Masquerades

Fourteen Melman’s Place

It took the swordswoman only a few minutes to change from her finery back into her armor, but in that time the weather had turned. Clouds rolled in from the east, veiling the moon, and mist rolled up from the bay and the river, shrouding the streets. Despite the cover this provided the three adventurers, Olive insisted they take one extra precaution to elude any possible Night Masks who might be spying on them—leave the city via the Thalavars’ secret underground tunnel.

Once outside the city, Olive crept southward, keeping in the shadow of the city wall, with Alias and Dragonbait following behind. Since only the halfling had been both conscious and free of the sorceress Cassana’s magical controls when they’d last used the tunnel that led to Cassana’s former home, they had to rely on Olive to lead them to the outside entrance. They sneaked over the fence into the Ssemm family stockyards and made their way to the eastern end of the yards.

As the halfling rustled through an overgrown dry wash searching for the entrance, Alias and Dragonbait kept watch at the wash’s rim. The moon broke through the clouds for a few moments, and then Alias could make out seven mounds to the southeast.

There was a good deal of activity in the stockyards to the west of the dry wash. Caravans were being readied for departure in the morning. Alias shifted nervously, worried that she would be discovered trespassing, and Orgule Ssemm would add his complaints to those of Ssentar Urdo, further annoying the croamarkh.

“Olive,” she whispered. “What’s taking you so long?”

“I’ll bet the passage hasn’t been used since Finder and I came through it. The gully is really overgrown,” the halfling whispered back.

An eternity of heartbeats seemed to pass before Olive called out to report her success. Dragonbait, able to detect the heat of the halfling’s body in the dark, took Alias’s arm and led her to Olive’s location. The halfling crawled out from beneath a thicket of wild raspberry. “I don’t think either of you could get through like I could,” Olive reported. “You’ll have to hack at the brush some.”

The two warriors drew their swords and cut into the briars until they’d cleared a path into a tributary of the gully.

“There!” Olive whispered excitedly, pointing into the hillside.

The doorway was partially blocked by mud and rock carried by heavy rains, but the door was still visible. Fortunately it opened inward, so they weren’t required to do any digging. Alias pushed up the latch with the tip of her weapon and nudged the door open with her foot. The door’s hinges made an alarming squeal, and a decade’s worth of dust assailed the swordswoman’s nostrils.

Dragonbait whispered “Toast,” in Saurial, causing his enchanted blade to blaze. Igniting a straw from the paladin’s sword, Alias used it to light a conventional lantern. Dragonbait took the point; Alias followed behind him. Olive, after one last look down the dry wash to be sure no one had observed them, slipped through the door behind the warriors.

The passageway beneath the city wall was so narrow that the adventurers had to go single file. Olive’s nose twitched in the dusty, sepulchral air. “Smells like Zrie Prakis,” the halfling complained.

Remembering the lich’s smell, Alias shuddered in spite of herself. Prakis had been among the alliance of evil beings who’d created her. Each being had had some evil purpose for the swordswoman, but it was Prakis’s purpose that had unnerved Alias the most. Prakis had had a long-abiding love-hate relationship with Cassana, even after he’d become undead. He wanted an enslaved Alias to replace Cassana.

“That’s good, though,” Alias said, “if it means that no one has been using the passage since then. Look, ours are the first footprints in the dust in years.”

“Maybe because it’s haunted,” the halfling suggested unhappily.

Spiderwebs across the passage crackled and fizzled away, ignited by Dragonbait’s fiery blade as they moved forward, but there was nothing they could do to keep the dust from swirling up into their faces. Olive, who was closer to the floor, had to put up with more, and she muttered nonstop complaints all the way down the passage. Alias began to sense that the shorter woman was fighting a growing sense of panic. The halfling had also been a prisoner in this house, in all but name.

“They’re all dead, Olive,” Alias said, trying to reassure the woman. “Nothing but dust is left of them,” she added, then realized as Olive puffed at the dust in the air that that probably wasn’t the most reassuring thing she could have said.

Olive laughed, a little nervously.

They reached a dead end in the passage—a wall of solid rock. Dragonbait sniffed at the blockage, trying to discern any breeze or whiff of fresh air that would reveal a hidden mechanism.

