Victor nodded.
The third Night Mask tore a golden hair from the head of the cyclops, who roared, “Ow, ow, ow!” The Night Mask ran the cyclops’s hair back to the beginning of the line and wove it into the hawk’s nest—family Guldar buying the stolen goods of family Urdo.
Then the whole cycle began anew. The actions continued so smoothly that Alias was reminded of the figures of the mechanized water clocks made in Neverwinter. Every time a Night Mask plucked or handed over a piece of a puppet, the musicians sounded an amusing percussion noise and the puppets cried out. As the actors began to work faster and faster, the noises almost became a tune and the crowd cheered with delight.
Victor continued chuckling, and Alias could smell the vanilla scent of Dragonbait’s amusement. She even caught herself grinning as the precision of the humorous movements and noises grew to a crescendo.
A fourth puppet drifted onto the stage, a ghostlike woman in gauzy white robes and tangled white hair. As it observed the fleecing of the merchants, it wailed and moaned piteously. Its cries grew louder and louder, until the merchant puppets retreated. The Night Masks turned as one on the wailing woman. They pulled out sticks and tried to smack at her, but she managed to stay just out of their reach. Then one of the Night Masks pulled out a torch, actually a stick ending in red, yellow and orange streamers, and set fire to the stage, symbolized by having the puppeteers wave bits of red fabric about the wailing woman.
It finally occurred to Alias who the wailing woman was, and she realized what was going to happen next only moments before the Alias actress appeared on the stage.
The actress portraying Alias was too young—just a teenager, and to suggest a more mature figure she had stuffed something beneath the tunic she wore. The tunic had been painted over with a pattern of chain mail. The girl’s hair had been badly hennaed, but the blue makeup on her sword arm, and the red cape left no doubt she was meant to be the swordswoman. As the crowd cheered her doppelganger’s appearance, Alias felt an urge to cover herself so she would not be recognized.
The Night Masks tried to block the Alias on the stage from rescuing the wailing woman, but she made short work of them, knocking them out with a series of improbable, stylized kicks. The Night Masks rose and shook themselves off as the crowd applauded the Alias character. Then the Night Masks pulled out sticks and surrounded their opponent, but she kicked them down again. They rose yet again, but this time pantomimed running away. The heroine grabbed the cloak of the nearest Night Mask and gave a sharp tug. The cloak came away, leaving the actor naked but for a codpiece painted with a spider. The crowd howled its approval as all three Night Masks fled the stage.
The last scene played out with the Faceless quaking in fear as Alias strode toward him, but the heroine was distracted by the cries of the wailing woman. As she stomped out the ‘flames,’ the Faceless made his escape. With the wailing woman puppet on her arm, the actress playing Alias struck a dramatic pose and shouted, “Tyranny shall not prevail!”
The crowd demonstrated its approval with shouts and applause and foot stomping. The puppeteers grabbed tambourines and moved along the fringes of the crowd to solicit donations. Alias noted that the audience was more free with its praise than its pocket change. All the troupers got for their trouble was a double-handful of copper and a few silver pieces. The swordswoman remembered Jamal’s remark that one didn’t make a living in the theater. Alias wondered exactly how Jamal did make a living.
“You were just wonderful,” Victor whispered in Alias’s ear, applauding with the rest.
“Thanks,” Alias muttered, reddening deeply.
“Yes, we were, weren’t we,” Dragonbait said, with just a hint of sarcasm. “At least, I remember being there.”
“Dragonbait deserves just as much credit,” the swordswoman explained to Victor. “He was with me when all that happened.”
Victor gave the saurial a sympathetic look. “A victim of artistic license. Perhaps they just couldn’t find an actor to do your role justice,” the nobleman suggested.
Alias gave her companion a sheepish grin, but another problem caught her eye. She pointed to the far end of the crowd, which was parting for a flying wedge of the watch, which advanced upon the makeshift stage of the temple stairs. “Is there going to be trouble?” she asked Victor.
“Possibly,” the merchant replied, though his tone sounded more resigned than alarmed.
The five members of the watch patrol, armored in long black leather tunics and polished steel helms kept their short swords sheathed, but they were shoving at the crowd with short clubs. About half of the street theater audience began dispersing from the plaza, but many remained, though whether from loyalty to the performers or just curious to see what would happen, Alias could not tell.
On the temple steps, all the performers gathered in a group, behind the stage Faceless. Some looked nervous, others resigned, but the majority had an air of defiance.
The watch patrol stopped at the bottom steps. The patrol’s sergeant looked up at the performers and asked in an officious tone, “Who speaks for this group?”
The stage Faceless stepped forward, doffing the coin-veiled hat with a sweeping gesture and bowing. Locks of red and gray spilled out, and Jamal the Thespian straightened and faced the watch sergeant. “Afternoon, Rodney,” she said. “Out for a stroll with the boys? My, how they’ve grown.”
From her vantage point Alias could see the watch sergeant’s ears redden. “Jamal,” Rodney demanded, “do you have a license for this performance?” His tone started out gruff, but his voice cracked, and his last word came out a squeak.
“License?” Jamal parroted loudly with a surprised tone. “Let’s see.” She slapped her body, causing the robes to billow out like a thundercloud in a crosswind. “Alas, no,” she said at last. “I must have left it with my other mask.” There was a titter of laughter from a remaining member of the crowd. One of the watchmen, a freckle-faced youth, spun and glared at the source. The tittering died, but others in the crowd chuckled at the youth’s display of humorlessness.
“You need a license to perform,” Sergeant Rodney said.
“Milil’s Mouth, I know that, Rodney!” Jamal huffed. “I’ve been performing in this town since before you were born. I’ll just have to purchase a replacement license.” Jamal peered into the tambourines her actors had used for soliciting funds. “I’ve got about fifty copper here,” she said. “Will that cover it?”
Rodney shifted uneasily, and Alias wondered if he had been bought off that cheaply in the past. “The price of a license,” the sergeant replied stiffly, “is fifty pieces of gold.”
“Fifty pieces of gold?” Jamal shouted in mock astonishment. “If I had fifty pieces of gold, I could rent a hall and charge admission, but then none of these good people here would be able to afford our performances. Is that what the people of Westgate want?” There was an unpleasant muttering among the crowd. Alias hoped Jamal knew what she was doing.
“Performing without a license amounts to a disturbance of the peace,” Rodney announced. “You’ll have to come with us.”
To Alias’s horror, Dragonbait appeared beside the watch sergeant, tapped him on the shoulder, and queried, “Murf?”
“Oh, no. Why does he always get involved in these things?” Alias muttered. She sighed. “Excuse me,” she said to Victor, stepping down from his carriage. She began elbowing her way through the crowd to reach the paladin’s side.
Sergeant Rodney spun about to offer a sharp reprimand to whoever had interrupted his business, but he was so startled by the saurial’s appearance that he took a step backward and would have tumbled down the stairs had his men not steadied him.