“Although my spies cannot determine exactly what happened,” Enforcement explained to his fellows, “the retaliation mission on House Thalavar seems to have ended in disaster. Our operatives were to acquire or destroy a wine shipment from the Thalavar warehouse. The entire team has been killed or captured. The team leader, one of my best operatives, is reportedly dead. My spies heard a great explosion, but they cannot tell if the wine was destroyed. Alias the Sell-Sword was seen at the warehouse.”
The Night Master in charge of Noble Relations piped up, “On the plus side, one of the operatives who was arrested is Lord Ssentar’s youngest son. I’ve sent someone to stir His Lordship up, get him good and riled so hell make trouble for this sell-sword.”
Finance Management reported on the bottom line. “With the exception of tonight’s loss of a team leader, the swordswoman, and those inspired by her, have targeted only low-level agents. Still, bringing in new recruits and training them takes time. And recruitment, though not ordinarily a problem, is more difficult in light of the perceived risk. Some agents have decided to lie low, while a few others have chosen to retire or take their business elsewhere.”
“Rats leaving a sinking ship,” Gateside muttered, just loud enough to be heard.
“Consequently,” Finance Management continued, “income for the past two days is down ten percent in Gateside and four percent elsewhere. If this trend continues, we foresee stagnation within the next tenday. Beyond that, there is a possibility that by summer’s end we will show a loss owing to our overhead costs. This will severely set back our long-range goals for next year.”
A panicked grumbling spread among the Night Masters.
Throughout the reports the Faceless had remained silent. He interrupted the grumbling now, commanding, “Order.” The tone of his metallic voice was cool. “Thank you for your reports,” he said. “Is there any other business?”
Gateside rose to his feet, rather quickly for a man of his portly size. “Any other business!” he cried out in a strangled voice. “In two days, this common little sell-sword has laid waste to years of profitable operations. Everyone here, even Enforcement, is taking this on the chin. Take is down, and we’re being hissed in the streets by rabble. And you ask if there’s any other business?”
A hush fell over the room as the other Night Masters waited for the Faceless’s reaction. The Night Mask lord allowed the silence to grow longer, increasing not only Gateside’s, but all the Night Masters’ uneasiness. “You needn’t be so perturbed, Gateside. Within a few days, the matter will be under control.”
“The only way you’re going to get the matter under control is to whack this Alias. I say we hire an outside professional.”
“Really?” the Faceless replied with a bone-chilling tone. “If we attempt to ‘whack’ the swordswoman and we fail, we will have enhanced her legend, making our agents fear her more. If we succeed, Jamal will make a martyr of her, and the rabble will turn on our agents more ferociously than ever. It may take us years to return to our current strength. Only a fool would implement such a heavy-handed, unoriginal scheme.”
The blood drained from Gateside’s face so that his exposed chin was as white as his mask. He mustered all the courage he possessed and asked, “But you do have a plan, don’t you?”
“I do,” the Faceless replied, drumming his fingers on the arm of his chair in irritation.
“I ask that you share this plan with us,” Gateside retorted, then softened his demand by adding, “respectfully.”
“Request denied,” the Faceless responded, then added in a tone dripping with sarcasm, “respectfully.”
Gateside raised his voice so that it echoed off the stone walls surrounding the Night Masters. “And what am I supposed to do while I wait for this mystery plan of yours to take effect? She’s biting into my profits.” The normally emotionless professional manager of the Gateside district had become an angry, bellowing merchant.
The other Night Masks shifted uneasily. No one shouted at the Faceless with impunity.
“I suggest,” the Faceless replied coolly, “that you suspend all activities in your region for a few days. You will lose fewer resources that way.”
Gateside’s pale skin turned an apoplectic scarlet. His eyes widened with astonishment, and his mouth moved for several moments before his words could come out. “If I call off my boys, I won’t have any resources in a few days. This little witch is not going get tired and move on. She’s dangerous!” Gateside was screeching now. His voice had climbed several octaves.
“I’m growing tired of your hysterical impatience,” the Faceless snapped, and the other Night Masters drew their chairs back from the table as if their lord had just drawn a weapon.
“And I’m tired of your arrogant inertia. I’m not going to sit around on my nether cheeks while Dhostars’ little dollymop rips my operation to shreds!”
“Enough!” the Faceless growled. He rose to his feet, pointed at Gateside with a ringed finger, and uttered one word, “Kreggarish!”
A field of energy rippled across the room, and Gateside’s mask began to glow; the white porcelain shined golden from something beneath the mask.
Gateside fell forward across the table, screaming in agony. Enforcement and Thunnside, who flanked him at the table, rose from their chairs quickly and backed away. None of the others came to the portly thief’s aid. A few touched their own masks nervously, though they knew perfectly well it was the Faceless’s power that attacked their fellow.
Instinctively, Gateside clawed at the mask covering his burning skin; still the glow persisted around his face. The Night Master continued screaming, and his frame writhed in agony. Enforcement and Thunnside could detect the scent of charred flesh.
“Jokash,” the Faceless intoned, and the glow faded.
The Faceless’s spell had burned the flesh around Gateside’s eyes, leaving the image of a domino mask in bright scarlet.
“Consider that a warning,” the Faceless said coldly. “I might have let the fire burn long enough to sear your skull, but, in deference to your usefulness, I’ve left you with only a temporary scar.
Gateside slumped back into his chair. His eyes were tearing profusely, and his sobs were broken only by his gasps for breath.
“Your hysteria endangers us all. Now that I’ve marked you, you have no choice but to remain hidden for the next few days. Night Masks are not very popular at the moment. If you do not reveal yourself, you will not be in danger, and neither will we. Once the scars have begun to scab, a priest will be able to heal the damage. Consider it a test.”
Gateside summoned enough energy to nod weakly.
The Faceless turned to the others and asked, “Is there any other business? Does anyone else have doubts about my ability to deal with this sell-sword? No? Good. Enforcement, help Gateside out. This meeting is adjourned.”
The Night Masters shuffled silently from the meeting hall. Gateside leaned heavily on Enforcement, but he found the strength to turn for one last look at Westgate’s hidden master.
The magical blur about the Faceless’s head continued to mask his features, but Gateside was sure the fiend was smiling.
Ten
Power Plays
If Alias had been more attuned to city politics, the puppet show might have served her as a warning. Unfortunately, she hadn’t understood the show completely, so she headed unwittingly into the storm.
As usual she’d risen late in the morning, but this morning she did not feel rested. She’d slept badly, due, she knew, to the halfling’s death. Upon waking she remembered Jamal’s comment that the Night Masters had magic to kill or free any of their people imprisoned by the watch. Alias thought about the arrogant but ineffectual Night Mask swordsman. While she couldn’t believe he would be worth the Night Masters bothering over, she became too uneasy and restless to return to sleep. She decided to visit the Tower and assure herself that Durgar was dealing adequately with the thief.