Кейт Новак - Masquerades

After a few minutes, Alias released the boy, prepared to grab him again at the first sign of trouble.

The boy pulled the gag out of his mouth, but he made no trouble; he was too intent at staring, his eyes wide as saucers, at Alias’s sword arm.

Alias followed his gaze. In his struggles the boy had pushed up her tunic sleeve, revealing the azure tattoo, which seemed to swirl of its own volition.

“You’re her—that Alias witch,” the boy gasped finally. “Oh, Cyric-on-a-stick, I’m really dead.”

Alias shook her head, insisting, “You’re not dead.”

“You kill Night Masks,” the boy said in a trembling voice. “Knost said you sliced up fifteen men last night.” Behind his fear there was a hint of curiosity in his voice, as if he hoped she would confirm her bloody spree to him.

“Knost is a liar or a fool, probably both,” Alias retorted.

“You’re not going to kill me?” the boy asked in a small voice.

“I just saved your life,” Alias pointed out.

The boy shrugged as if that didn’t mean much in his line of work.

“What’s your name, child?” the swordswoman asked.

“I’m not a child,” the boy insisted. When Alias did not respond, but waited patiently, he answered her question, full of bravado, “My name’s Kel, like in Kelemvor the death god.”

“As in Kelemvor the judge of the dead,” Alias corrected. “He was a hero before he was a god. Anyway, you look like you were born before the Time of Troubles. You’re too old to have been named for him. Where are your folks? Do they know you work for the Night Masks?”

“Mom took off when I was little. Don’t remember her. Dad was a collector for the Masks ’til he got stuck with a dagger in the back by a poacher after his take. Knost gave me a job carrying, but said I was too small to collect—yet. You gonna let me go?” Kel asked.

Alias considered his request. She didn’t think she could trust him to keep his mouth shut. He might start bragging that he’d escaped as soon as her back was turned. One-Eye might have Kel brought in and beaten into confessing he’d identified her. One-Eye would then know she’d been followed by the halfling and would warn whoever she was taking the extortion money to.

Then there was the question of the boy’s condition. His left eye was swollen shut, and he was still spitting blood. No one was looking after him, and he needed looking after more than ever. When One-Eye found and released Knost and Marcus, they’d go looking for the boy.

“No, I’m not going to let you go,” the swordswoman replied. “I’m going to have to take you into custody.”

“Nay, ya can’t. Ya got no proof I did nothin’. Not even old Durgoat’d hold me just for bein’ beat up.”

The boy’s arrogant grasp of Westgate’s justice system made Alias’s hackles rise. “I didn’t say I was turning you in to the watch,” she retorted. “I said I was taking you into custody.”

When Alias arrived at Mintassan’s, Jamal and Dragonbait were in the midst of a lively discussion. Jamal did most of the speaking, but the heavy table was littered with paper covered with Dragonbait’s tiny script, indicating that he was keeping up his end of the conversation. Mintassan was sitting at the desk, counting and measuring the feathers of living pigeons he pulled from a cage. When the sage finished with a bird, he recorded the numbers in a log, then let the bird loose. Freed birds fluttered around the back and front room of the shop until they found the open half of the front door and made their escape.

Kel, who’d boasted all the way to the sage’s home that Alias would never be able to hold on to him, looked around dumbfounded at all the dead things cluttering Mintassan’s workroom; the boy even looked a little nervous.

“What have we here?” Jamal asked.

“I brought Mintassan a specimen,” the swordswoman explained. “Westgate human juvenile—descendant of the Night Masks.” She smiled at the sage and asked him, “Think you could have him mounted for me, so he doesn’t run off?”

Mintassan grinned fiendishly. “Hanging or freestanding?” he asked.

“Freestanding, I think,” Alias said. “It’s creepier.”

Dragonbait, who eyed the boy with disapproval, asked, “If he’s one of them, why did you bring him here?”

“He’s given Olive and me a little information. I thought I might return the favor.”

“She’s lyin’,” Kel snarled. “I didn’t peach on no one. She tricked me into it. Hey! You never did give up that gold piece,” he complained to Alias.

“Two Night Mask leg-breakers worked him over. He could be hurt even worse than he looks,” she said to the paladin. “Would you help him, please?”

The saurial rose and approached the boy, but Kel, terrified of the saurial, backed into Alias.

“He won’t hurt you,” Alias said, holding him still.

“Murf,” Dragonbait commanded, holding a clawed finger up to the boy’s face. He placed his hands on the boy’s shoulders and began reciting his healing prayer.

Kel relaxed as he felt his battered flesh mending. His eyes widened in surprise. “He a priest?” the boy asked.

“Sort of,” Alias replied.

“Alias,” the paladin said, “I know he is only a child, but the Night Mask’s have twisted his soul. In time you might fix what is wrong, but for now you cannot trust him.”

“I know, but I need to keep him off the street so he doesn’t talk to his boss. A few days should do it, I think,” Alias said in Saurial. She turned to Mintassan and asked, “You wouldn’t happen to have a dungeon, would you?”

“Not exactly, but I’m sure I could arrange something,” Mintassan said. “I suppose you’ll want him fed, too?”

“Gruel and water at the very least,” Alias replied.

“I hate gruel,” the boy muttered.

“Well, I was just thinking I could use a hand tidying up around here. If you’re willing to work for your supper, I could arrange some roast pigeon,” the sage said to the boy, holding up the bird in his hand.

“Pigeon’s good,” the boy agreed.

Mintassan, not expecting his joke to be taken seriously, paled. “There, there, girl,” he said, stroking the bird in his hands. “He didn’t mean it.” He let the pigeon go free.

“You can’t be serious, Mint,” Jamal argued. “Letting a child loose in a sage’s home is like giving a necromancer the keys to the crypt. It’s a recipe for disaster.”

“As long as he doesn’t touch any boxes labeled ‘Danger’ or ‘Keep out’ or ‘Hope,’ he’ll be fine.”

“Can’t read,” Kel said.

“What do you mean, you can’t read?” Mintassan asked.

Kel shrugged. “Never learned. No need.”

“How can you grow up in Westgate and not learn to read?” the sage demanded.

“How can you grow up in Westgate and not realize it’s full of people who can’t read?” Jamal snapped at Mintassan.

“Yeah!” Kel seconded.

Mintassan looked taken aback. “Well, I guess I’ve been told.” He looked Kel over. “I suppose we ought to get you cleaned up before we let you sit on the furniture. Come on, boy. Follow me.”

Kel looked uncertain, but Alias gave him a shove toward the sage, and the boy followed Mintassan up the stairs.

“I’d better get back to Blais House and get cleaned up myself,” the swordswoman said. “It’s not too long till sunset.”

“What happens at sunset?” Jamal asked.

“Victor Dhostar’s sending his carriage for me. He’s invited me to a party on his family’s new ship.”

“Ah, mixing with the Westgate snobs. How—” Jamal stifled a mock yawn “—exciting.”

“Victor is very nice,” Alias said. “He stood up for your theater the other day.”