Melman, this would be the night of their regular meeting. The Faceless had learned of their trespass, Alias realized, and had warned his followers. The Night Masters and their lord would elude Durgar this night, but soon much of their wealth and the magical source of their obscurement would be in the hands of the watch.
With a keen sense of satisfaction, Alias showed Durgar how to use the key to the lair, and she, Dragonbait, Mintassan, and twelve armed members of the watch followed the priest into the dark tunnel by the River Thunn.
Half the watch carried hooded lanterns, and Mintassan produced a small silver wand, which glowed with a magical light.
As the party moved into the conference room, Dragonbait tapped on the table. 'Melman's mask is missing,' he said in Saurial.
'Damn,' Alias whispered. A leaden feeling of failure settled over her. 'The Faceless must have some other way in,' she said to Durgar, and she explained about the missing mask. 'He might have come in the way we left, through the sewer,' Alias suggested. 'Or used magic,' Mintassan pointed out.
Dragonbait pressed the panel that operated the secret door. Alias nearly ran through the secret passage. She hesitated only a moment at the chasm over the sewer to check with her sword that the bridge was still intact and crossed over the sluggish water below.
Dragonbait clucked with annoyance at her impatience. He remained behind to present the invisible bridge to Durgar, Mintassan, and the watch. Dragonbait and the sage stood guard as the watch crossed, but the quelzarn did not appear. As the others trooped up the next passage, the sage stood looking over the chasm's edge with disappointment. Dragonbait had to tug on his sleeve to get him to follow the others.
'I guess a watched quelzarn never surfaces,' the sage said as he continued on.
They found Alias in the empty treasure room, leaning dejectedly against one wall, staring at the shards of the mirror that had been mounted on the wall. Save for the broken mirror, the room was stripped of all trace of the Night Masks' treasure. The chests, the weaponry, the wands and staves, the iron golems, the table holding the tree of masks-all were gone.
'The mirror,' Alias muttered. 'I never thought about the mirror. As if the Faceless would need a mirror to check how his hair looked before his meetings. I'm such an idiot.'
Mintassan bent over and picked up a larger sliver of the broken, silver-backed glass. 'Nice workmanship,' the sage commented. He held it out to Durgar. 'Late monarchical period. Legend has it that there were several of these magical portal mirrors in Verovan's castle. They disappeared in the looting that followed his death.'
'So all the Faceless had to do was pop through the mirror and carry the stuff back to wherever he has another mirror,' Alias noted1:
'No,' Mintassan corrected, 'all he had to do is order the iron golems to carry the stuff through. Much easier.' Alias glared for a moment at the sage.
'Then, unable to carry the mirror through itself,' the sage continued, 'the Faceless had to smash it so no one could walk through it and discover where he'd gone.'
'Well,' Durgar said, 'while I'm willing to concede this might have been a meeting place of Night Masks and even a hoarding place for their ill-gotten goods, I can see no evidence before me of any creature known as the Faceless.'
'There is a Faceless,' Alias snapped. 'Mist confirmed it when we spoke with her.'
'Mist? Ah, yes. The dead dragon. She might have been lying to you. Dragons will do that, you know,' Durgar pointed out.
'Mist's skull is gone,' Dragon bait, noted, peering into the pool, which had lately held the earthly remains of their former foe.
'I think, to be on the safe side,' the priest murmured, 'we should leave before the tide turns and traps us down here.'
Durgar ushered the watch back down the stairs toward the sewer, but Alias remained behind, pacing the cavern floor with a barely concealed fury. There would be no end to the evil the Night Masks brought to Westgate unless she captured the Faceless. She thought of the rag man who had died when the Night Masks burned Jamal's home, and the halfling who'd been killed in the explosion in the warehouse, and all the other people who were dead because of the thieves guild. With his minions and his smoke powder, the Faceless would continue to terrorize the whole city-no doubt he considered himself master of Westgate. Now he was somewhere safe, with all his power still intact, laughing at her failure. Alias let loose with a tremendous shout, a battle-cry from the north, a call for vengeance.
Durgar, who'd just looked back to ask the adventuress if she were leaving with them, took a step back in surprise, nearly tripping down the stairs. Mintassan felt his blood run cold from the emotion he sensed emanating from the swordswoman.
The saurial touched Alias's tattoo, kindling the link they shared, trying to infuse some of his inner calm into her wild spirit.
The warrior woman shook herself out of her rage. 'I will find him again!' she declared. 'He cannot hide from me much longer.'
Seventeen
The Faceless looked over his nine surviving minions, and from behind I his two masks, one of porcelain, the other of coins, he smiled. They had responded well, and promptly, to his summons. Each had received, from a messenger they'd never seen (nor would ever see again), a single scrap of paper with the code word 'kudzu.' They all knew what this meant. It had happened on rare occasions before, when some local activity near the bridge prevented them from using the entrance to their lair in secret. They were to meet at a different site, but at the same time as usual. So the Night Masters' business continued uninterrupted while Durgar and his watch were occupied examining a lair that had since been pillaged and abandoned. Two Night Masters who lived near the bridge had apparently detected the watch's interest in the sandbank and were now informing the others in hushed whispers. They were like nervous cattle milling in the path of an approaching storm, the Faceless reflected. They needed only that sharp crack of lightning to turn them into a stampede. The Faceless was prepared to be that lightning. The Night Masters' lord sat at the head of a wooden table, in a tavern that had closed for business two hours earlier. Behind him stood two rows of dragon-headed iron golems, arranged like obedient troops, to remind the others of the power he commanded. He drummed his fingers impatiently on the tabletop.
First the stick, the Night Masters' lord thought. He began the meeting by tossing Melman's mask on the table.
The glyph that labeled it as Gateside's had been scratched off the porcelain. 'Gateside is dead,' he announced. The effect on the assemblage was immediate. To the Faceless, their fear and uneasiness was palpable… and exquisite.
Now the carrot, the Faceless prompted himself. 'I have at this time no plans to turn the management of his district over to anyone else. It might be better, I think, to divide his duties and his income among those of you who | remain.' A tingle of excitement passed though the Night Masters. It was a great risk, being a Night Master, but the rewards were what made the risk worthwhile.
And finally the challenge: 'Before Gateside died,' the Faceless declared, 'he betrayed us to Alias the Sell- Sword. Before his betrayal, this Alias was nothing more than a mercenary, a trumped-up member of the watch. In betraying us, though, Gateside made her into exactly what he feared her to be-an enemy capable of destroying our organization.'
The Faceless paused, letting his words sink in. It took his minions a few moments to shift their thoughts from their own greed to their own self-preservation. He ignored their impassive masks, but studied instead the pursed lips, the clenched jaws, the trickle of sweat along the cheek of Finance Management. Aside from fearing the loss of their wealth and freedom, some of them, he knew, had a childlike terror of being killed by this red- headed witch.