“Allow me,” the halfling said, stepping forward. “Coming out of Cassana’s, the catch to move this wall was on the right. We can probably reach it from the left going in this direction.”

Olive ran her hand along the wall until it disappeared into a hole in the rock. There was a click, which echoed down the secret passage behind them. Olive stepped back. “I’ve done my bit. Now it’s your turn. Push here on the right side. The wall pivots. You’ll have to put some muscle into it to get it started, but then its weight swings it around.”

Alias set down the lantern and began shoving at the wall. After a moment, she felt it begin to move, but something seemed to be jamming it on the other side. Dragonbait held his sword out for Olive to hold. The halfling took the heavy weapon with some trepidation. The paladin put his back into the labor along with Alias. The door moved another inch, then another.

“Just like old times,” Olive said in an excited whisper. “My brains, your brawn. A dusty dungeon, the hint of danger. Now all we need is—”

The door rotated a full ninety degrees, and something clattered to the ground behind it. Gold coins glinted in the lantern light as they rolled across the floor.

“—treasure,” Olive concluded, handing Dragonbait back his weapon. With a squeal of delight, she pressed her way past the two warriors.

The cellar floor was carpeted with a layer of shifting gold coins and a smattering of silver utensils, bowls and tea services. It appeared that a mound of treasure had been piled up against the secret door. Olive went scuffling through the coins like a child kicking up fallen leaves in the autumn, humming happily. Her practiced eye made a quick survey for gems, jewels, or particular stunning pieces of silver, but there were none of those. She contented herself by rolling about atop the coins and washing her hands in them with a laugh.

“Not bad at all,” the halfling said with a sigh. “It doesn’t appear that the current owners know anything about the secret passage, or this treasure wouldn’t have been left so conveniently in our path.”

Alias frowned as she peered at the glistening walls around the dungeon. “Olive,” she whispered, “do you remember the walls down here being damp?”

“Bound to be some seepage in a basement this deep,” the halfling replied, scooping handfuls of coins into her pockets. The halfling giggled as she moved down the corridor. “I can just picture whoever settled Cassana’s estate trying to sell the old place. Yes, Madam, the walls of the basement do leak, but that’s a minor inconvenience when you consider the value. Four bedrooms, single bath, prison cells in the basement. The previous owner was a notorious sorceress. She lived here quietly with her undead lover. Did I mention the secret passageway—”

Olive froze in her tracks, literally, one foot poised over the ground in a step that never came down. She remained motionless and, even stranger for Olive, speechless.

Dragonbait took a step toward the curiously immobile, suspended halfling, but Alias caught him by the arm. She bent down, grabbed a handful of coins, and flung them down the corridor. The air about them seemed to ripple and surge for a moment, then the coins hung in the air, just as did the halfling’s foot.

Realizing now what caused the walls to glisten, Alias raised her sword and sprang forward. “It’s a gelatinous cube!” she shouted. “It’s swallowed Olive. We’ve got to cut her out before she suffocates!”

The scavenging monster had been practically invisible in the lantern light, but the adventurers could now see it rippling as the creature, alerted to their movements, slithered toward the secret door in an effort to engulf them. It had no intelligence, so its attack was purely instinctual, and it towered over them and blocked the passage completely.

Alias struck first with a sweeping semicircular cut along one side of the cube, wide enough to miss the imprisoned halfling but close enough to loosen the monster’s grip. Dragonbait began slicing at the jellylike creature with his flaming sword, creating great scorching gashes in its side. The smell of burning flesh permeated the air. With her free hand Alias grabbed Olive’s shirt collar and pulled hard. There was a soft sucking sound as the cube attempted to draw the halfling deeper into its digestive interior.

Knowing that the gelatinous cube exuded a slime capable of paralyzing even the largest of prey, Alias shifted backward to avoid contact with the creature and nearly lost her grip on the halfling.

The warrior woman stabbed the creature and released the hilt of her sword. With both hands clenched on the halfling’s shirt, she yanked with all her might.

There was a squishing noise, and the slime-encrusted halfling erupted from the side of the cube. Alias slipped on the carpet of coins and fell over backward, Olive landing on top of her. A layer of clear ooze still covered the halfling, but separated from the host body the goo could not survive and began to evaporate in a thin mist.

