“Nonetheless, we’ll have t’zamine it, prob’ly take it back to our superiors for—um—” The thief fumbled for the word. No doubt he was new to the shakedown trade, more accustomed and suited to the mindless violence of muggings.
“Proper evaluation?” suggested Alias.
The thief nodded. “Prop’revaluation,” he agreed and flashed a gap-toothed smile.
“I see,” said Alias. “Dragonbait, show the nice man your staff.”
The saurial limped forward, looking like a tired, lost, wounded puppy. He held his arms out with his palms upward, the staff resting across them. The raccoon leader towered over him and reached out to snare his prize with a free hand.
Dragonbait arched his tail around and slapped the ornamented end of the staff. The thick ash of the lower portion of the staff swung upward and smashed the thief square in the face. The thief dropped his sword and grasped his nose and mouth with both hands. Sputtering blood and bits of teeth, he fell to his knees.
Alias tensed, listening to the shuffle of heavy boots behind her and, without looking back, swung an elbow upward sharply. There was a cracking sound as her elbow guard connected with something solid. A rearguard raccoon gasped and groaned, having discovered that grabbing the swordswoman from behind was not as simple as it looked.
Alias spun about, launching a kick in the direction of the groan. She struck her assailant in the hip, and he crashed to the ground. From behind him came a fourth raccoon, wielding a blade.
The swordswoman retreated a step, pressing her back briefly against the saurial’s as she drew her slender sword. Dragonbait’s hand slid back and patted her hip, indicating that, although he’d dropped the staff, he had no intention of drawing his own enchanted blade from the swordswoman’s second scabbard. For such dishonorable opponents he preferred to go hand to hand.
The paladin hopped onto the kneeling raccoon leader’s shoulders, driving the thief into the ground, then used him as a springboard to leap, snarling and clawing, toward the leader’s companion. A trained fighter might have had the presence of mind to meet the charge with his sword, but the companion reacted instinctively, raising both arms to protect his face from what appeared to be a raging beast. Dragonbait landed hard on his foe, sending him sprawling back into the brackish green sewage flowing through the center of the alley, knocking the wind out of the thief. The last thing the human saw was the saurial’s gleaming, sharp white teeth, then Dragonbait snapped his jaw shut and head-butted him in the face. The human remained motionless as the water dammed up behind him and finally flowed around him. Dragonbait rose, pawing and sniffing with distaste at the evil-smelling, oily liquid splattered on his tunic.
The last assailant, the one facing Alias, had the wisdom to hang on to his weapon, but not much experience in its use. He led with his sword, lunging at Alias, who neatly sidestepped the thrust and brought the heavy pommel of her own blade down hard on the back of his neck. The raccoon-faced man sprawled forward and did not rise.
The entire battle took only thirty seconds.
“No fatalities,” Dragonbait observed as he kicked away their felled opponents’ weapons.
“We can find the local watch and send them in to—” He hesitated, noting how Alias stood stock-still, scanning the rooflines of the buildings surrounding them. “Problem?” he asked.
Keeping her eyes on the rooftops and switching once again to the Saurial tongue, Alias explained, “The Night Masks guild is the strongest criminal organization in the west; some say it’s the real power in Westgate. They didn’t get there without more cunning than our humbled ‘customs agents’ here possess. The guild assigns watchers to spy on their thugs—to make sure they don’t skimp on reporting their loot and to provide backup in case of emergencies. I’m looking for this group’s nanny.… There!” Alias declared, pointing up at a roof to the north.
Dragonbait snapped his head upward, but caught sight of only a fluttering cape disappearing beyond the roofline.
“He’ll go for reinforcements. Let’s get moving,” Alias suggested.
Dragonbait picked up the staff, inspecting it hastily to be sure its sudden impact with the Night Mask’s face hadn’t damaged it. Then he hurried down the alley after Alias.
A second alley crossed the one they traveled in, and they hurried through the intersection with all their senses on the alert. From ahead came the sound of music, singing, and shouting.
Dragonbait and Alias exchanged glances and headed toward the sound. Their ears led them to a small paved street that opened into a plaza dominated by a fountain just like the one where the lovers had sat. Probably both had been built by the same works project to bring more water to the commoners, Alias guessed.
A local street fair was just getting started all about the fountain. Paper lanterns swayed in the trees. A bonfire crackled on a patch of flagstone before the fountain. An old woman with a yarting and little boy with a drum were playing reels for girls who whirled about in the street and taunted boys on the sides to come dance with them. Tavern owners were setting up chairs and makeshift bars of sawhorses and planks. Dwarves rolled great barrels of ale and mead through the street to supply the bars. A couple of halflings were already halfway through one of their never-ending drinking songs. The air was full of laughter, shouts, mild curses, and the smell of spit-roasted fish.
Alias and Dragonbait hung at the fringes of the growing crowd. With so many witnesses, the Night Masks were unlikely to try an ambush, but Alias fidgeted with impatience and anxiety. Hanging around a celebration, while amusing ordinarily, was not getting them closer to their destination, and the Night Masks could employ more subtle methods of reprisal. With so many people about, an assassin could stand right behind her, and she might not notice until she felt a dagger between her ribs.
Fortunately, Dragonbait had other senses available. The saurial paladin scanned the crowd, squinting his eyes in the manner of a buyer trying to discern the fine print of a merchant’s bill of sale.
“Well?” Alias prompted.
Dragonbait snarled testily. Elminster had once told him that human paladins detected the presence or absence of only evil, a less elegant and simpler sense, but certainly better suited to crowds. When the saurial paladin used his shen sight in a random gathering of humans like this, he was bombarded with more information than he could analyze. So many individuals, so many colors of souls and spirits and intentions, cascaded past him, around him, and through him.
Alias held her breath. An eternity seemed to pass before Dragonbait motioned with his muzzle toward the timbers being assembled into a makeshift stage. “That skinny human in the leather leggings and vest,” the paladin said.
Alias locked glances with the lanky man lounging against the piled timbers, and the man quickly looked away.
“There and there,” Dragonbait added with another jerk of his muzzle. “Beneath that apple tree. They may or may not be Night Masks, but they have the darkest readings of any among this rainbow of souls, and they definitely don’t like our presence.”
“They’re Night Masks, all right,” Alias said. “A reprisal squad, by the look of them. They’ll be packing poisoned knives. Standard guild operating procedure requires they teach us a lesson for hanging on to our own property. They intend to corner us somewhere, poison and gut us, and leave a calling card on our corpses.”
“Calling card?” Dragonbait queried.
“A domino mask,” Alias replied. “To remind the populace that they really rule here, not the noble merchant families. The Night Masks do not like people standing up to them. It’s bad for business. Makes it harder to intimidate the next mark.”
“Shouldn’t we alert the watch?” the paladin suggested.