Masquerades

Nine Parries and Ripostes

“So you want to know how I know so much about the Night Masks,” Jamal said as she turned over the cool, wet cloth covering her swollen ankle. “It’s not that complicated, really.” The thespian paused, assuring herself that she held her audience’s complete attention. Dragonbait leaned forward on his stool. Alias fidgeted impatiently, hating Jamal’s theatrics. Although the actress had refused to let Dragonbait heal her injury, she had accepted the adventurers’ help back to Mintassan’s. Now they were seated once again in the mismatched chairs around the heavy table in the sage’s cluttered workroom.

“I have the sense the gods gave geese,” Jamal said.

Mintassan, who hovered in the doorway of the side alcove waiting for the tea water to boil, called out, “Are those the geese that walk barefoot in burning buildings and then jump out of crow’s nests for the amusement of the rabble?”

Jamal shot an annoyed glance at the sage. She turned back to the swordswoman and the paladin. She motioned them to lean closer, and when they had, she whispered, “I listen carefully, and I know how to put two and two together.”

Alias leaned back and sighed. “Could you maybe give us an example of putting two and two together?” she requested.

“First I consider my source of information. Take the halflings. They have it in for the Night Masks, and not just because the Masks exclude them from their guild. It goes back to a blood feud started when the Masks first sprang up in this town. Now while halflings aren’t always reliable reporters, they aren’t going to lie on behalf of the Masks. So if a halfling who works for Lady Nettel Thalavar tells me Her Ladyship won’t pay protection to the Night Masks, I’m inclined to believe him. If all the halflings working for Lady Nettel confirm his story, I’m going to accept it as fact.

“Then when a halfling tells me a certain type of misfortune strikes the Thalavar trading house, I consider who would benefit from such misfortune. If a Thalavar ship laden with goods sinks in the harbor, I suspect the Faceless’s wrathful hand. If the ship sinks but it was emptied out first, I suspect that another merchant family hired the Night Masks to pick up the goods for them. The merchants hate waste, even if it benefits them, with the exception, in my opinion, of Family Urdo. The year of the summer brushfires there was never quite enough corn to meet demand, but enough for House Urdo to make a killing.”

“So how do you know who to talk to?” Alias asked.

“Oh, I don’t seek out my sources,” Jamal replied. “They come to me. You see, I have many loyal fans, and, of course, some people just can’t resist the temptation to see their story played out.”

“And others can’t resist the five copper she pays per story,” Mintassan added as he joined them with the tea tray.

“So you’re an information broker,” Alias stated.

“More of a collector,” Jamal corrected. “I don’t sell what I get, but I do put it on display—in my performances. Like a sage, I specialize. All things Westgate: local lore, noble gossip, Night Masks, the city’s new cheap hero, Alias the Sell-Sword. Congratulations, by the way, on taking down Littleboy, and nabbing Timmy the Ghast and Bandilegs’s bunch.”

“Who told you about all that?” Alias asked.

“Oh, I never reveal my sources. They trust me because of that,” Jamal explained as she accepted the teacup Mintassan handed her.

Alias thought of all the people who knew about her activities last night. The thieves themselves, the scullery maids, the Turmishmen, Big Edna and her customers, the watch, and no doubt lots of people looking down from windows, too afraid to go out at night, but curious enough to watch the street.

Jamal sipped her tea, then said, “Littleboy’s fall and Timmy’s bath are part of our afternoon performance, if my stand-in thinks he’s ready for the job.”

Alias sighed with exasperation. “Why can’t you tell stories about other heroes. The Knights of Myth Drannor, the Harpers, the Swanmays?”

“Those are old legends,” Jamal argued. “They’re fine for summer stock theater. But a fresh, young, cheap hero, walking the street where people can point her out to their children, that’s going to inspire people. They’ve lived in silent fear of the Night Masks, certain the guild could never be defeated. You prove otherwise, and now they can’t help but talk about you. Soon talk becomes action. I’ve already heard that last night, over on Thunnside, a crowd pummeled three Night Mask bully boys who beat up a barmaid. They’ll be part of the performance, too. Eventually there’ll be cheap heroes popping up all over the city. Courage is contagious.”

“Courage can also be dangerous,” Alias pointed out, “as you may have noted when they burned your house down.”

“True,” Jamal agreed, “but the Faceless won’t focus on the anonymous cheap heroes. He’ll focus on you.”

