Masquerades
Kate Novak and Jeff Grubb
To Judith Weddell—
science fiction teacher extraordinaire
The Players
ALIAS—Swordswoman of the Realms, created by FINDER WYVERNSPUR; a cheap heroine.
DRAGONBAIT—Companion to Alias, called CHAMPION in his native tongue; a saurial.
OLIVE RUSKETTLE—Rogue Harper, self-proclaimed bard and role model to halflings everywhere.
LUER DHOSTAR—Patriarch of House Dhostar, Croamarkh of Westgate. His only son is VICTOR.
NETTEL THALAVAR—Matriarch of House Thalavar, employer of halflings. Her granddaughter is THISTLE.
SSENTAR URDO—Bad-tempered Patriarch of House Urdo and would-be smuggler. His sons are MARDON and HAZTOR.
OTHER NOBLES—Other noble merchant houses in Westgate include ATHAGDAL, GULDAR, MALAVHAN, SSEMM, THORSAR, and VHAMMOS.
KIMBEL—Personal servant to House Dhostar, a geased assassin.
KANE—Butler to House Dhostar.
BRUNNER—Servant to House Dhostar; a harbor worker.
DREW—A halfling in the employ of House Thalavar; a shipping clerk.
MISS WINTERHART—A halfling adventuress hired by House Thalavar.
MAXWELL BERRYBUCK—A halfling in the employ of House Thalavar.
MERCY—A half-elven servant girl at Blais House.
DURGAR THE JUST—Priest of Tyr, chief justice and master of the watch.
RIZZI and RODNEY—Members of the watch.
THE FACELESS—Leader of the Night Masks.
THE NIGHT MASTERS—A ten-person secret cabal that serves the Faceless. Seven hold regional offices: HARBORSIDE, THUNNSIDE, GATESIDE, PARKSIDE, CENTRAL, OUTSIDE, and EXTERNAL REVENUE; and three have executive positions: ENFORCEMENT, FINANCE MANAGEMENT, and NOBLE RELATIONS.
MISTINARPERADNACLES—Advisor to the Faceless, a dead red dragon.
MELMAN, KEL, BANDILEGS, TIMMY THE GHAST, LITTLEBOY, TWIG, SAL, JOJO, KNOST, MARCUS, and ONE-EYE—Various underling Night Masks. There are others who run off or die before we learn their names.
JAMAL—Street performer and social critic.
MINTASSAN—Young sage of Westgate and traveler of the planes.
BIG EDNA—Keeper of a tavern in a tough part of town.
DAWN—An elven dressmaker.
THE QUELZARN—Legendary monster inhabiting the sewers of Westgate.
One
The Night Masks
Alias watched the young couple seated at the edge of the plaza fountain. They appeared as stark silhouettes backlit by a golden sunset. The swordswoman shielded her eyes from the glare and picked out more detail. The boy’s tender face and oversized jerkin were both blackened by soot, and the young woman’s face and apron were dusted with flour. Apprentice smith and baker’s daughter, Alias guessed. Oblivious to the presence of others, the pair sat side by side, staring wordlessly into one another’s eyes. The boy leaned forward; the girl leaned forward; their lips hovered inches apart.…
Then the girl turned her head and giggled. The boy scowled and frowned, certain that she was laughing at him, at something he’d done. Then the girl looked back at him; the light danced in her eyes, and she smiled. The boy’s face twisted into a lopsided grin. He leaned toward the girl, and they began the courtship dance again.
Alias smiled, too, until her reverie was broken by the sharp cough of her reptilian companion, a sound akin to a sword being unsheathed.
“Fur-gathering about courtship?” teased Dragonbait. The saurial swiveled on his hips so that he stood upright, his heavy upper body balanced by a prodigious tail that now twitched back and forth impatiently. Although he stood at his full height, he had to look up at the swordswoman. Even the top of the flared fin erupting from between his eyes and cresting over his skull reached only to Alias’s shoulder. Beneath his hooded cloak the saurial’s face was more dragonlike than human, and his hide was made up of smooth, pebbly scales. He wore a soft leather tunic cinched at his waist with a broad belt of interlocking metal plates. In one clawed hand he carried an ornate staff of ash decorated with mouse skulls and orange feathers. He was trying to make it appear as if he actually needed the staff to walk, so would-be thieves would not be so quick to assume the staff was some powerful piece of magic, which in fact it was. To complete the illusion of being a lame beast, he had even gone so far as to give his enchanted blade to Alias to wear on her weapon’s belt.
Alias’s hand slid down beneath her cape to her own scabbard, reassuring herself that her sword and Dragonbait’s weapon were both within reach. She wore chain mail over her tunic, plate protectors over her leggings, arms and shoulders, and an iron collar about her throat. Even without the armor, though, there was no mistaking she was anything but a swordswoman. Her attractive figure was muscled from years of drilling for combat, trekking about in heavy armor, and battling monstrous foes. She wore her bright red hair cropped short, and her green eyes were constantly shifting about, alert to any and all possible dangers. “The word is woolgathering,” she corrected her companion.
Two passing pedestrians turned their heads to see if she was talking to herself, for Dragonbait had spoken in Saurial, a tongue too high-pitched for the normal human ear, while Alias had replied in the ordinary Common language of the Realms. A magic spell gave her the ability to hear and understand the saurial’s “voice,” and even speak it, but only a decade of comradeship allowed her to pick up the nuances of the accessory scents, clicks, and postures that conveyed his mood and tone. Other reptilian creatures, such as dragons and lizard men, still often understood him more swiftly and completely than she did.
Conversely, the more subtle nuances of her language often eluded the saurial. “Isn’t wool the fur of sheep?” he asked.
“Yes, but you have to say woolgathering,” she replied.
“Why?”
Alias shrugged. “Maybe something to do with counting sheep before you go to sleep.”
Dragonbait nodded at the wisdom of tallying a herd before resting, but still couldn’t understand what that had to do with daydreaming.
“Actually,” Alias countered before her companion could distract her further, “I was not woolgathering about courtship. I was thinking about how foolish those youngsters are. Look at them, oblivious to the world.”
“Their eyes are for each other,” Dragonbait whistled, and Alias caught a whiff of rose and honeysuckle—sort of a saurial sigh. He was thinking, she realized, of CopperBloom, his mate who had remained behind in the Lost Vale with their children. Alias also knew that the paladin had agreed to adventure so far south with her only because their mission was for the good of the saurial tribe.
“For each other, yes,” Alias grumbled, “not for the world around them, or for their change-purses. They’re oblivious to how long I or anyone else may have been staring at them. Splashing water in the fountain would drown out any sound of approaching footsteps. They’re sitting ducks for any purse-snatcher, pickpocket, or grifter that happens by.”
“They should be fairly safe,” Dragonbait argued, puzzled by her assessment of the dangers. “They are in the middle of a city with lots of people around. And surely they have friends nearby.”
Alias gave a derisive grin and snort, “We are in the middle of Westgate, my friend. Crime is this town’s hobby, vocation, and major export. Didn’t you read the sign at the port entrance—‘Welcome to Westgate, Home of the Deadly Night Masks’?”
“I saw no such welcome sign,” Dragonbait stated.
“I’m joking, Dragonbait. Remember humor?”
“I do not understand the humor. Maybe because I’m saurial.”