The creature sent out a protrusion that crested over the heads of the two woman like a wave. Before the wave could overwhelm them, the saurial slashed it from the body of the gelatinous cube.

The wave, cut off from its parent, began to steam into nothingness before it hit the ground. Alias’s sword clattered into the coins as the creature, damaged beyond its ability to hold its shape, slumped to the ground in a puddle of steaming goo.

Alias rolled Olive on her back and pushed on her stomach. The halfling gagged and coughed up a slimy bubble, then took a gasp of air. Alias breathed a sigh of relief.

“Is she all right?” the paladin asked as the halfling stirred feebly while ooze steamed off her body.

Alias nodded. “She walked into it with her mouth open,” she explained. “Probably paralyzed her vocal chords. Maybe we’ll get some quiet for a while,” she said with a grin.

“That’s not funny,” Olive retorted in a hoarse whisper.

They took the time to investigate the rest of the cellar. Dragonbait stood staring thoughtfully into the prison cell where he’d once been chained awaiting death, the cell where he’d sworn to the Nameless Bard that he would protect Alias. Except for the glistening slime left by the gelatinous cube, everything was just as he remembered it.

Alias, who had no clear memory of the place, was busy investigating bits of litter on the floor mixed in with the gold coins and the remains of the jelly creature. Several old rat skeletons, the skull of a very large cat, fruit peelings, moldy cheese, some bloody bandages. The swordswoman studied the ceiling. There was a hole overhead.

“Melman must be using the cellar as a midden,” Alias guessed. “If it weren’t for the gelatinous cube cleaning up down here, we might have had to wade through garbage. Melman probably threw the poor creature down here when it was just a bud.”

“The door between the house upstairs and the cellar is secret, too,” Olive explained. “Melman may not even realize that there’s anything down here. He may think there’s just an old well or sewer. I’ll bet this treasure is all Cassana’s original horde. Prakis said she stored it down here. Probably in there.” The halfling pointed to a side room with a missing door. The hinges remained suspended from the door frame. “The door must have been wood. After several years the gelatinous cube dissolves it, slips into the treasury, drags the coins around beneath it, leaving them piled in front of the secret passageway.”

Dragonbait extinguished the flame of his sword, and Alias covered the lantern so that only the faintest light showed. Then the trio climbed the spiral staircase leading to the first floor of the house. At the top, they halted and listened for any sounds that might indicate they’d been heard. The house seemed preternaturally still. Alias wondered if perhaps Olive had been spotted tailing One-Eye to the house, causing Melman to bolt. Olive, her ear to the secret panel, looked suspicious, but she finally pushed on the section of wall that released the secret panel. The curved section of wall slid easily enough until it caught on something in the alcove on the other side.

Olive was just able to slip through the crack in the secret entrance. There she discovered the obstruction immediately In Cassana’s time there had been on display in the alcove a stone statue of a particularly voluptuous succubus. The new owner had replaced it with a brass sculpture of a masked warrior driving a spear through the heart of a maggot-ridden mastiff. The end of the spear was blocking the secret panel from sliding all the way open.

Grunting and shoving with all her might, Olive found she could not shift the sculpture. She solved the problem by hanging on the end of the spear until it bent downward, out of the door’s path. On the halfling’s signal Alias shifted the panel open all the way and she and Dragonbait stepped into the hallway beside Olive.

The three adventurers moved down the hallway until they stood at the base of the staircase to the second floor. There was a light on in a room upstairs, and voices drifted down the stairs. It sounded like a man and a woman arguing, but Alias could not make out any distinct words. She frowned anxiously. If the shouts came from the master of the house and some female friend, it was likely there were also servants awake and about.

As the shouting grew closer, Alias motioned Dragonbait into the hallway behind the stairs. Olive had already faded into some other shadowy recess of the house.

“And you call yourself a healer!” the man above bellowed.

“There are limitations to every craft,” the woman snarled back. “You are lucky I could ease your pain. Perhaps after it scars I can help further, but not now. The wound’s magic is still too strong!”

“So you say,” the man shot back. “What good is a healer who will not heal? I think you’re in league with him!”

