Masquerades

Twenty-Five Curtain Call

The day after Lord Victor Dhostar, Croamarkh of Westgate, was found dead at the base of the southernmost tower of Castle Vhammos, Mintassan the Sage held a private tea party to celebrate with four close friends. The Faceless was dead; the Night Masters and many of the Night Masks had been killed or captured. The deadly magic once at their disposal had been destroyed. Citizens of Westgate were tossing the remaining bullies and thieves into the harbor. They had a lot to celebrate.

Mintassan sat at the head of the table in his workroom with Jamal the Thespian and Olive Ruskettle on his left and Alias the Sell-Sword and Dragonbait the Paladin on his right. The boy Kel had been banished to an upper room to work on learning his letters with his new tutor, Mercy. The former Night Mask had accepted his and the half-elven girl’s banishment with such grace that it caused Olive to mutter, “Who’s teaching whom, and what’s being taught?”

After taking a sip from her mismatched mug of tea, sweetened with five sugar cubes, Olive returned to her interrogation of the conspirators, as she had come to call Alias, Dragonbait, and Mintassan. “So let’s see if I have this straight finally,” the halfling said. “After Kimbel shot Dragonbait and kidnapped him, Mintassan followed Kimbel and knocked Kimbel out. How’d you get the drop on an assassin as sharp as Kimbel?”

“My superior tactics and skill with weaponry,” the sage said.

He was invisible when he snuck up on Kimbel. He hit him on the head with a rock, Dragonbait signed in the thieves’ hand cant.

Jamal laughed. “Then you rescued Dragonbait, polymorphed Kimbel into yourself and yourself into Kimbel and feebleminded Kimbel, all so you could find out what Victor was up to.”

Mintassan nodded. “Yes. Actually the double polymorph and feeblemind was Dragonbait’s idea.”

“Figures,” Olive said. “Paladin’s are a sneaky lot, and Dragonbait’s the sneakiest of the sneaky.”

“You stayed in character pretty well,” Jamal noted as she poured a hefty dose of brandy into her tea. “Especially considering Dhostar brought you a dying Alias. You must have some acting blood in you after all.”

“If I had known at the time that Dhostar was the Faceless, that he was upstairs poisoning Alias,” the sage said softly, “I would have come up and stopped him without bothering to stay in character. Fortunately, knowing the Faceless had iron golems at his disposal, I had actually prepared a slow poison spell.”

“Because iron golems sometimes breath poison gas,” Alias explained.

“But the golems at the ball were the cheap Thayan kind, so they didn’t,” Olive noted. “Then you faked Alias’s death with a phony tattooed arm. Where did you get the arm?” the halfling asked.

“Ham hock with a polymorph spell cast on it,” Mintassan said. “Before that, though, came the hardest part of the plan.”

“What?”

“Convincing Alias not to go storming up into Castle Dhostar and run Lord Victor through with a sword.”

“But why did you turn her into a halfling?” Olive insisted.

“Because it fit in with our plan,” Alias said. “When I recovered from the poison, I told Mintassan about all the things Victor had ever said to me. Learning of Victor’s fascination with Verovan’s hoard gave Mintassan an idea. He knew Lady Nettel’s brooch was the key to the hoard—”

“You knew about Verovan’s hoard?” Olive exclaimed.

“For about eight years,” the sage answered.

“And you never did anything about it?”

Mintassan shrugged. “I don’t need gold.”

“Bite your tongue!” the halfling demanded. “Such blasphemy. As if it isn’t bad enough that Thistle threw the key back into the portal so that no one can ever reach all that gold again.”

“She was also making sure the manes didn’t escape, Olive.”

“To get back to your plan,” Jamal insisted. “You knew Victor would go after Thistle, so you became a halfling to help protect her, since House Thalavar trusts halflings and hires them,” Jamal guessed.

“Yes,” Alias said. “Although I didn’t do a very good job. Thistle fired me. I guess I didn’t make a very good halfling.”

“You weren’t so bad,” Olive critiqued. “A little too bossy and crabby.”

“Well, I did use you for a model, Olive,” Alias pointed out.

Olive did not comment on the swordswoman’s claim. Instead she asked, “Why couldn’t you tell me, though?”

“And me,” Jamal seconded, glaring at Mintassan.

“I’m really sorry, Jamal,” the sage apologized. “But at first we didn’t realize how much Dhostar relied on Kimbel for all his information. If Dhostar had other spies watching the two of you, he might have learned you weren’t really grieving. I made sure Blais House had room for you before I followed Dhostar’s order to evict you from my house. As it turned out, Victor left everything to Kimbel. He trusted me alone in the Faceless’s secret lair. I was able to use a wand of cancellation on all the Night Masks’ magic. That’s also how I managed to get so much damning evidence on Victor and the Night Masters. I needed it, too. Durgar was hard to convince. He insisted on interrogating Dragonbait, too, using another mage as a translator.”

“But Durgar still isn’t willing to admit Victor was the Faceless,” Jamal said with disgust.

“No. He admits Victor’s guilt,” Mintassan replied. “He just doesn’t want the rest of Westgate to know. He’s afraid it will cause unrest.”

“Well, it certainly makes me unrestful,” Jamal growled. “He put the fox in charge of the henhouse.”

“So Durgar is going to stick to the story that Victor died trying to find Verovan’s hoard in order to make Westgate a better city?” Alias asked. “Why is Thistle letting him do that?”

