Dragonbait jingled a pouch of coins in Rodney’s face and repeated, “Murf?”
Sergeant Rodney stared goggle-eyed and tongue-tied.
“This is Dragonbait, Rodney. He’s a patron of the arts, offering to pay for the new license,” Jamal said smoothly, as if help from lizard creatures was a common occurrence in her life. “Right?” she queried, asking the paladin to confirm her guess.
“Murf!” Dragonbait replied, nodding and shaking the pouch of coins at Rodney again.
Sergeant Rodney stammered for a moment, then regained his composure. “Licenses must be applied for before the performance starts,” he insisted. “And they can’t be issued for daytime performances on any street leading to the market.”
“What good is a license if I can’t perform somewhere where people will see it?” Jamal argued.
“Jamal,” Rodney growled, “I’m going to have to take you in.”
Alias, who’d just reached the bottom of the steps, called out, “Why is it that five of Westgate’s finest spend their time arguing with street performers while the Night Masks rule every shadow in the city?” She climbed up the steps so that she stood beside Jamal.
There was a scattering of applause in the crowd. The freckle-faced youth in the watch gave the swordswoman a bone-chilling glare while the other members shifted uneasily.
Sergeant Rodney spun to face the new challenger, and Alias saw that a thin film of sweat had formed on his forehead. He wasn’t used to being challenged and wasn’t sure how to handle it. Perceiving that he was dealing with an unruly mob and would need reinforcements, the sergeant reached for the small silver whistle on the chain about his neck. Before he could raise the whistle to his lips, though, a heavy hand settled on his shoulder.
“I’m sure this isn’t so complicated that you can’t handle it with a little initiative on your part, Sergeant,” Victor Dhostar said calmly, giving the sergeant’s shoulder a squeeze.
“Lord Victor!” the sergeant gasped.
“Your devotion to duty is most admirable, Sergeant Rodney,” Victor commended the man, “but arguing about licenses in front of the lady’s audience is like arguing with a partner in front of a buyer. It’s bad form, you know.”
Sergeant Rodney’s lip stiffened. “With all due respect, Lord Victor, this show has blocked traffic all the way back to the market.”
“To be fair, it is the audience, not the performers, blocking traffic. Please, at my behest, take this”—Victor took Dragonbait’s pouch of gold and set it in Rodney’s hands—“and issue this lady a license to perform here.”
“But the traffic—” Sergeant Rodney protested.
Victor waved out to the street. Since some members of the audience had moved on and the others had squeezed closer to the makeshift stage, the plaza had cleared sufficiently for the carriages and carts to move through. “You see, it was only a momentary problem,” Victor said.
The sergeant took a few deep breaths, then nodded. “As you wish, Lord Victor,” he said. Turning to Jamal, he regained some of his stern demeanor. “This performance may continue, but consider yourself warned. The city cannot have its commerce brought to a standstill for entertainments!”
“I will encourage my people to be less popular in the future,” Jamal said with a straight face. To the crowd she announced, “We have been informed by the most illustrious Sergeant Rodney that we may continue our entertainment, with thanks owed to that great patron of the arts, Dragonbait the Paladin, and the glib tongue of Lord Victor Dhostar.”
There was a smattering of applause. Dragonbait bowed, and Victor, a little self-consciously, waved at the crowd.
“We dedicate this performance to them,” Jamal announced, “and, of course, to Westgate’s newest hero, Alias the Sell-Sword!”
Whistles and bellows of approval came from the mob. Alias felt her face reddening.
Alias, Victor, and Dragonbait slipped back into the crowd as the musicians started playing and the false Night Masks took the stage, juggling wooden swords and axes.
“You seem popular,” Victor said.
Alias shrugged. “I don’t know what I was doing up there. You’re the one who deserves the credit for rescuing Jamal’s troupe.”
“Ahhh, but I wouldn’t have bothered to help if you hadn’t rushed up there,” Victor said. “That’s the whole point of heroes, isn’t it, to inspire us with their courage?”
“Is that what you were doing? Inspiring him with your courage?” Dragonbait asked with amusement. “I thought you’d only come up to chide me for getting involved.”
Alias shot the paladin a warning look.
“Well, I enjoyed that little foray into street justice, brief as it was,” Victor said. “Thank you—uh, oh.”
“What?” Alias asked, and she looked in the direction Victor now peered.
The croamarkh’s carriage stood parked by Victor’s curricle. The driver of the larger carriage stood up in his seat, indicating with a wave of his hand that Victor should make his way to the carriage.
“It seems I’m being summoned by Father. Time, I fear, to pay the piper. Excuse me, please.”
Victor waded over to the croamarkh’s carriage and disappeared inside.
Alias looked back at the stage, where a skit involving two Night Masks stealing a medusa’s head was unfolding. “Let’s move on,” she said to Dragonbait.
The two made for the perimeter of the crowd, then circled about to Victor’s curricle. A boy stood holding the horses’ reins. Victor must have pressed him into service, Alias realized. She tipped him a silver piece and told him he could go.
As she rubbed the noses of the two yellow mares, Alias spoke to the paladin in Saurial. “That money you offered could have been perceived as a bribe, you know. You could have been arrested. How would that look, a paladin in the local hoosegow?”
“Wouldn’t be the first time,” the paladin replied with a chuckle. “I could not sit by and watch the words of the law confused with the spirit of the law.”
“What’s the spirit behind the law against disturbing the peace?” Alias asked.
“That no one should be injured. No one was. At the worst, a few carriages and carts were inconvenienced.”
“I don’t imagine the merchant lords in those carriages will take your side in that argument,” Alias murmured. “Imagine all that fuss over a puppet show when the Night Masks get away with murder in this city.”
“As the croamarkh pointed out, the watch can only ensure that the lawful obey the law, but the Night Masks are lawless,” Dragonbait reminded her. “I don’t imagine the watch is content that this is so.”
“You’re saying I shouldn’t have insulted them,” Alias replied. “You’re probably right. Not very politic—”
Alias halted. From the croamarkh’s carriage she could hear the croamarkh and Victor arguing. More accurately, she could hear the croamarkh’s angry words, but only the slightest hint of Victor’s voice. While Lord Luer wasn’t exactly yelling, he was one of those people to whom it would never occur to modulate his voice. No doubt he believed it was the only way to make others listen.
Alias realized that since the carriage curtains were closed, Lord Luer probably did not know she stood near enough to hear.
“—and I cannot understand what motivated you to support that woman,” the croamarkh was saying. For a moment, Alias was concerned that she was the subject of Lord Luer’s tirade, but the croamarkh’s next words disabused her of that notion. “Not only is she as common as dirt, but she is a rabble-rouser, and her little shows do nothing but breed discontent. I sat here and had to watch you cross an officer of the law, your father’s law, in front of all these commoners.”
Victor responded briefly, but too softly to be understood. Then the croamarkh continued, “It is not your place to act as judge. That’s what Durgar is here for. Did you think that maybe Jamal’s street people would start treating nobles better if they had a noble patron? Did you think they would stop spreading lies about us, about the Night Masks, because you threw some money around? And how does it look to the commoners, that you could buy justice in public? Will they believe that justice is not bought in private as well?”