Masquerades

'I took it from Melman shortly before the Night Masks blew up his home with him in it,' the swordswoman explained.

Dragonbait looked at Alias with surprise. She was deliberately misleading the noble to believe that Melman was dead.

'Victor, did you tell your father I was checking up on Melman?'

'When I got home last night. We had this stupid argument. He said I was distracting you from your duties. I told him what you told me at the party about Melman.' The young man's eyes widened in surprise. 'You don't think-he couldn't. It's just a coincidence. My father is not involved with the Night Masters!'

Now it was Alias's turn to look down into her mulled wine for a reply.

'You said yourself, last night, that you didn't think Father was the Faceless, that he had no reason to be involved with them. He hired you to get rid of them,' Victor argued. 'Wait! He could have gotten the key from Kimbel after Kimbel tried to assassinate him.'

'Then why didn't he turn the key over to Durgar?' Alias asked.

Unable to come up with a ready excuse, Victor shifted tactics. 'What would you do if you found the key in the possession of someone you loved? If it were, say, in Drag-onbait'e purse?'

Alias exchanged a look with the paladin. 'I would ask him about it,' the swordswoman replied.

'You wouldn't just take it to Durgar first, would you?' Victor retorted.

Alias sighed. 'Victor, Dragonbait is like a brother to me. I've known him all my life.'

'I've known my father all my life, too,' the merchant noble countered.

'Very well,' Alias said. 'Ill ask your father about the key before I mention it to Durgar. I will give him a chance to explain.'

'No!' Victor exclaimed. 'That is, Гт asking you to give me a chance to ask him. He's my father, and, well, I think I should be the one to ask.'

Alias couldn't imagine Victor getting a straight answer from his verbally abusive father, and, if Luer Dhostar should actually be involved with the Night Masks, there was a chance Victor would be in danger.

'I know what you're thinking,'' Victor said, 'but you're wrong. My father would never hurt me. He has a good reason for having this key. You'll see. Let me handle this.'

Alias nodded reluctantly. 'All right,' she said. 'I have to report to Durgar about the lair today, so he can send the watch in at the next low tide. I will tell him you accompanied us there. I will not mention you had a key just yet. But, Victor, I can't keep that from him for long. I must have some explanation from your father by tomorrow.'

Tomorrow, then,' the young merchant agreed. 'I have all sorts of tasks to finish for the ball. We can discuss it then.' 'Ball?' Alias asked.

'Yes. Oh, I almost forgot.' Victor replied with a sheepish grin. 'I'm afraid your invitation is just a little damp.' He reached into his cloak pocket and drew out a soggy sheet of parchment folded in thirds. The sealing wax was marked with the croamarkh's insignia. Victor held it out to her.

Alias held up a hand as if to ward the invitation away like an evil spirit. 'Victor, It supposed to be uncovering the identity of the Night Masters and the Faceless. I can't be rushing off to every party in Westgate.'

'This isn't just a party. This is the Regatta Masquerade Ball,' Victor argued. 'It's the major social event of the season. In King Verovan's day it was called the Naval Ball, but since the king's demise, we celebrate it as a commemoration of his folly. Everyone will be there.'

With a sigh, the swordswoman took the folded document from the merchant and turned it over. It was addressed to her and Dragonbait.

'Besides, we have a reason to celebrate. You've found the Faceless's lair. I know I ruined our chances trying to capture him by setting off that water trap, but once you get Din-gar's men down there at the next low tide to clear out his treasury and that mask thing that protects him and his lieutenants-well, it will really only be a matter of sweeping up, won't it? Please, say you'll come.' Victor reached out and took her hand. 'You'll need to come anyway to hear what my father has to say-about the key. Besides, I've really been looking forward to dancing with you.'

'Г11 come, to hear your father explain the key to me and Durgar,' Alias said. She tucked the invitation into the vest beneath her chain mail. 'Maybe Г11 dance,' she added, 'if I think then that I have something to celebrate.'