“Thistle has her own agenda,” Olive said, “as does a certain actress who had agreed to go along with the tale.”

Alias looked at Jamal in surprise.

“Thistle is going to get Durgar elected the interim croamarkh. Thistle and I like the idea of the interim croamarkh owing us a big favor,” Jamal explained with a grin.

“Why?” Alias asked suspiciously.

“The noble houses are in disarray. This is the time to push for giving the people political power. Before the end of the year I intend to see that every man and woman in this city has a vote.”

“Everyone? Halflings, too?” Olive asked.

“Oh, really! She’s not that crazy,” Mintassan said. He threw up his hands to ward off the looks he received from both the halfling and the actress. “Just kidding. Didn’t mean it.”

“Thistle has agreed to grant votes for other merchants and small shopkeepers and craftsmen, artisans and scholars,” Jamal explained. “I’ll talk her around to the rest. Back, though, to the conspirators,” Jamal insisted. “Did you ever find out why Victor hired you to go after himself? Wasn’t he taking an awful risk?”

Alias looked at Mintassan. The sage leaned back in his chair. “According to information Durgar gleaned from Kimbel, Victor was very concerned about rumors that the Harpers wanted to clean the Night Masks out of Westgate.”

“Harpers?” Olive asked.

“Harpers,” Mintassan explained. “They’re this semisecret organization who’re supposed to work for good—”

“Yes. I know all that,” Olive said. “What do they have to do with it?”

“Nothing, as far as I know,” Mintassan replied. “But Victor learned that Alias had connections to them.”

“The Nameless Bard was her father,” Olive said.

“Yes, she told me,” Jamal answered.

“But she’s not really a Harper,” Olive said.

“Well, when Alias started fighting with Night Masks her very first evening in Westgate, Victor thought she must be a Harper agent,” the sage explained.

“But why hire her?”

“Because with the magical misdirection that’s cast on her, Victor couldn’t scry on her. If he hired her, she would report right to him. He was careful to make it look like Luer’s idea.”

“You still look puzzled, Olive,” Alias noted.

“Well, I’m just wondering about the rumors Victor heard. It wasn’t me the Harpers sent to Westgate. I came down here for some time away from them. I hadn’t even heard they had any interest in the area. I wonder who else is down here.”

“Why would the Harpers send someone to Westgate when they have a perfectly good agent here already?” Jamal asked. She flipped up her collar to reveal a silver moon-and-harp pin.

Olive’s eyes widened, and she laughed. “So now that you’ve taken care of the Night Masks, where are the Harpers going to send you?” she asked.

“You misunderstand,” Jamal said. “I’ve assigned myself to Westgate. My next assignment is making sure everyone in this city is given political power.”

“Jamal is like you, Olive,” Alias said. “Finder befriended her when he was in Westgate and pinned her before she knew what she was getting into. You aren’t the only rogue Harper.”

Olive laughed. “Finder always did have a soft spot for trouble-making redheads.”

“I was actually hoping you might assign yourself here,” Jamal said to Olive. “We can make our own little rogue contingent.”

“Now that has possibilities,” Olive said. “What about you, Alias? I know Dragonbait wants to get back to the Lost Vale, but your name will carry some weight in this town for years to come. Interested in politics?”

“Thank you, Olive, but no. I’ve had my fill of Westgate for a while,” Alias said with a smile. “I’m heading north to the Lost Vale.”

“Too bad. Well, we’ll still have Mintassan. He can be our honorary advisor, like Elminster the Sage is for the big boys up north.”

Mintassan coughed politely. “I’m afraid not, Mistress Ruskettle. I’ve got a few adventures planned away from the city.”

“Where to this year?” Jamal asked. “Beastlands? Arcadia? Astral?”

“Lost Vale,” the sage replied.

“Why?” Olive asked. “There’s nothing there but saurials.”

Dragonbait chuckled.

“Alias asked me to visit,” the sage said.

“Dragonbait and I could use a mage when we travel,” Alias explained. “And Mintassan wants to learn more about saurials.”

In the alcove, Mintassan’s tea kettle whistled.

“Be right back,” the sage promised, heading toward the back of the workshop.

“Let me give you a hand,” Alias offered, following him.

“She’s taking away our honorary advisor,” Olive pouted.

“Yes,” Jamal said with a mock frown.

Dragonbait drained much of his tea and set it down on the table. He knocked for attention. Haven’t they both just taken care of the Night Masks for you Harpers? he signed.

“Yes,” both women agreed grudgingly.

Shouldn’t they both be rewarded?

Jamal and Olive nodded.

“I move that Alias and Mintassan be allowed to adventure happily ever after,” Jamal said.

“I second that motion,” Olive agreed.

“All in favor?”

Two hands and a reptile claw went up.

“Any opposed? No. Motion carried,” Jamal announced.

In the alcove, Alias stirred tea into the pot as Mintassan poured the hot water.

The sage leaned forward; the swordswoman leaned forward; their lips hovered inches apart.

Unable to contain the giddy feeling inside her, Alias turned her head away and giggled.

Mintassan scowled. “Are you sure you want my company?” he asked, trying to hide his fear that she was laughing at him.

Alias looked back at the sage. Light danced in her eyes, and she smiled. “I’m sure,” she said.

The sage grinned and leaned toward the swordswoman, and they began the dance again.