Someone now stood on the first landing, casting a shadow down the stairs and into the hallway. “If I were,” the woman argued, “why would I come here in the middle of the night? Let it scar, then I’ll call again. Until that time, I recommend you keep a very low profile. Good night.”

Someone stomped very deliberately down the stairs and paused at the bottom. Alias peeked around the railing. It was a woman dressed in a tunic and leggings made from satin fabric printed with a harlequin diamond pattern. She wore a mask of black fabric that covered her face from her forehead to her nose. Around her neck was an iron necklace of a stylized mask—the unholy symbol of Mask, the god of thieves. The woman wrapped herself in a voluminous cape of wolf fur, nodded, and waved to someone down the hall, then let herself out the front door.

Alias waited anxiously for several moments, expecting a servant to come down the hall, but only Olive appeared.

“Did you see who she waved to?” the swordswoman asked the halfling.

“The sculpture we were pushing around. Its supposed to be of the god Mask stabbing Kezef, the Chaos Hound,” Olive explained. Her voice was still a hoarse whisper. “Wishful thinking on the part of Mask worshipers. She’s a priestess of Mask. She was just making an obeisance to the image of her master.”

Alias nodded as she wondered what was wrong with Melman that he required a healer in the middle of the night, and why couldn’t the priestess heal him?

Alias checked the door to what had once been Cassana’s laboratory. The door was securely locked. Olive pulled out a tiny wire and began working at the lock as Alias and Dragonbait proceeded to investigate all the other first floor rooms.

It didn’t take them long to ascertain that there was no one else in the other rooms. If there were servants in the house, Alias suspected they were quartered upstairs. Throughout their search she could hear pacing upstairs, punctuated by a man cursing occasionally.

Alias took the precaution of securing and locking the front door against any other evening visitors. Then she and Dragonbait returned to the entrance of the previously locked laboratory. The halfling stood within, her lantern propped up on an accounting table. A huge smile graced her face. With its window bricked up, the room had been converted to a treasure vault. All about the halfling were sacks, crates, and chests, each labeled with a tag. Alias read the nearest one. In a crabbed, tight handwriting was the notation, “500 gold, 100 platinum, Duck Statue stolen from Family Urdo for later ransom.”

Quite a hoard for a simple vintner,” Alias noted. “Grapes must have been exceedingly good these last few years.”

Olive pointed to the last pages of a thin red leather-bound ledger lying on the accounting table. “According to these figures, Melman’s profits are minimal. Not even enough to require payment of business taxes.

“So all this is just spare change he’s found lying in the street,” Alias commented.

Olive held up a finger for Alias to wait, then thumped deftly on the side of the accounting table and a small, secret drawer sprang out. From it the halfling pulled out a second ledger.

“This,” Olive said, cracking open the ledger and taking several moments to peer down the page, “shows that our man Melman is a major player in Westgate. He’s got his thumb in extortion, fencing, smuggling. It’s all written down here.”

“So we’ve caught ourselves a big Night Mask,” Alias whispered with glee.

“Actually,” Olive said, lifting a false bottom out of the secret drawer and pulling out yet a third ledger, “we’ve caught ourselves a big Night Mask who cheats. First ledger for the law, second ledger for his criminal cohorts and bosses, third ledger—well, that will have the numbers closest to reality. Melman was not only skimming off the top, but he was collecting outside his own territory. Here’s today’s entry from One-Eye in the second ledger. Two hundred gold, Gateside Protection, it says. In the third ledger it’s entered as three hundred gold, Gateside and the Shore.”

“Let’s see if Melman is interested in talking about his books,” Alias suggested.

Just as the adventurers began climbing the stairs, they encountered their man turning on the landing, coming down toward them. He was dressed in a long nightshirt and slippers, and oddly enough, a full cloak with a very deep hood, which concealed his features.

For such a heavy man Melman moved very quickly. The moment he spotted them, he grabbed from the landing a halfling-sized urn filled with dried flowers, tossed it down the stairs, and bolted back up to the second story.

Dragonbait dodged aside, but longer-legged Alias leaped over the obstacle and charged after her prey. Olive caught the urn and fell back down the stairs with a curse and a crash.