The young serving boy came out to announce that Lord Victor's carriage was waiting at the front gate. Alias declined the merchant noble's offer of a lift back to Blais House.

Between feeling shy in front of both the carriage driver and Dragonbait and feeling less than attractive with her hair plastered against her head and the scent of sewage lingering about her, Alias was prepared to see Victor off with no more than a friendly squeeze of his hand. The young merchant apparently did not feel similarly inhibited. He pulled the swordswoman close and stole a quick kiss from her before he climbed up beside his carriage driver. 'Until tomorrow,' he said. Alias nodded.

As the nobleman's carriage pulled away, Alias turned and looked toward the River Thunn. 'I wonder how quickly the tide comes in.'

Dragonbait did not reply. He was staring at the back of Victor's carriage, which seemed to have picked up a small, wet, halfling-sized bundle on the rear boot.

'Maybe,' Alias said, 'if we can get Durgar to hurry, well be able to clean out this lair before nightfall.'

One of the few joys of being half the size of the dominant race of Faerun, Olive reflected as she hung on to the low-slung storage area at the rear of Victor's carriage, is that unless someone is on the lookout for you, it's easy to hide just beside them. Even if the day were not ridden with fog, it was unlikely that she would be detected. She looked just like an old horse blanket someone had thrown in the back, and she was too light a stowaway for the horses to seem burdened. She kept her ears pricked during the ride through the city, out the West Gate, and through the countryside to Castle Dhostar, but Victor and his driver did not even attempt a conversation with one another. The halfling was not surprised. According to her mates at the Thalavar household, the Dhostars were very strong believers in the separation of stations.

Things might have been dicier for the halfling had their destination been a real castle with a curtain wall and guards at the portcullis, but Castle Dhostar was really just a very large manor house. Victor hopped down from the carriage, and, as the driver pulled away, Olive rolled out of the boot and slipped into the shadow of a yew tree by the drive. There were no guards at the front door, but, as Victor let himself in, he called for someone named Kane, and a butler appeared to take the merchant lord's sewer-drenched cloak.

Olive sneaked into the front hall as the butler was pulling off Victor's muck-‹encrusted boots. She slipped into the shadow beneath a table against the wall. As the servant handed the nobleman a pair of comfortable house slippers, Olive caught the words, 'Your father… the library… soon as you arrive.'

The halfling listened for the sound of Victor's retreating steps, and, as soon as the butler disappeared with Victor's wet things, she slipped down the hallway after the merchant lord.

Fortunately, Castle Dhostar was an easy place to sneak around in. Apparently Luer Dhostar did not believe in wasting money on candles to light the halls. The servants all carried their own lights, so Olive could see as well as hear them coming and take cover in a shadow as they passed. There were plenty of shadows cast by the usual bric-a-brac of the wealthy: out-dated armor, stuffed animal trophies, stone statuary, ancient urns on pedestals.

Olive pressed her ear against several doors without hearing Victor's or Luer's voice. Then, from a room just ahead, she heard the croamarkh shouting. Victor had left the door open, so Olive peered inside. Luer Dhostar sat at a desk; his son stood before him, receiving a paternal dressing down.

'In the sewers! Gond's gears! What were you thinking? You could have been killed! 'You are a Dhostar, not some cheap hero from the street plays. You hire people to take risks for you, then you stay away from those people. That way, when they make mistakes, you don't suffer directly.'

When they make mistakes? Olive wondered. What mistakes?

'Anyone could have set off that trap,' Victor replied. 'You can't blame Alias because a halfling couldn't resist handling things.'

He's blamed me for picking up that mask! Olive thought with a huff. What a little rat.

Just inside the open door was a large stuffed displacer beast mounted rampant, its forepaws and tentacles batting the air. Lord Luer or one of his ancestors was quite the accomplished hunter. Olive slipped into the library,