“Oooh, I can feel my ears burning all the way out in the street,” a new voice declared from the doorway. Alias didn’t need to turn around to know that Olive Ruskettle had entered Mintassan’s shop. The halfling joined them at the table, climbed into a chair, snitched a sugar cube from the tea tray, and popped it in her mouth.
“Olive tells me you’re well acquainted,” Jamal said.
“Oh, yes,” Alias replied. “I hadn’t realized until now that you knew her, too.”
“We’re both in the entertainment business,” Olive explained.
“So, you’re expecting me to do your guard duty for you?” Alias asked the halfling.
“No. Thalavar halflings can do their own guard duty,” Olive retorted sharply. “As a matter of fact, Lady Nettel is secretly going to put all her available guards on this consignment at the risk of leaving her other properties undefended. We’re not worried about defending the wine, but capturing Night Masks is a little harder work. Since you’re so keen on sending them in to Durgar, I thought I’d offer you this opportunity. You won’t find more Night Masks roaming the streets tonight. It’s already started to drizzle. They’ll all be tucked in front of warm fires sipping ale—except for the ones assigned to plunder House Thalavar.”
“She may have a point, Alias,” Dragonbait said.
The swordswoman succumbed to Olive’s logic. Privately, however, she suspected she might actually find a fruitless evening of hunting in the rain more enjoyable than hiding out in a warehouse with a gang of halflings.
Alias and Dragonbait met Olive shortly after sunset at the gates to Lady Nettel’s castle. The family sheds were located in a shallow vale between castles Thalavar and Ssemm. Olive, however, led Alias and Dragonbait outside the city walls to the Thalavar stockyards. There, in a horse pen beside the city wall, sheltered from view by a copse of trees, was a secret tunnel leading beneath the city wall. The halfling guided them through the tunnel to a ladder that climbed up into the warehouse inside the city walls, where the wine was being stored.
The building was a windowless fortress of solid stone walls and a clay tile roof. There was one door large enough for a wagon and a smaller one for people, both bolted shut. The only other way in, aside from the trapdoor in the floor that led to the secret tunnel, was through one of the five skylights used for ventilation. These were covered with hinged doors, also bolted shut.
The Thalavar halflings were all hidden behind crates stacked in the loft overhead. Olive and Alias took up a position beside the cribs holding the wine barrels, while Dragonbait paced the perimeter of the shed, both upstairs and down, checking on the halflings stationed about and using his shen sight on the walls around them. Then they waited.
Alias wrapped her cloak around her. For a summer evening the air was cool, and cooler still inside the warehouse, like an outpost on the edge of the Negative Material Plane. By the light of the hooded lantern beside her, the swordswoman could see her own breath. She was beginning to think it might have been warmer out in the rain; it certainly would be less boring. She lost track of time in the dark, but it seemed as if she’d been here for hours.
“Apricot?” Olive offered. The sweet, pungent aroma of the dried fruit rose from the sticky paper bag she held out. Alias waved her hand to refuse the fruit. Already tonight Olive had consumed numerous bags of various comestibles, including hazelnuts, Moonshae chestnuts in syrup, candied cherries, pears, carrots, mushrooms of Brost, golden raisins from Berdusk, and a bag of what looked like chocolate-covered spiders.
Alias steamed. “This could be a colossal waste of time. We don’t even know they’re coming.”
“Day’re cummin’,” Olive mumbled through a mouthful of apricot. When she had swallowed, she reiterated, “They’re coming. This shipment’s worth a small fortune. The Night Masks won’t be able to resist. They’re compulsive about their vengeance—”
Something thumped somewhere overhead.
“Alias!” Dragonbait called out in Saurial. “They’re climbing to the roof.”
Alias translated for Olive, who pocketed her apricots and whispered a warning to the other halflings to put out their lights and take their places. Hooded lanterns all about the warehouse went dark.
Alias slipped behind a stack of crates by the wagon door. Olive had disappeared into the darkness. The warehouse felt colder in the dark and, oddly enough, closer, as if ghosts were pressing in around them.
In a minute Alias could hear feet scraping across the tiles above. She couldn’t estimate from the sound how many thieves there were, but one of them was heavy-footed and not very agile, stomping up the roof, sliding down, then stomping back up again. Alias wondered if they’d brought an ogre for a backup.
Next came the sounds of nails popping and wood cracking as thieves armed with crow bars made short work prying the skylight doors from their hinges. A more artful crew, Alias thought, might have found a way to slide back the bolts using a drill and a wire, but the Night Masks seem to prefer brute strength and destruction.
Rain began to drizzle into the warehouse as the skylight shutters were thrust aside. Someone above lowered a lantern down to the warehouse floor, and a moment later whispered, “All clear.” Five rope ladders rolled down into the warehouse, and five figures began climbing down each ladder. They all wore dark clothes and caps and domino masks—the costume of the Night Masks.
All but one of the Night Masks were armed with daggers and heavy dwarven hammers. The one exception was a tall, heavy man with long, puffed-out black hair, which he had not bothered to tuck into a cap. Inexplicably, he wore a scabbard and sword. The scabbard caught in a ladder-rung, and its wearer, while extricating it, lost his footing and fell the last three feet to the warehouse floor. He landed with a thump and a curse.
Alias had to cover her mouth to keep her laughter in. Several other Night Masks laughed, but one, apparently their leader, hissed, “Silence,” and they all shut up instantly.
“We’re in,” the leader called up to the roof. Someone above cut loose the rope ladders and slid the hatch doors back over the skylight. He’ll keep lookout from up there, Alias realized. She made a mental note to collect him from the roof when they’d taken the others.
The leader pointed to three men, saying, “You open the wagon door and take care of the watchman out there. The rest of you start shifting the wine.”
Alias put two fingers to her tongue and whistled.
At that signal, twenty halflings pulled back the shutters on their lanterns, bathing the Night Masks in a bright yellow glow. The Night Masks all jumped in surprise, but lost no time drawing their weapons and turning outward in a defensive circle.
Alias stepped out from behind the crates and into the light. She held her sword at the ready. “If you put down your weapons and surrender, you won’t be harmed,” she said.
“It’s that common she-dog the Dhostars hired,” the Night Mask with the sword shouted, advancing on Alias with his blade. “Kill her now and our names are made!”
All around the warehouse, the restraining locks on the halflings’ crossbows clicked off. The swordsman halted in his tracks.
The Night Mask leader, a tall, well-muscled, fair-skinned woman, pulled the man back by his shirt. “Let’s be reasonable,” she said, addressing the halflings in the loft rather than Alias. Her accent screamed Zhentil Keep, and Alias instantly detested her. “There is more than enough here for all. What say you arrived late, chased us off, and managed to save only, mmm, a third of the shipment? Yes, a third would be reasonable. Or we can arrange to move that amount for you, privately, if you wish to tell Lady Nettel you lost everything.”
“You seem to forget,” Alias said, stepping forward until she was directly in front of the tall woman, “that we have you surrounded.”