from the Tower. 'Some trials are more difficult to bear than others,' Olive muttered, though she spoke not to Winterhart, but for her own benefit.
'Blast them all to Baator!' Lord Victor thundered as he strode into the main hallway of Castle Dhostar. He threw his cloak at the footman. The butler appeared briefly, but upon seeing the look on his master's face, he retreated back into the servants' quarters, unwilling to deal with the young lord unless called upon to do so.
Victor stormed into the library, where Kimbel was calmly reviewing piles of Mintassan's books and scrolls. In the center of the table hovered a glowing sphere that the assassin had stolen from Blais House when he'd retrieved the swordswoman's armor.
'Difficult day running the city?' Kimbel queried as he rose and crossed to a sideboard. He poured a generous amount of Evermead into a glass and carried it to his master.
Victor had thrown himself in a chair and sat there brooding.
'I think this land was once completely forested,' the croamarkh muttered. 'Then the bureaucrats invented paperwork.' He took the glass of Evermead, gulping it down like water. There is a form for everything, sometimes two forms, on occasion, three. And gods forbid you sign anything without reading it, or else some clan might receive a windfall and the other clans will start screaming for your blood. And while you're reading every bloody piece of paper the city clerks put in front of you, the other clans are robbing you blind, since you haven't got the time to address your own business. Why can't they just learn to shut up and follow my orders? That's why they made me croamarkh, after all.' 'Interim croamarkh,' Kimbel corrected softly.
'Maybe I didn't kill enough of them,' Victor mused. 'Any charges we can trump up against one or two of them? Make an example of them to keep the others in line.'
'Most unwise, Kimbel replied. 'It would be bad for business, and the reaction of those remaining would be distrust rather fhan fear. These are not Night Masters, but nobles, and even the young and inexperienced ones have believed all their life that power is their right. Besides, you already eliminated the most likely candidates.'
'The irony,' Victor snarled, 'is that I've kissed up to them for years to assure myself this rotten job, only to discover that I have to keep kissing up to them to keep it. We need a monarchy around here. I'm tired of all this open rebellion.' He turned to Kimbel sharply and asked, 'Did you recover my mask?'
Kimbel nodded. 'Durgar stashed it in a desk drawer, no doubt unable to come to grips with having covered up Luer Dhostar's infamy. I replaced it with a stage prop of Jamal's, which I looted from Mintassan's lair. It may be some time before Durgar realizes it's not the genuine article. And, of course, I knew you'd appreciate the irony.'
Victor allowed himself a smile. 'Good old Durgar. There's some more irony. I think I impressed him, arguing that we should tell the truth.' about Father. But Durgar is so anxious to preserve the established order that he concealed all father's crimes.' An unsettling thought occurred to the young lord. 'You don't think he doubts that Father was the Faceless, do you?'
'He does not appear to be pursuing the matter,' Kimbel replied, pulling a heavy tome from the pile and opening it to a page marked with a red ribbon. 'Now, this is fascinating,' the assassin said as he perused the page. 'A fortuitous coincidence, no doubt, considering your interest in monarchy.' 'What?' Victor said. Kimbel motioned for the croamarkh to come and look.
With some annoyance, Victor rose from his lethargic sprawl. He leaned over the tome, which had of late belonged to the sage Mintassan. The book was quite old, its cover cracked and frayed, its binding nearly disintegrated, its pages loose, covered in ornate, sweeping script.
'The writing is Elvish and dates back to the last days of King Verovan.' Kimbel explained, but Victor held up a hand to silence him.
'I can see that for myself,' the noble snarled. 'You know Father insisted I learn all the subhuman languages^-the better to trade with them, he would say.'
Victor frowned with concentration as he pored over the text. 'This describes the procedures and protocols of King Verovan's court.'
'I direct you to the fourth paragraph,' Kimbel said, 'on the right-hand page.'
'Hmmm.' Victor ran his finger along the script, mouthing the words silently, too self-conscious to translate aloud in front of the assassin. 'It's about Verovan's treasure hoard!' he whispered excitedly. 'It's under, no, tucked away in an interdimensional demiplane, guarded by a… portion of the king's own soul!'
'Planes and dimensions were a specialty of young Mintassan's,' Kimbel remarked.
'At the top of Verovan's castle, there is a portal into this plane,' Victor translated.
'Matches the common folklore,' Kimbel said. 'Verovan's castle-that would be Castle Vhammos now, wouldn't it? How terrible that the population of House Vhammos was decimated by the iron golems. The new lord of the castle is still, I believe, on business in Waterdeep, leaving the castle prey to all sorts of thieves. I presume the new croamarkh will want to step in and offer to protect this landmark until the new lord's return.'
'The key to open the passage to the demiplane is described as a copper feather,' Victor said. 'The new croamarkh would need such a key before he tried anything so blatant. What's this scrawl in the margin?'
'I believe that is a notation of the late, unlamented Mintassan,' Kimbel said dryly
'But what does it say? 'Lily Netted'? Why do sages always have such awful handwriting?'
Kimbel bent over the book, peering at the notation. 'I believe it says, 'Lady Nettel.''
'The symbol of House Thalavar is a green feather, and the Thalavars are-distant relatives of the Verovan line,' Victor said excitedly. 'Copper patina is green. Doesn't^- didn't Lady Nettel always wear some kind of a garish green brooch? You don't suppose they buried it with her, do you?'
Kimbel shook his head. 'I believe Lady Thistle is now in possession of it. She was wearing it at her grandmother's funeral.'
'King's Verovan's treasure hoard.' Victor laughed with fiendish glee. 'The loot gathered from a lifetime of sucking Westgate dry. Why, the gold alone would be sufficient to build a small empire. And the key hangs on dear little Dervish's bosom-that sweet young girl who's been left all alone in the world.' Victor chuckled nastily.
Kimbel raised an eyebrow. 'House Thalavar remains one of the most powerful rival houses. Forging an alliance with Lady Thistle could prove most useful when the council of merchants elects the next croamarkh.'
Victor snorted. 'Croamarkh! Once I charm that key from little Dervish, I can be king, with or without her support. Although… she could prove very useful, as the swordswoman was useful. She's popular, lovely- can't swing a sword, but at least she's of the proper class. And she is young and impressionable. She could be easily swayed by the interests of a kind and dashing noble, eh?'
'Assuming that said noble — wasn't still supposed to be mourning his last love,' Kimbel noted with a chill tone.
'I should call on Lady Thistle. We can commiserate with one another over our losses. A girl like that will do wonders to help assuage the sorrow I feel over the death of dear Alias.'
Twenty-One
Kimbel insisted it should not appear as if the new croamarkh was singling out Thistle for special attention. He arranged for Victor Dhostar to pay a courtesy call on each grieving noble family to express his sympathies. The calls took two full days. Htfcuse Thalavar had been scheduled last, and Victor came to think of it as a reward for the ordeals he suffered at all the other houses. At each call, one of the ruling survivors button-holed him with some demand, request, or poorly veiled threat involving the family's continued support. Victor could only shake his head sadly at these people as if to reprimand them for sullying such a solemn occasion with common business.
He was received in the main hall of Castle Thalavar by Lady Thistle herself. The new head of House Thalavar was flanked by a pair of the ever-present halflings that plagued her particular household.
Victor recognized the halfling on Thistle's right as Alias's ally, Olive Ruskettle. The halfling's suspicious questions in the Faceless's lair remained ingrained in his memory. When he saw the icy look in her eyes, he
