Victor started to speak, but his father interrupted, “You did not think. That is the problem. Now if the watch shuts her down for some future violation, it will appear that the croamarkh’s house is weak. If she continues, the other nobles will think we have her in our employ—which means they will think that what she says comes from our mouths. You’ve made a muddle of this. Have you done any other damage this morning that I should know about?”
There was a long pause as Victor answered too quietly to be overheard. Lord Dhostar was still huffy, but not as irritated as he replied, “Well, that’s something. We need someone to clean out the stables, see justice served against those scoundrels.”
Victor said something else that undoubtedly angered the croamarkh, for he answered loudly, “You will not. We have a dinner and talks with Lord Urlyvl and his people over at Castle Athagdal. I hired that young woman for her sword, not for you to practice your courtly graces. You may return to your duties.”
The carriage rocked slightly. Alias handed the horses’ halters to Dragonbait and retreated five paces. As the carriage door opened, she walked up toward it, creating the illusion that she had just arrived on the scene.
Victor stepped down the carriage steps, grim-faced and angry, but brightened immediately upon spotting Alias. “Hullo,” he greeted her. “I’ve just told Father about your decision to join us.”
Another man exited the carriage behind Victor, a broad-shouldered stranger with close-cropped white hair and a heavy silver mustache covering his mouth. He wore blue-and-purple robes tied loosely with a white sash, a white glove on his left hand, and a black glove on his right—the ceremonial outfit of a priest of Tyr, the blinded, one-handed god of justice. Beneath the robes the man wore a chest plate elaborately engraved with a scale of justice balanced on a war hammer—the god Tyr’s symbol.
Once the stranger had closed the carriage door, someone within thumped once on the ceiling. The carriage driver urged his horses forward, and the carriage pulled away from the crowded plaza.
“Your Reverence,” Victor addressed the priest who stood at his side, “please allow me to present Alias the Swordswoman and her companion, Dragonbait. Alias will be helping us with our Night Mask problem. Alias, this is Durgar the Just of Tyr, who heads our watch and serves us as judge.
Alias and Dragonbait nodded politely to the elderly priest. Durgar fixed his steely gray eyes on Alias for several moments without speaking, and Alias realized she was being assessed with skillful judgment.
When Durgar finally spoke, his voice was chill and void of emotion. “The croamarkh has informed me of his plans for you. I can’t say I’m particularly pleased. While Westgate has a rich history of employed mercenaries, they never seem to last for long. Justice requires constant, unending, organized vigilance. That’s why I founded the watch here. For fourteen years my men and I have done all that can be done to blunt the ravages of the Night Masks. I informed Lord Luer that in my considered opinion he was placing too much stock in your abilities, but he went on about fresh eyes, fresh blood, and fresh approaches, as if my experience meant nothing. Take care, young woman. The Night Masks are savage brutes who would spill your blood in the street without a second thought.”
Alias might have taken offense at the priest’s vote of no confidence, but there was the slightest trace of exhaustion in Durgar’s tone, which prompted her to refrain from a heated reply. Westgate’s judge, she realized, was a man who continued to struggle at a seemingly hopeless task because he believed in it. Consequently, the swordswoman framed her reply as diplomatically as she could. “Perhaps, Your Reverence, I’ll get lucky. If I can throw the Night Masks off balance, the Night Masters and the Faceless might grow careless and give your watch an opportunity to capture them.”
Beneath his mustache a trace of a smile flickered across Durgar the Just’s face. “That’s very gracious of you, but the watch is not about to waste its time on fictional characters of puppet shows.”
“His Reverence,” Victor explained, “does not believe in the existence of the Night Masters or the Faceless.”
“Why not?” Alias asked.
“You aren’t the first adventurer hired to uncover them, you know?” Durgar replied. “Yet in fourteen years, no divination by mage or priest or magical item has been able to detect any persons called the Night Masters or the Faceless. No warrior or hired thief has been able to discover their lair. No offer of wealth and power has enticed anyone to betray them. The Faceless and his Night Masters are all myths. The Night Masks foster these myths because they lend to them the illusion of power and authority. The common people believe these myths because they cannot accept the fact that chaotic forces have such control over their lives. They choose to believe people like Jamal—” Durgar waved in the direction of the performers, who were now leading the crowd in a high-spirited song— “who spread this romanticized notion that lawlessness is embodied in one being, a Prince of Night, a Lord of Thieves. Then all they need is a hero to vanquish it once and for all.” Durgar’s voice took on a passionate tone as he declared, “But lawlessness is not vanquished once and for all. It must be fought every day, without cessation, till the end of time.”
Realizing that any argument she might make would be construed as a challenge to the priest’s convictions, Alias replied simply, “I see.”
Durgar, recognizing that the swordswoman was not really acquiescing, huffed. He nodded at the performers. “Jamal may spew whatever nonsense she chooses, but if the watch catches her without a permit again, Lord Victor, not even your patronage will keep my men from bringing her in for disturbing the peace. As for you, woman—” Durgar’s steely gray eyes rested on Alias once again— “at Lord Luer’s request, I have ordered the watch to render you any assistance you need, but you do not have leave to interfere with their official business. Good day to you.”
Durgar turned his back on the trio before Alias could return his farewell. He plowed through the crowd, which parted for him more widely than it had for the five members of the watch.
“I wouldn’t take Durgar’s rejection personally,” Victor said. “He’s just blowing off steam after having had to listen to Father tell him how to do his job. You just got in the way.”
Alias nodded. “You didn’t mention Westgate had a church of Tyr,” she said.
“It doesn’t,” Victor replied. “Durgar was a wandering adventurer. He ran with a group called the Invisible Hand. They had some run-ins with the Night Masks, and only Durgar survived. He stayed and convinced the nobles to charter the watch.”
“He seems pretty orthodox as priests of Tyr go,” Alias noted, “yet he doesn’t wear the gauze strip across his eyes to symbolize his deity’s blinding.”
“He did, immediately after the Time of Troubles, but Father and the other merchants forbade him to continue. It’s bad enough to be ridiculed in the street and have the Night Masks steal you blind, but can you imagine the comments when the head of the watch wears a blindfold? I don’t think Durgar likes it, but he follows orders.”
Behind them, the audience applauded again as the performers took a final curtain call, and the puppeteers huckstered once again for loose change.
“About tonight’s dinner—” Victor said, looking down at the ground.
Alias sensed his discomfort and remembered the croamarkh’s sharp commands. “I’m afraid we’ll have to decline your offer,” she interrupted hastily. “Dragonbait reminded me we have a previous engagement. I will keep in mind your suggestions about the Gateside district, though.”