“Perhaps I shouldn’t be staying at Blais House,” Alias commented.

Mintassan handed Alias a mug of tea. “Blais House is exactly where you should be,” he insisted. “It has … protections of its own. Consider it a safe haven. It’s on the street that you’ll have to watch your back.”

“Durgar thinks the Faceless and the Night Masters are myths,” Alias said.

“Durgar hasn’t got my sources,” Jamal countered.

“What sources?” Alias demanded.

“The Night Masks themselves, for one. They aren’t about to go to the city’s judge and tell him about the Faceless. They talk business, though, in taverns where a certain disguised actress can get work as a barkeep any time. And then sometimes the branded ones are angry enough to come to me.”

“The branded ones?” Alias asked.

“The Faceless has a magical item with the power to burn a domino mask brand into the face of someone who’s earned his displeasure. Sometimes the brand is too deep to be healed without leaving a scar. Then the branded one has no choice but to flee the city. About seven years ago a man claiming to be a Night Master came to me with such a brand. In exchange for safe passage from the city he told me a lot about the Night Masks organization. He said that the original Faceless, the founder of the Night Masks guild, had been assassinated by some new person who’d just taken up the old Faceless’s magical regalia, and hence the office of the lord of the Night Masters. The new Faceless branded this Night Master when he’d challenged him over the right to hold the office.

“Later that year, another Night Mask, some second-story man, came to me. There had been a steep increase in the Night Master tax—the cut every thief pays to the guild. The tax was doubled for guild members and tripled for free-lance thieves working in the city. When this second-story man and some others refused to pay, they were brought before the Faceless and branded. The second-story man confirmed a lot of what the branded Night Master had told me.”

“So why is he called the Faceless?” Alias asked.

“According to the branded Night Master, the first Faceless had a face like a lump of clay. The Night Master thought the first Faceless might have been a doppelganger. The new Faceless’s face is a blur of colors. The Temple to Leira, goddess of illusion, once possessed a magical helmet that caused exactly such an effect. The helmet was of mesh chain covered in platinum coins struck with the goddess’s glyph. Shortly after the Time of Troubles Leira’s temple was looted and burned and the magic helmet went missing.”

Dragonbait asked, “Will it really hurt the Night Masks if Alias captures the Faceless, or will it only make room for some Night Master to take the place of their lord?”

Alias translated the paladin’s question for Jamal.

Jamal was silent for several moments as if considering her answer very carefully. Mintassan drummed his fingers on the tabletop in the silent pause. Finally the actress replied, “I think if you can seize the Faceless’s treasury, you’ll have dealt them a mortal blow. According to the branded Night Master, the treasury contains an artifact discovered by the first Faceless. It protects his identity and that of all the Night Masters. With it, Durgar could detect them or any who tried to take their place. My sources estimate there are at least two thousand Night Masks, but without the Faceless and the Night Masters they won’t be anywhere near as organized. Also in the treasury are magical items the Night Masks have used to rescue or kill members who know too much and who’ve been caught by Durgar’s watch.”

Alias sipped her tea thoughtfully.

“If I might make a suggestion,” Jamal said.

“Murf?” Dragonbait prompted the actress.

“House Thalavar brought in a wine shipment yesterday,” Jamal explained. “One hundred twenty barrels of fire wine from the Old Empires—dark, strong, spicy, and worth more with every mile it moves west. If the wine makes it to the tables of Waterdeep, it means a major profit for the Thalavars. If not, they stand to lose a great deal. It’s sitting in the Thalavar warehouse until it can be loaded on caravan wagons tomorrow morning. Odds are good that the Night Masks will try to steal it or destroy it. Instead of roaming the streets looking for trouble tonight, why not see if you can get trouble to come to you. Stand guard in the warehouse. My guess is you’ll round up at least a dozen Night Masks, and if it rains, you’ll stay nice and dry.”

Alias tilted her head suspiciously. “You know, I smell a halfling behind this plan. Probably the same one who took your copper pieces for her story about yesterday’s incident on the docks. I don’t suppose it came from an annoying redhead named Olive Ruskettle.”

“Oooh, I can feel my ears burning all the way out in the street,” a new voice declared from the doorway. Alias didn’t need to turn around to know that Olive Ruskettle had entered Mintassan’s shop. The halfling joined them at the table, climbed into a chair, snitched a sugar cube from the tea tray, and popped it in her mouth.

“Olive tells me you’re well acquainted,” Jamal said.

