Кейт Новак - Masquerades

“You’d think the Faceless would be concerned that a sewer inspector might stumble on this place,” Olive quipped.

“Cities the size of Westgate have enough underground sewers, pipes, and cisterns to confuse a dwarf. They probably built this tunnel before King Verovan’s time and promptly forgot it,” Alias retorted.

“How’re we going to cross it?” the halfling asked.

Alias shrugged. “The Faceless must have some way across,” she said.

Dragonbait picked up a handful of pebbles from the floor and tossed them into the chasm. They skittered horizontally in midair, some finally tumbling into the dark water below, but others remained suspended, resting on an invisible surface.

“Aren’t you clever,” Alias said, smiling at the saurial.

The paladin shrugged. He could detect the bridge from the way it masked the heat flowing up from the sewage below.

Alias stepped out into the void. Assured that the bridge was sturdy beneath her feet, she continued across, using her sword as a cane to tap out the edges of the bridge. It was only two feet wide, but flat and smooth. Nonetheless, when she reached the opening in the sewer wall at the opposite end and stepped off the bridge, she breathed a sigh of relief. She turned and waved for the others to follow.

Olive began crossing next, using her own sword as a guide. The halfling moved more quickly than the swordswoman had, but when she was halfway across the bridge, she froze.

Alias furrowed her brow in puzzlement. Olive had never been afraid of heights, yet now she stood motionless, looking down into the water. “Come on, Olive!” the swordsman whispered urgently.

“I can’t,” Olive retorted through clenched teeth. “I want to move, but I can’t! Feels like magic, maybe some kind of trap.”

Alias had just set one foot back on the bridge when something erupted from the water below. By the light of Olive’s lantern the swordswoman could make out a great serpentine beast—its body stretching out far longer than the lantern light could make out. Its back was covered in a diamond pattern of green and brown scales, and a green fin ran the full length of its eel-like body. It reared its head, revealing a yellow belly, and filthy water dripped from the slimy moss coating its scales. Thrusting upward toward Olive, it roared with a mouth large enough to swallow the halfling in a single gulp. Needle teeth glistened by the light of the halfling’s lantern. In the beast’s eyes Alias imagined she could detect intelligence and cunning. “It’s the quelzarn!” Alias shouted. “Olive, you have to move!”

Olive, unable to comply, looked into the maw, wondering if she could cut her way out from the inside. She realized with a sickening dread that her chances of doing so were not good even if the magic that now held her disappeared once she was swallowed.

Just as the sea serpent’s head arched over Olive, the saurial scooped the halfling up in his arms and dashed across the bridge to the other side. The quelzarn snapped its jaws on empty air, squealed with annoyance, and slid back into the water.

Dragonbait set Olive down gently. The halfling was breathing so heavily that Alias was afraid she might pass out before she regained control.

“Why do these things always happen to me?” the halfling moaned. “Why didn’t it use magic to hold you in place?”

“Maybe it just wanted a light snack,” Alias teased. “It probably noticed your lantern. I went across without one.”

“Or you’re more resistant to its magic.” The enchantment holding Olive dissolved suddenly, and she started like a sleeper in a dream. “Boy, I really hate magic, sometimes. Now I’m all pins and needles,” she complained, rubbing her limbs.

They finally got Olive back on her feet again and continued onward. The passageway on this side of the sewer sloped upward, ending in a short staircase. Alias wondered if they might be climbing into the basement of a building by the river, but she realized they must be somewhere beneath a hill when they reached the top of the stair and they stood in one more underground cavern carved out of solid bedrock. Magical lanterns bathed the cavern in a bright yellow glow, leaving them no doubt that they had discovered what they’d been seeking.

“Jackpot!” Olive whispered in awe.

Alias nodded in agreement.

The Faceless’s treasury made Melman’s hoard look like the collection plate at a dead god’s church. Great sea chests, closed and locked, were stacked against one wall. A multitude of weapons, from swords and polearms to wands and staves, hung from another. Dozens of open amphoras stood in an alcove, stuffed to overflowing in the southern fashion with jewelry and gems.

On a workbench in the center of the room stood a rack like a tree—with twelve long pegs branching out from its central pole. Hanging from the peg branches were eleven white porcelain masks, each with a different glyph painted over the domino mask markings about the eye slits. A twelfth branch was empty—no doubt the one that had once held Melman’s mask. A large mirror was mounted on the wall to the right of the workbench. To the other side stood two rows of statues. Behind the workbench a fountain pool gushed water in a burbling rhythm.

“I always say there’s nothing like the sound of a fountain for relaxing at the end of a hard day’s extortion and murder,” the halfling joked.

Alias held up a hand to silence the halfling. She thought she saw movement near the statues. She motioned for Dragonbait and Olive to take up positions on either side of the workbench as she moved around it.

The statues were iron, covered with a thin film of oil to ward off rust. They were about twice Alias’s height, molded in a humanoid form but with dragon heads. Alias was sure they were some sort of golem—automatons capable of serving as deadly guards. Those constructed of iron often breathed poisonous gas, and Alias found herself holding her breath as she approached them.

She reached out and touched the nearest statue. It was cool and remained immobile. If the statues were iron golems, they did not appear to be activated. They were set in a military formation, two rows deep. It was in the back line where she thought she saw movement.

The warrior woman slid between the two ranks, moving as silently as a cat. She saw a flash of light on metal behind the second rank. Swinging around the line, Alias raised her sword, prepared to skewer whatever skulked back there.

Fortunately, her mind analyzed what she saw before her instincts took over. She recognized the man in fine silk vestments who stood before her gripping with white knuckles a sword held out in an awkward defensive position.

“Victor!” Alias gasped.

Victor Dhostar lowered his sword and held his other hand over his heart as if to keep it from leaping out of his chest. His eyes were wide with both fear and astonishment. “Alias!” he exclaimed, breathing a sigh of relief. “Am I glad to see you!”

“Come on out,” Alias ordered, holding her sword level, still ready to strike. Magical creatures sometimes used the face of a friend as a ploy to get adventurers to lower their guard.

Victor stumbled forward sheepishly, nodding at the saurial and the halfling as they approached him warily. “Dragonbait. Mistress Ruskettle. How do you do? I was afraid you were the Faceless.”

Alias looked at the paladin for some confirmation of Victor’s identity.

Dragonbait concentrated his shen sight on the man before him. There was nothing but the sky-blue of grace in his soul. If he was not Victor Dhostar, he was his twin in all respects. The saurial nodded.

Alias exhaled and sheathed her sword. Then she leaned in toward Victor and snapped angrily, “What are you doing down here?” Her voice rang through the chamber like a bell clapper.