Кейт Новак - Masquerades

“He was just trying to impress you with his power. He’s a merchant, my dear, to the core. Granted, he’s a very good-looking merchant, and possibly a good-humored one, but he’s still a merchant.”

“What do you have against merchants?” Alias demanded.

“Ah, well, that’s a long story. It boils down to the fact that merchants know the price of everything and the value of nothing. Rather like this ship you’ll be on— The Gleason , named for the family of Luer Dhostar’s late wife. The Dhostars spent a fortune on a ship to protect their goods from pirates, but they can’t protect the people of Westgate from the Night Masks.”

“They’ve paid me a good deal to try,” Alias pointed out.

“The price of a set of The Gleason’s oars would cover your retainer,” Jamal retorted. “Not that I want to encourage you in this ill-fated fraternization, but what are you wearing?”

“Victor said it was semiformal, so I bought a full-length silk tunic. It’s blue with silver embroidery. I thought I’d wear it over my leather britches.”

“Ah,” Jamal sighed blissfully, “they are so egalitarian about dress up north, aren’t they? Let me give you some motherly advice. You can’t do that. First of all, the slightest whiff of leather will get you shown to the back door with the bodyguards. Secondly, the ladies of Westgate wear inconvenient, uncomfortable clothing to semiformal affairs to remind them how perilous social arrangements are in this city. You’ll want to wear an undergown. I have a white bliaut that should fit you and goes with blue. You’ll want to double gird the tunic with two silver belts. I’ve got a set I’ve just polished. One can hold your scabbard, peace-bonded of course.”

“I don’t want to impose,” Alias insisted.

“You don’t want to embarrass Lord Victor either. Trust me on this. A tunic over a gown will look a little old-fashioned, but anyone who’s really worth impressing will find that charming. The rest you shouldn’t care about. Come with me. We’ll get you fitted,” the actress ordered, rising to her feet. Alias followed Jamal up the staircase, noticing that the older woman was no longer limping.

Jamal pulled Alias into a back room lined with boxes of costumes. Alias stripped off the clothing she’d worn as a disguise while Jamal rummaged through the boxes and pulled out a plain, short-sleeved gown of white silk.

“What were you and Dragonbait discussing?” the swordswoman asked as she slipped the gown over her head.

“Oh, old times. Cassana, Zrie, you.”

“Me?” Alias asked, suspicious.

“You look too much like Cassana to be a distant relative, as you said,” Jamal replied as she fastened the clasps at the gown’s side. “I thought you must be a daughter or a niece. Dragonbait explained how he stole you from Cassana when you were young—that you felt no loyalty to her.”

Alias nodded slowly. Dragonbait had stolen her the day she’d been created. “I hated Cassana,” she assured the actress.

“That’s what your friend said.”

“What else did you talk about?”

Jamal shrugged. “Nothing much.”

“The Dragonbait effect,” Alias noted. “Everyone talks to the silent saurial. Tells him things they won’t tell other people.”

“Just boring stories of an old woman’s life. Nothing that could interest you.” Jamal pulled two glittering silver belts off a hook on the wall and handed them to the swordswoman.

“But they do,” Alias insisted. She struggled for some way to explain why Jamal interested her, without giving away the feelings she had for the woman, feelings that Finder had implanted in her for some reason. “My father,” she said, “was in Westgate in the Year of the Prince. He died two years later. He told me about a woman he’d met here—an actress named Jamal with red hair.” Finder had never actually told her any such thing, but he had to have known Jamal. “I thought you might have known him.”

“Who was your father?” the actress asked.

“Finder Wyvernspur. He wouldn’t have used that name, though. At the time, he called himself the Nameless Bard.”

Jamal sat lightly on a trunk, looking a little stunned.

“The Nameless Bard was your father?”

“You did know him?” Alias asked.

Jamal nodded. “It was the Year of the Prince, like you said, in the spring. I was running from a squad of Night Mask muggers, and he stepped out of an alley with his sword and saved my neck. Then he saved my spirit.”

“Your spirit?” Alias asked. “How?”

Jamal took a deep breath and sighed. Then she explained, “I’d lost my daughter the year before. I nearly grieved myself into the grave beside her. Nameless … he convinced me I still had things to live for.”

Alias felt her throat drying. “You had a daughter?”

Jamal nodded. “She died in Deepwinter, in the Year of the Worm.”

The year before I was created, Alias thought.

“She was murdered by a vampire when she was twelve.”

“I’m so sorry,” Alias said.

“The vampire was a merchant noble’s daughter, and they shielded her whereabouts from Durgar and the watch.”

“Which merchant noble?” Alias asked.

“It doesn’t matter which one. All the merchants knew about it.”

“So the vampire escaped?” Alias felt sick with horror.

Jamal shook her head. “I hired an adventuring group to do what the watch couldn’t. They tracked the vampire down to its lair and killed it, then brought the body back to Durgar. When Durgar realized that the nobles had kept him from investigating the area of the lair, he was ready to quit. Luer Dhostar had an awful time convincing him to stay.”

“So you and Nameless spent some time together?”

Jamal grinned. “Only two weeks, but they were a good two weeks. Then he disappeared without a word.”

“Cassana had him locked in her dungeon,” Alias explained. “Then the Harpers ordered him to Shadowdale.”

“He’d told me he was a Harper,” Jamal said. “Later I’d heard he had some falling out with them, but after he died, they cleared it up.”

Alias nodded. “So how close were you and Nameless?” she asked.

“Well, actually, that’s none of your business,” Jamal said with a sly smile. “But he was a fine figure of a man, no doubt about it.” She handed Alias a pair of white silk slippers embroidered with silver thread. “Try these on.”

Alias pulled the slippers on. They fit snugly, but well enough for a few hours leisure. “My tunic is sleeveless. Do you think I need to cover my tattoo?”

“Not unless you’re attending incognito. They all know you have one. There’s no point in hiding it. They’ve seen plenty of foreign merchants with markings. What jewelry are you wearing to this party?” the actress asked.

“A pair of silver earrings—three interlocking stars.”

“Over a wagon wheel?” Jamal teased. “A gift?”

“Just stars, no wheel, and I bought them myself.”

“At least you don’t have to wear Dhostar livery. That tawny color looks awful on us redheads.”

“Very sweet,” a high-pitched voice said from the doorway. “I’m out tracking down evildoers, and you decide to play dress up.”

Alias and Jamal turned to Olive Ruskettle. The halfling looked as if she had run halfway across Westgate and still had a full head of steam up.

“Our warrior is mixing with high society tonight,” Jamal explained.

“From the back alleys to the castles in a matter of hours, eh?” Olive said. “What a whirlwind life you lead.”

“What did you find out?” Alias demanded.

“Well,” the halfling began, “I followed One-Eye and her bodyguard south to a big manor house right on the edge of the city. She went in, spent about ten minutes, just enough to count that sack of money. Then she and her friend left and parted company.” Olive paused for dramatic effect.