Кейт Новак - Masquerades

With a sense of confusion, the swordswoman watched the man and his entourage stream out of the tower until Rizzi touched her shoulder and whispered, “Ma’am?”

Alias turned and followed the guard across the vast, open hall on the first floor of the tower and up one of the two staircases that climbed along the outer wall. What, she wondered, did the croamarkh want? Merely a congratulatory meeting? Considering the croamarkh’s emphasis on performance, that was unlikely. Perhaps some command for special protection of some place or thing. The swordswoman studied her escort for a moment before asking, “What’s going on?”

Rizzi shook her head. “Better you should speak with the croamarkh, Ma’am.” At the top of the first flight of stairs there was a curved hallway with a doorway at each end and a third along the inner curve. Two of the doors were solid oak, but the one at the far end of the corridor was oak carved with dragons and stiff-limbed elves. Rizzi led her to the more ornate door and knocked softly. Durgar opened the door, and, upon seeing Alias, motioned the swordswoman through the door. The priest dismissed Rizzi with a quick nod and closed the door.

The room was a meeting suite decorated in neutral colors. Consequently, while everything was impeccably matched and well built, the room hadn’t the least hint of creativity. The rugs on the oaken floor were a mottled black, gray, and white. The pattern woven into the tapestries covering the walls was a repeating abstract in cream, tan, and brown. No one’s mind was likely to wander staring at the floors or walls. The round oaken table was covered with a white cloth and surrounded by twelve oaken chairs padded with white cushions. The chairs were of the heavy, thronelike variety favored by merchants in cities where they had no need to worry about a king who might take offense that they sat in cushier chairs than royalty.

Croamarkh Luer Dhostar sat at the far end of the table, dominating the room with ill humor. He glared like a basilisk as the swordswoman entered, and drummed his fingers impatiently on the arm of his chair as he waited for her to approach. Victor, seated on his father’s right, looked nervous and worried, but smiled weakly. Kimbel, who stood behind the croamarkh, to his left, blinked like a lizard. Alias strode over to the table and stood behind one of the large chairs.

“Last evening you attacked a group of individuals breaking into the Thalavar warehouse,” the croamarkh announced.

Alias wondered if she should nod in confirmation, but the elder Dhostar stormed on, “One of these individuals was Haztor Urdo, the youngest son of Lord Ssentar Urdo. Lord Ssentar has just been in here to demand an apology for your mistake.”

With a flash of insight, Alias realized that Lord Ssentar must be the rude merchant noble who’d slammed into her as she entered the tower. And Haztor … “Haztor Urdo?” she asked. “He wouldn’t be an arrogant young man with mediocre skill with a blade and black hair that pigeons could nest in, would he?”

“That’s him,” Victor agreed in a whisper.

“I made no mistake,” Alias said coolly. “Haztor Urdo may be a pitiful excuse—”

“You made a mistake!” the croamarkh interrupted with a bellow. “I know you made a mistake, because Lord Ssentar informed me that his son is innocent. And because I need the support of the Urdo family in council, I had to a-pol-o-gize.” Lord Luer spat out each syllable of the last word as if it were poison. “Apologize for someone in my employ, even if her position is on a trial basis.”

Angrily Alias replied, “As I was saying, Haztor Urdo may be a pitiful excuse for a thief, but he is a Night Mask, albeit a petty one.”

“He is not a Night Mask!” exploded the croamarkh.

“Because Lord Ssentar said so?” Alias asked in disbelief.

“Lord Ssentar is a long-time ally from a noble merchant house. His word holds more weight than that of a common little sell-sword who blew in on the wind,” the croamarkh snapped.

Alias smiled the tight smile that came to her lips whenever she was about to lose her temper. She pulled out the chair before her and sat down in it. This not only established her attitude that she was on equal footing with the merchant lord, but kept her from lunging across the table and wringing his arrogant neck. The seat cushion was warm, which probably meant the chair had just been vacated by Lord Ssentar or a member of his retinue. Alias laid her hands on the table, one over the other, looked Luer Dhostar in the eye, and spoke. “A sell-sword I am, and common those may be, but I , Lord Luer, am not common, a fact you no doubt recognized when you offered me a thousand gold retainer for ten days of work. Should you wish to break our contract, I will accept two hundred as a penalty fee and two hundred for the two days of service I have rendered to date.”

Luer Dhostar looked astonished by the swordswoman’s nerve, but there was also a hint of dismay in his expression. He quickly returned to the offense, though, insisting loudly, “I have no intention of canceling our contract. I want you to fulfill the terms without harassing any of the merchant houses.”

“So you’re going to let Haztor Urdo go free?” Alias asked.

“He’s already been released,” Durgar said from the doorway.

“Well, then, Lord Luer, I don’t see the problem,” Alias replied with her tight smile. She kept her voice at a low rumble as she explained, “I will continue hunting Night Masks. Should any of them turn out to be Haztor Urdo or some other thieving noble merchant scion, you may feel free to apologize all you want to their parents and grant them freedom. That’s your business. I will not, however, agree that I have made any mistakes just to soothe your misplaced anger. I’ve fought assassins, a sorceress, a lich, an ancient dragon, a mad god, and a fiend from Tarterus, and all in my first year as an adventurer. If you think you can subdue me simply by shouting, you are most amusingly mistaken.”

The croamarkh heaved himself to his feet and glowered down at the swordswoman as he growled, “In all my life, I’ve never had so disrespectful a hireling.”

“Or, I’ll wager, one with an eye for detail equal to your own,” Alias answered.

“Detail? What detail?” Luer demanded, leaning over the table toward the swordswoman.

“The Night Masks used a smoke powder explosive last night. Recently you caught House Urdo attempting to smuggle smoke powder.”

“We confiscated that shipment. The Night Masks did not get it,” Lord Luer snapped.

“Not that shipment, but no doubt there have been others you’ve missed. That’s why you’ve finally decided to hire a mercenary, someone for whom you did not have to be fully accountable. Fourteen years ago, the Night Masks were just an annoying thieves guild, so you ignored them. In the past few years, however, smoke powder has become less rare, like Amnite sugar cubes. Ordinary thieves can do more damage with it than powerful wizards can with fireballs. You realize that more and more smoke powder is being smuggled in. Whether it’s brought in by House Urdo or House Anybody, you can’t afford for the Night Masks to build a reserve, because if they do, it’s just a matter of time before they start deciding who the next croamarkh will be. With the right threats, they might convince some of the houses to vote for a compromise candidate—Haztor Urdo, now wouldn’t he be perfect. His father certainly stands behind him.”

Luer Dhostar waved his finger in Alias’s face. “You take care of the Night Masks. I’ll take care of the merchant houses,” he said. “Victor will see that you receive your full retainer today so that there will be no more discussion of broken contracts.” The croamarkh motioned with his finger from his son to the door. “That will be all,” he finished and sat back down in his chair.