“Oh, yes,” Alias replied. “I hadn’t realized until now that you knew her, too.”

“We’re both in the entertainment business,” Olive explained.

“So, you’re expecting me to do your guard duty for you?” Alias asked the halfling.

“No. Thalavar halflings can do their own guard duty,” Olive retorted sharply. “As a matter of fact, Lady Nettel is secretly going to put all her available guards on this consignment at the risk of leaving her other properties undefended. We’re not worried about defending the wine, but capturing Night Masks is a little harder work. Since you’re so keen on sending them in to Durgar, I thought I’d offer you this opportunity. You won’t find more Night Masks roaming the streets tonight. It’s already started to drizzle. They’ll all be tucked in front of warm fires sipping ale—except for the ones assigned to plunder House Thalavar.”

“She may have a point, Alias,” Dragonbait said.

The swordswoman succumbed to Olive’s logic. Privately, however, she suspected she might actually find a fruitless evening of hunting in the rain more enjoyable than hiding out in a warehouse with a gang of halflings.

Alias and Dragonbait met Olive shortly after sunset at the gates to Lady Nettel’s castle. The family sheds were located in a shallow vale between castles Thalavar and Ssemm. Olive, however, led Alias and Dragonbait outside the city walls to the Thalavar stockyards. There, in a horse pen beside the city wall, sheltered from view by a copse of trees, was a secret tunnel leading beneath the city wall. The halfling guided them through the tunnel to a ladder that climbed up into the warehouse inside the city walls, where the wine was being stored.

The building was a windowless fortress of solid stone walls and a clay tile roof. There was one door large enough for a wagon and a smaller one for people, both bolted shut. The only other way in, aside from the trapdoor in the floor that led to the secret tunnel, was through one of the five skylights used for ventilation. These were covered with hinged doors, also bolted shut.

The Thalavar halflings were all hidden behind crates stacked in the loft overhead. Olive and Alias took up a position beside the cribs holding the wine barrels, while Dragonbait paced the perimeter of the shed, both upstairs and down, checking on the halflings stationed about and using his shen sight on the walls around them. Then they waited.

Alias wrapped her cloak around her. For a summer evening the air was cool, and cooler still inside the warehouse, like an outpost on the edge of the Negative Material Plane. By the light of the hooded lantern beside her, the swordswoman could see her own breath. She was beginning to think it might have been warmer out in the rain; it certainly would be less boring. She lost track of time in the dark, but it seemed as if she’d been here for hours.

“Apricot?” Olive offered. The sweet, pungent aroma of the dried fruit rose from the sticky paper bag she held out. Alias waved her hand to refuse the fruit. Already tonight Olive had consumed numerous bags of various comestibles, including hazelnuts, Moonshae chestnuts in syrup, candied cherries, pears, carrots, mushrooms of Brost, golden raisins from Berdusk, and a bag of what looked like chocolate-covered spiders.

Alias steamed. “This could be a colossal waste of time. We don’t even know they’re coming.”

“Day’re cummin’,” Olive mumbled through a mouthful of apricot. When she had swallowed, she reiterated, “They’re coming. This shipment’s worth a small fortune. The Night Masks won’t be able to resist. They’re compulsive about their vengeance—”

Something thumped somewhere overhead.

“Alias!” Dragonbait called out in Saurial. “They’re climbing to the roof.”

Alias translated for Olive, who pocketed her apricots and whispered a warning to the other halflings to put out their lights and take their places. Hooded lanterns all about the warehouse went dark.

Alias slipped behind a stack of crates by the wagon door. Olive had disappeared into the darkness. The warehouse felt colder in the dark and, oddly enough, closer, as if ghosts were pressing in around them.

In a minute Alias could hear feet scraping across the tiles above. She couldn’t estimate from the sound how many thieves there were, but one of them was heavy-footed and not very agile, stomping up the roof, sliding down, then stomping back up again. Alias wondered if they’d brought an ogre for a backup.

Next came the sounds of nails popping and wood cracking as thieves armed with crow bars made short work prying the skylight doors from their hinges. A more artful crew, Alias thought, might have found a way to slide back the bolts using a drill and a wire, but the Night Masks seem to prefer brute strength and destruction.

Rain began to drizzle into the warehouse as the skylight shutters were thrust aside. Someone above lowered a lantern down to the warehouse floor, and a moment later whispered, “All clear.” Five rope ladders rolled down into the warehouse, and five figures began climbing down each ladder. They all wore dark clothes and caps and domino masks—the costume of the Night Masks.

