. She was beginning to think it might have been warmer out in the rain; it certainly would be less boring. She lost track of time in the dark, but it seemed as if she’d been here for hours.

“Apricot?” Olive offered. The sweet, pungent aroma of the dried fruit rose from the sticky paper bag she held out. Alias waved her hand to refuse the fruit. Already tonight Olive had consumed numerous bags of various comestibles, including hazelnuts, Moonshae chestnuts in syrup, candied cherries, pears, carrots, mushrooms of Brost, golden raisins from Berdusk, and a bag of what looked like chocolate-covered spiders.

Alias steamed. “This could be a colossal waste of time. We don’t even know they’re coming.”

“Day’re cummin’,” Olive mumbled through a mouthful of apricot. When she had swallowed, she reiterated, “They’re coming. This shipment’s worth a small fortune. The Night Masks won’t be able to resist. They’re compulsive about their vengeance—”

Something thumped somewhere overhead.

“Alias!” Dragonbait called out in Saurial. “They’re climbing to the roof.”

Alias translated for Olive, who pocketed her apricots and whispered a warning to the other halflings to put out their lights and take their places. Hooded lanterns all about the warehouse went dark.

Alias slipped behind a stack of crates by the wagon door. Olive had disappeared into the darkness. The warehouse felt colder in the dark and, oddly enough, closer, as if ghosts were pressing in around them.

In a minute Alias could hear feet scraping across the tiles above. She couldn’t estimate from the sound how many thieves there were, but one of them was heavy-footed and not very agile, stomping up the roof, sliding down, then stomping back up again. Alias wondered if they’d brought an ogre for a backup.

Next came the sounds of nails popping and wood cracking as thieves armed with crow bars made short work prying the skylight doors from their hinges. A more artful crew, Alias thought, might have found a way to slide back the bolts using a drill and a wire, but the Night Masks seem to prefer brute strength and destruction.