In the upstairs hallway, Alias caught sight of Melman disappearing into the only lit room in the house. He tried to slam the bedroom door closed, but he caught his cloak in the door frame and was forced to reopen it to pull the robe free. Alias threw herself against the door before the Night Mask could manage to lock it.

The force of the swordswoman’s entry flung the vintner into the center of the room. His hood fell back, revealing his face, and Alias felt her throat constrict in horror.

This must be what Jamal had meant when she spoke of the branded ones, Alias realized. Melman’s face was hideously burned all about his eyes, in the shape of a domino mask. The damaged flesh was covered with great white blisters and bright red all about the edges. Blisters even covered his eyelids, and in the brightly candle-lit bedroom his eyes squinted as if the light pained them.

Alias recovered quickly from her shock and leveled her sword at the man’s chest.

“It’s you! Alias the Sell-Sword!” Melman gasped. “When I saw you on the stairs I thought you were a burglar,” he explained. Meekly, he raised both hands, shaking back his sleeves to reveal there were no weapons concealed there.

“I’m glad to see you recognize me, Master Melman,” the swordswoman said. “We have a lot to talk about.”

“I haven’t got anything to say to you,” the vintner insisted.

Dragonbait and Olive entered the room.

Olive whistled at the sight of Melman’s brand. “I can see why he needed a priestess,” the halfling muttered.

“The rest of the house is empty,” the paladin reported in Saurial.

“I can summon the watch, you know. You’re all trespassing!” Melman declared, his voice rising in pitch.

“It appears you’ve let all the servants have the night off,” Alias noted. “Didn’t want them to catch sight of your face? No matter. I’m sure Olive will be glad to fetch the watch for you … if you’re serious. The watch will probably be fascinated with the trove of treasure you’ve got downstairs. Especially those pieces that are undeniably stolen property. Then, too, there are the ledgers. So many different accounting books.”

Olive made for the door, suppressing a grin, but she halted when Melman called out, “No need for that. What do you want? As you already saw, I can offer you a great deal.”

Alias motioned for Melman to have a seat. “What I want from you, Master Melman, is information. Let’s start with the Faceless.”

Melman sat down on the bed. “Who?” the vintner asked, but there was a quiver in his voice that belied his ignorance.

Alias leaned forward. “The Faceless, Master Melman. You remember him. He’s the man who burned your face.”

“This,” Melman said, pointing to his face. “An accident. Walked into a torch.”

“Very funny,” Alias said. “We’ll see if the watch finds you so amusing. You should get along with His Reverence Durgar. He doesn’t know anything about the Faceless either. The Faceless, however, knows something about you. He probably knows you’d be dangerous in Durgar’s custody. I understand Night Masks do not always survive once they are taken by the authorities.”

Melman flinched, and he licked his lips nervously. “Try to understand,” the man pleaded. “If this is my punishment for arguing,” the vintner pointed to his face again, “imagine what will happen if I betray them.”

At a nod from Alias, Dragonbait stepped forward. He spread his clawed fingers to touch the perimeters of Melman’s shocking wound. At first the vintner shrunk back, but when it became clear that the saurial was not attacking him, he relaxed considerably. The paladin’s whispered prayer invoked the same healing blue aura over his hands as ever, but the blue light seemed to spark and dissolve as it formed. Melman’s face remained as damaged as before.

The saurial looked at Alias and growled and clicked, “There is some evil force preventing the healing. I’ve never encountered anything like it.”

“Is that what happened when the priestess of Mask tried to heal you?” Alias asked Melman.

The man nodded. “He said it wouldn’t heal until it scabbed over.”

“He who? The Faceless?”

Melman nodded.

Alias felt her stomach twist with excitement. An admission of the Faceless’s existence was a major concession from the man. Now if she could just press her advantage.

“So basically the Faceless has made it impossible for you to leave your home for the next several days,” Alias pointed out. “In the meantime, you’re a sitting duck.”

Melman did not reply.

“You didn’t think we were burglars when you spotted us, did you? You thought we might be Night Masks assassins,” the swordswoman guessed.

“That’s ridiculous,” Melman retorted, but without much conviction.

“Is it? I don’t think so. This is the deal, Master Melman. You tell us all you know about the Faceless and the Night Masters, and if you’re telling the truth, I’ll help you escape from Westgate.”