All but one of the Night Masks were armed with daggers and heavy dwarven hammers. The one exception was a tall, heavy man with long, puffed-out black hair, which he had not bothered to tuck into a cap. Inexplicably, he wore a scabbard and sword. The scabbard caught in a ladder-rung, and its wearer, while extricating it, lost his footing and fell the last three feet to the warehouse floor. He landed with a thump and a curse.

Alias had to cover her mouth to keep her laughter in. Several other Night Masks laughed, but one, apparently their leader, hissed, “Silence,” and they all shut up instantly.

“We’re in,” the leader called up to the roof. Someone above cut loose the rope ladders and slid the hatch doors back over the skylight. He’ll keep lookout from up there, Alias realized. She made a mental note to collect him from the roof when they’d taken the others.

The leader pointed to three men, saying, “You open the wagon door and take care of the watchman out there. The rest of you start shifting the wine.”

Alias put two fingers to her tongue and whistled.

At that signal, twenty halflings pulled back the shutters on their lanterns, bathing the Night Masks in a bright yellow glow. The Night Masks all jumped in surprise, but lost no time drawing their weapons and turning outward in a defensive circle.

Alias stepped out from behind the crates and into the light. She held her sword at the ready. “If you put down your weapons and surrender, you won’t be harmed,” she said.

“It’s that common she-dog the Dhostars hired,” the Night Mask with the sword shouted, advancing on Alias with his blade. “Kill her now and our names are made!”

All around the warehouse, the restraining locks on the halflings’ crossbows clicked off. The swordsman halted in his tracks.

The Night Mask leader, a tall, well-muscled, fair-skinned woman, pulled the man back by his shirt. “Let’s be reasonable,” she said, addressing the halflings in the loft rather than Alias. Her accent screamed Zhentil Keep, and Alias instantly detested her. “There is more than enough here for all. What say you arrived late, chased us off, and managed to save only, mmm, a third of the shipment? Yes, a third would be reasonable. Or we can arrange to move that amount for you, privately, if you wish to tell Lady Nettel you lost everything.”

“You seem to forget,” Alias said, stepping forward until she was directly in front of the tall woman, “that we have you surrounded.”

The Zhentish woman grinned wolfishly at Alias. “You forget, we have your precious wine hostage.” She motioned swiftly with her hand, and, before any of the halflings could react, one of her men slammed his heavy dwarven hammer into the base of the nearest wine barrel, smashing the wood to splinters.

Instead of wine gushing to the floor, only dry bits of wood clattered about the hammerer’s feet. In a fury, he smashed at a second barrel. Without warning, the lid of a third barrel popped open, and a slightly rattled Olive Ruskettle rolled out, shouting, “Surrender or die!”

The hammerer aimed a blow at the halfling, who yelped and dived for cover as half a dozen crossbow bolts pierced her would-be attacker. The hammerer fell to the floor and remained still.

About half the Night Masks threw down their weapons, but the rest dived for the cover of the crates. Six were hit by more crossbow bolts and joined their comrade on the floor. Three of those remaining began making for the halflings in the loft. The first one up the ladder to the loft caught a crossbow bolt and a halfling foot in his face. He fell back, landing with muffled thump.

Alias chased the Zhentish Night Mask leader and the clownish sword-wielder down an aisle of crates. She cornered the pair against the warehouse wall. The Night Mask leader gave the sword-wielder a slap on the shoulder, and he stepped forward to challenge Alias with his blade. He adopted a first-year swordsman’s training position.

Alias snarled with annoyance that she would have to deal with this fool while the Night Mask leader was climbing a wall of crates to the loft.

“Now you will die for challenging the true rulers of Westgate,” the swordsman announced dramatically.

Alias snorted derisively, but resisted the temptation to run him through. She feinted high with her sword, and when the Night Mask caught her blade on his own she closed in on him and delivered a punch to his belly. Assured that the man wore no armor, she slugged him twice more before he collapsed in a groaning heap at her feet.

Free from distractions, the swordswoman began climbing the crates, following the Night Mask leader.

The Zhentish woman had leaped from the top of the pile of crates into the loft. She was bending over a lantern when Alias came up on her. Alias poked her sword in the woman’s back. The Night Mask whirled around, holding a tube of metal with a burning candlewick hanging from one end.

