Кейт Новак - Masquerades

The second halfling caught in the explosion was beyond help from even Dragonbait’s prayers. The other halflings glared at their remaining eight prisoners, muttering angrily. Olive had the sense to send the two halflings who muttered the loudest out for the watch, and two more to fetch down the Night Mask on the roof.

Despite the hostility of his captors, the Night Mask swordsman could not resist taunting Alias. “You’ll only live long enough to regret your interference in this matter,” he declared.

Alias tried to ignore him as she watched the halflings cover the face of their fallen companion.

“You don’t know who or what you’re dealing with.” The swordsman sneered.

Alias whirled around and closed on the arrogant captive. The halflings standing guard over him with loaded crossbows all held their breath, half anxious, half eager for her to hit him.

Alias snatched off the swordsman’s domino mask. “I don’t care who you are, because I know what you are. An ugly brute who’ll stand accused as the accomplice of a dead murderess. Fortunately, I don’t have to deal with you. That’s Durgar’s job.”

The Night Mask snorted. “Durgar. That old relic can’t touch me.”

Fearing she would lose out to her anger and hit the arrogant thief, Alias left the prisoners to Olive and the halflings. Just outside the warehouse door, six halflings swarmed over an empty wagon meant to carry away the Thalavar wine. The halflings held the driver and his companion at crossbow-point.

Alias raised her head to the sky, letting the raindrops cool her face and wipe away the tears she couldn’t stop. Dragonbait came up beside her and stroked the tattoo on her arm.

“If I hadn’t taunted that Zhentish witch about the wine being hidden, she would have just blown up the empty barrels,” the swordswoman accused herself.

“There were other halflings around the barrels, Alias,” the paladin reminded her. “Someone would have gotten hurt anyway. More halflings might have died if you hadn’t been here.”

“Fifteen Night Masks dead, thirteen captured, and all it cost was one halfling’s life. Was it worth it? If Jamal is right and there are nearly two thousand Night Masks, are we getting anywhere? I’m beginning to know how Durgar must feel,” the swordswoman whispered.

“Their leader, the Zhentish woman, was very evil, as bad as Kimbel. It’s good that she can’t hurt anyone else,” the paladin replied. “I’m sure by stopping her you’ve dealt the Night Masters or the Faceless a direct blow. You’ve hacked off a bough of this evil tree.”

“But the Faceless is the root. I have to find some way to get him,” Alias insisted.

Somewhat later, in the subterranean meeting hall of the Night Masters, the mood was angry and close to mutinous as each district reported on the detrimental effect the Dhostars’ sell-sword was having on their trade. Usually intimidated victims were showing more spine, and there were more than a few reports of agents being set upon by mobs of townsmen. The report given by the head of Enforcement did nothing to quell the passions of those present.

“Although my spies cannot determine exactly what happened,” Enforcement explained to his fellows, “the retaliation mission on House Thalavar seems to have ended in disaster. Our operatives were to acquire or destroy a wine shipment from the Thalavar warehouse. The entire team has been killed or captured. The team leader, one of my best operatives, is reportedly dead. My spies heard a great explosion, but they cannot tell if the wine was destroyed. Alias the Sell-Sword was seen at the warehouse.”

The Night Master in charge of Noble Relations piped up, “On the plus side, one of the operatives who was arrested is Lord Ssentar’s youngest son. I’ve sent someone to stir His Lordship up, get him good and riled so hell make trouble for this sell-sword.”

Finance Management reported on the bottom line. “With the exception of tonight’s loss of a team leader, the swordswoman, and those inspired by her, have targeted only low-level agents. Still, bringing in new recruits and training them takes time. And recruitment, though not ordinarily a problem, is more difficult in light of the perceived risk. Some agents have decided to lie low, while a few others have chosen to retire or take their business elsewhere.”

“Rats leaving a sinking ship,” Gateside muttered, just loud enough to be heard.

“Consequently,” Finance Management continued, “income for the past two days is down ten percent in Gateside and four percent elsewhere. If this trend continues, we foresee stagnation within the next tenday. Beyond that, there is a possibility that by summer’s end we will show a loss owing to our overhead costs. This will severely set back our long-range goals for next year.”

A panicked grumbling spread among the Night Masters.

Throughout the reports the Faceless had remained silent. He interrupted the grumbling now, commanding, “Order.” The tone of his metallic voice was cool. “Thank you for your reports,” he said. “Is there any other business?”

Gateside rose to his feet, rather quickly for a man of his portly size. “Any other business!” he cried out in a strangled voice. “In two days, this common little sell-sword has laid waste to years of profitable operations. Everyone here, even Enforcement, is taking this on the chin. Take is down, and we’re being hissed in the streets by rabble. And you ask if there’s any other business?”

A hush fell over the room as the other Night Masters waited for the Faceless’s reaction. The Night Mask lord allowed the silence to grow longer, increasing not only Gateside’s, but all the Night Masters’ uneasiness. “You needn’t be so perturbed, Gateside. Within a few days, the matter will be under control.”

“The only way you’re going to get the matter under control is to whack this Alias. I say we hire an outside professional.”

“Really?” the Faceless replied with a bone-chilling tone. “If we attempt to ‘whack’ the swordswoman and we fail, we will have enhanced her legend, making our agents fear her more. If we succeed, Jamal will make a martyr of her, and the rabble will turn on our agents more ferociously than ever. It may take us years to return to our current strength. Only a fool would implement such a heavy-handed, unoriginal scheme.”

The blood drained from Gateside’s face so that his exposed chin was as white as his mask. He mustered all the courage he possessed and asked, “But you do have a plan, don’t you?”

“I do,” the Faceless replied, drumming his fingers on the arm of his chair in irritation.

“I ask that you share this plan with us,” Gateside retorted, then softened his demand by adding, “respectfully.”

“Request denied,” the Faceless responded, then added in a tone dripping with sarcasm, “respectfully.”

Gateside raised his voice so that it echoed off the stone walls surrounding the Night Masters. “And what am I supposed to do while I wait for this mystery plan of yours to take effect? She’s biting into my profits.” The normally emotionless professional manager of the Gateside district had become an angry, bellowing merchant.

The other Night Masks shifted uneasily. No one shouted at the Faceless with impunity.

“I suggest,” the Faceless replied coolly, “that you suspend all activities in your region for a few days. You will lose fewer resources that way.”

Gateside’s pale skin turned an apoplectic scarlet. His eyes widened with astonishment, and his mouth moved for several moments before his words could come out. “If I call off my boys, I won’t have any resources in a few days. This little witch is not going get tired and move on. She’s dangerous!” Gateside was screeching now. His voice had climbed several octaves.