Dragonbait radiated the scent of his displeasure with this idea, but he said nothing, instead shifting toward the window.

“You hold out on us, though, Melman, and I’m going to have to leave your fate to Durgar’s discretion.”

Melman shuddered. “I’ll—I’ll tell you what I can,” he said.

“Good. Let’s start with you. Are you one of the Night Masters?” the swordswoman asked.

Melman nodded wordlessly.

“Why did the Faceless brand you?”

“I argued with him in council. I wanted you killed, but he insists he has some other plan to take care of you. He’s playing some bizarre power game that’s liable to ruin business for good. None of us have any idea who or what he might be.”

At Alias’s prodding, Melman described the last several meetings of the Night Masters, highlighting the parts of the discussion that dwelt on her and Jamal. As he began covering the details, Melman began to relax, until finally it was as if he were sitting with other merchants in the bar, chatting about business.

“The Night Masters report to the Faceless every other evening,” Melman explained, “always at low tide. The entrance to the hideout is on the western bank of the Thunn, beneath the River Bridge. It’s covered at high tide. It’s hidden by magic, but if you have the key, you can see through the illusion.”

Melman reached into his shirt. Alias raised her sword just an inch. The Night Master gave her an uneasy smile and pulled out a chain around his neck. Hanging from the chain was an iron key with a circular grip. He held out the key, and Olive took it from him.

“You look through the grip,” the Night Mask explained, “and you can see the door. The tide is just turning now. You won’t be able to see the door until tomorrow afternoon. The next meeting of the Night Masters won’t be until tomorrow night—”

“Alias,” Dragonbait interrupted in Saurial. “There’s trouble coming this way. Night Masks. Assassins.”

“Olive, check outside,” the swordswoman ordered.

The halfling moved toward the window and peered out from the side. “I don’t see—wait. Hmmm. Night Masks, nine that I can count. Probably more around the other side of the house. Hanging in the shadows across the street. Surrounding us.”

Melman’s face went white from shock, making the red markings of his burned mask stand out all the more. “He’s found me out already! Those are assassins! I shouldn’t have talked to you!” The vintner stood up, looking as if he might try to run past Alias, but Dragonbait pushed him back onto the bed.

“Don’t be foolish,” Alias snapped, keeping her voice calm and even. “No one knows we’re here, and we can’t be detected magically. More likely the Faceless had already decided to bring your career to an end. You’re lucky we’re here to get you out of this.”

“Looks like they’ve gathered a quorum,” Olive quipped. They’re starting to cross the street.”

“They’ll soon regret gathering here,” Dragonbait said, drawing out his sword.

Alias put a hand on the paladin’s arm. “It’s better they don’t discover we’ve been here. Faceless won’t suspect we’ve learned anything from Melman. We’ll sneak out through the basement. Let’s go,” she said. Picking up the lantern, she headed for the staircase.

Dragonbait prodded Melman to his feet and out of the bedroom.

“He knows everything,” the vintner insisted, his voice climbing an hysterical octave.

“Look, you’ve been cheating with your phony ledgers for over a year,” Olive pointed out, following from behind. “If he knew everything, he’d have killed you sooner. If you just keep your mouth shut and keep moving, we’ll get you out of this. No sweat.”

They were just coming down the lower flight of stairs when someone began pounding on the front door with a mailed fist and shouting Melman’s name.

Dragonbait halted in the front hall and hissed at the door.

Alias pushed Melman toward the secret passage and pulled on the saurial’s tunic. “Remember how they burned Jamal’s home?” she whispered. “We’ve got to keep moving.”

The paladin growled with displeasure, but he followed Melman down the hall and guided him to the passage behind the statue. As Alias followed behind them, the pounding on the door stopped, replaced by the sound of someone or several someones throwing their shoulders against it. Alias set down the lantern and turned about to usher Olive down the stairs, but the halfling was nowhere in sight.

“Olive!” the swordswoman shouted.

Outside, the Night Masks began smashing windows all around the house, including the transom window over the front door. Something thumped in the dark hall, and Alias could see a tiny flame glowing on the floor. It was the same explosive device the Night Masks had used in the Thalavar warehouse.

The halfling appeared in the doorway of Melman’s treasure room, loaded down with two sacks.