Alias froze. She’d never seen the device the woman held, but she’d heard about it. It was some magical explosive made with smoke powder, so simple that even a thief could use one. It could be deadlier than a wizard’s fireball. The Night Mask leader backed away until she stood in the section of the loft above the cribs of wine barrels.

“Kiss your wine good-bye, Dhostar lackey,” the Night Mask said with a laugh.

“The wine’s not in those barrels,” Alias replied with a smirk. “It’s hidden behind the crates on the other end of the warehouse.”

The Zhentish woman glared at her opponent. She glanced back down at the warehouse floor, where two halflings stood guard over the Night Masks who had surrendered. They’d made the Night Masks lie with their faces to the floor. The Night Mask leader scowled down at her former troops who had surrendered so easily.

She dropped the explosive tube down on their backs.

“No!” Alias screamed. “Get behind the crates!” she shouted at the people below. One of the halflings looked up at her with a confused look on his face.

The tube exploded with a flash and a great boom, which rocked the empty wine barrels and the crates in the loft overhead. Smoke poured up from the floor of the warehouse.

As Alias turned around to confront the Night Mask leader, the Zhentish woman smacked her on the side of the head with her hammer. The swordswoman reeled backward and lost her grip on her weapon. Her attacker lunged toward her, dagger drawn. Alias lashed out with a kick, catching the Night Mask squarely in the chest. The Zhentish woman toppled over the low loft railing, landing with a sickening, deadly thud on the stone floor below.

Through the clearing smoke Alias could see Dragonbait examining the bloody carnage of bodies below. Intent on a prayer to heal a bleeding halfling, the paladin was oblivious to the recovered Night Mask swordsman, who was now sneaking up behind the saurial. Just as Alias cried out in Saurial, Olive Ruskettle dashed out from behind a pile of crates and smashed the Night Mask on the knee with a hammer pillaged from one of his compatriots. He crashed to the ground, swearing profusely. Dragonbait continued praying over the halfling.

With their leader dead, and most of their party killed—eight of those torn apart by the explosive device wielded by their own leader—the remaining Night Masks were easily rounded up and convinced to surrender.

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.

“I’m growing tired of your hysterical impatience,” the Faceless snapped, and the other Night Masters drew their chairs back from the table as if their lord had just drawn a weapon.

“And I’m tired of your arrogant inertia. I’m not going to sit around on my nether cheeks while Dhostars’ little dollymop rips my operation to shreds!”

“Enough!” the Faceless growled. He rose to his feet, pointed at Gateside with a ringed finger, and uttered one word, “Kreggarish!”

A field of energy rippled across the room, and Gateside’s mask began to glow; the white porcelain shined golden from something beneath the mask.

Gateside fell forward across the table, screaming in agony. Enforcement and Thunnside, who flanked him at the table, rose from their chairs quickly and backed away. None of the others came to the portly thief’s aid. A few touched their own masks nervously, though they knew perfectly well it was the Faceless’s power that attacked their fellow.

Instinctively, Gateside clawed at the mask covering his burning skin; still the glow persisted around his face. The Night Master continued screaming, and his frame writhed in agony. Enforcement and Thunnside could detect the scent of charred flesh.

“Jokash,” the Faceless intoned, and the glow faded.

The Faceless’s spell had burned the flesh around Gateside’s eyes, leaving the image of a domino mask in bright scarlet.

“Consider that a warning,” the Faceless said coldly. “I might have let the fire burn long enough to sear your skull, but, in deference to your usefulness, I’ve left you with only a temporary scar.

Gateside slumped back into his chair. His eyes were tearing profusely, and his sobs were broken only by his gasps for breath.

“Your hysteria endangers us all. Now that I’ve marked you, you have no choice but to remain hidden for the next few days. Night Masks are not very popular at the moment. If you do not reveal yourself, you will not be in danger, and neither will we. Once the scars have begun to scab, a priest will be able to heal the damage. Consider it a test.”

Gateside summoned enough energy to nod weakly.

The Faceless turned to the others and asked, “Is there any other business? Does anyone else have doubts about my ability to deal with this sell-sword? No? Good. Enforcement, help Gateside out. This meeting is adjourned.”

The Night Masters shuffled silently from the meeting hall. Gateside leaned heavily on Enforcement, but he found the strength to turn for one last look at Westgate’s hidden master.

The magical blur about the Faceless’s head continued to mask his features, but Gateside was sure the fiend was smiling.