“Olive, get down!” Alias screamed, throwing herself at the halfling, knocking her halfway into the treasure room.

The explosion rocked the house, and the noise was deafening. The swordswoman was just rising unsteadily to her knees when a second, third, and fourth bomb went off.

“We’ve got to get out of here, Olive,” Alias shouted, but the halfling did not reply. She was still breathing, but her leg was oozing blood where a piece of twisted metal had cut a gash through the flesh to the bone. There was no time to bind the wound. Alias slung the woman over her shoulder and stumbled to her feet. She cursed under the weight, realizing a good deal of it was gold coin.

Out in the main hall, the wall hangings were ablaze and the house was filling with smoke. Alias took a breath of the still-untainted air of the treasure room and dashed down the hall to the secret panel.

Dragonbait stood at the top of the stairs, anxiously looking for the swordswoman.

“Pull the panel closed behind us,” Alias ordered as she half ran, half tumbled down the secret stair with her halfling load.

Dragonbait tugged on the panel, but the statue of Mask had toppled into it, wedging it into place. Sheathing his sword, the saurial moved out into the corridor to shove the statue over.

The front door burst open, and a large wooden keg rolled into the front hall. The paladin wasted no more time on the secret panel. He slipped into the stairwell and flew down the steps.

Overhead, an even bigger explosion rocked not only the house but its foundation as well. Brick, mortar, and wood began pouring down on the paladin’s head, and the spiral staircase, which Dragonbait had just stepped off of, fell over into the basement. No one was going to notice that the secret panel was out of place, the paladin realized. In the dark he could sense the heat coming off Alias, Olive, and Melman, and he hurried down the passage to where they waited in the dark.

He pulled his sword and whispered the command for it to ignite. By the light of the flame he could see Alias holding her hands over Olive’s leg, trying to stanch the blood that oozed from a great wound. Melman stood pressed against a wall, breathing heavily, his eyes wide with terror.

Thinking they would be safe enough in the basement for at least a few minutes, Dragonbait handed the flaming sword to Alias and bent over the halfling to heal her wound.

Alias stood up and was instantly aware of how much warmer the air near the ceiling was than the air at the floor. The flames from Dragonbait’s sword flickered toward the ruined secret staircase. Air coming in from the secret passage to the outside was feeding the fire above.

Something overhead spattered to the floor and spread out with a gleam. Alias looked up in astonishment. One of the heavy floorboards beneath Melman’s treasure room had cracked in the last explosion and molten gold was now dripping into the basement.

“I’ve stopped the bleeding, but she’s still unconscious,” the paladin said. His mouth dropped when he caught sight of the shower of gold. “Pity she’ll miss this,” he added.

Alias thrust the flaming sword back in the paladin’s hand. “Get Melman out,” she ordered. She scooped the halfling over her shoulders again and ran after the paladin and the Night Master. At the secret door, she hesitated. She could leave it open, feeding the fire so that there would be nothing but ash left—making it certain the Night Masks wouldn’t expect to find Melman’s bones. Concerned that smoke might drift out and reveal the passage’s existence, though, she decided against it. With a quick tug, she pulled the door closed and hurried down the passage.

It was quiet in the passage, but Alias hustled them through it, fearful that it might collapse. When they finally reached the dry wash, she set down the halfling and took a rest. Melman collapsed on the ground.

Dragonbait stood over the Night Master, assuring himself that Melman didn’t try to escape before Alias was through with him. “What are we going to do with this one?” he asked the swordswoman.

“Well, I had thought we might lock him up in one of the cells below his own house,” Alias said. She peered over the edge of the dry wash and watched the flames dancing along the roof of Melman’s former abode. “I don’t think we should bring Lord Victor into this, considering the deal we’ve made with Melman.”

“You’re going to have to impose on Mintassan again,” the paladin noted.

“I know,” Alias sighed. In the south of Westgate, a false dawn blossomed as the roof of Melman’s house collapsed and the flames shot higher into the air. “He’s not going to be happy about my turning his house into a home for retired Night Masks.”

“But he will oblige you, I think.”

Alias nodded, realizing uncomfortably that, while House Dhostar was paying her to take out the Night Masks, other people were shouldering even greater shares of the burden to get the job done.