The Thayan was followed by a Sembian, various Dalesmen, and representatives of King Azoun's court. Each, in turn, was similarly reassured. One of the surviving old nobles, Maergyrm Thorsar, had scheduled an appointment to lecture the croamarkh on Waterdhavian moneylenders. Victor was afraid he'd fall asleep before he was able to show the old bore the door. After Thorsar came the widow of Ssentar Urdo, who was protesting a rumor she had heard that Alias would get a statue when none was being erected for the widow's dear, departed husband and sons. Then, when Victor thought his schedule was finally cleared, Durgar arrived with the arrest reports, which required the croamarkh's attention due to the delicate nature of some of the arrested persons.
As it was, Victor was drained, both mentally and physically, when he finally escaped back to his castle. Yet not even then could he rest. He stood wearily as Kimbel bedecked him in his heavy, dark robes, tied on the porcelain mask that protected him from magical discovery, and finally covered him with the coin mask, which transformed him into the Faceless.
With a sigh, Victor stepped up to and then through the mirror in his chambers. The reflective surface parted for him like a pool of still water and deposited him in his latest secret lair. This one lay in a rough-hewn sub- basement beneath the currently empty Vhammos Castle.
The Night Masters were as restless as halflings waiting for dinner. The irregularities of the days since the ball had strained their self-discipline to the limits. They spoke out of turn, often all at once, questioned his every command, and made demands of their own. They made the nobles in the surface world seem like reasonable, rational beings. For a moment, Victor considered turning his remaining golems loose among them, but only for a moment, for he still needed the Night Masters to keep the peace among the Night Masks. Later, he thought, when they've outlived their usefulness.
'When can we get back to business?' Harborside asked..
'Do you realize how much money I'm losing?' Thunn- side whined. ft
'People are saying'that witch Alias killed you. Why aren't you doing something about it?' Noble Relations clamored.
'How do we know you really are the Faceless? Can you give us proof?' Enforcement demanded.
Victor let his frustrations drain away as he embraced his Faceless persona. Once again he was demanding, powerful, and sure of himself. He turned his face toward Enforcement.
'Would you like the same demonstration I gave to Gateside?' the Faceless queried, a certain amount of amusement creeping into his magically disguised voice.
All voices were silenced immediately. The Faceless motioned for all to be seated.
'Alias is dead. Of that you had proof. Perhaps you would like me to leave her arm on this table as a centerpiece for a few weeks. Alias's allies and the croamarkh who hired her are also dead. It is hardly my fault that people are fools enough to believe she succeeded in destroying me. Nonetheless, for the moment it suits my plans for people to believe in my demise. The new croamarkh is far more pliable than his father was, and he will serve us well, but it is important that his power be more firmly established. Therefore we will let him take credit for my destruction, for the time being.
'As for how much money you are losing, Thunnside, I really don't care. You've earned more wealth in this position than a dragon could hoard in its lifetime. If you could contain your urge to gamble, you would still have all that wealth. And, last, but not least, Harborside. Your business at the moment is to contain your forces. This is essential to your continuing in your current position. I guarantee it will be worth your while.'
Having poured oil on their turbulent waters, the Faceless pressed on. 'As a direct result of our success against Alias and her allies, information has come into my hands regarding the treasure hoard of King Verovan.'
There was a collective gasp, just barely audible, but unmistakable. The Faceless smiled. Now he had them by their pocketbooks. Verovan's legendary hoard was the secret fantasy of every thief in Westgate.
'The young fool Mintassan discovered the secret,' the Night Masters' lord explained, 'though the sage never investigated it. Just as legend has it, there is a magical gate from the battlements above. Unlike all who have tried before me to locate this gate, I have discovered the location of the key. Once I have that key, Verovan's hoard will he ours to pillage.'
A murmur of approval rose from the nine surviving Night Masters, but the Faceless was not finished. He silenced them with a stroke of his hand. When they grew silent, their master continued. 'I want you to call together your lieutenants, their assistants, and their assistants' minions, along with whatever fighters, priests, and wizards you trust and choose to reward. We will gather in the main hall of Castle Vhammos in three nights' time to loot Verovan's hoard. Then there will be no doubt that it is the Night Masks who truly rule Westgate!'
Harborside led a round of applause, which silenced any other questions or doubts. The Night Masters filed out, congratulating themselves on their good fortune. Seated on his stone throne, Victor, the Faceless, cradled a heavy head in his hand. It was exhausting managing a city, a family business, a criminal cartel, and a seduction all at once. When he finally had Verovan's treasure, he would turn loose his golems on this nest of thieves. Then there would be nothing standing between him and his eventual empire.
Twenty-Two
Olive's attempts to steer Thistle away from Victor were thwarted by the hard-line attitude of her supposed ally, Miss Winterhart. The halfling newcomer, while capable, intelligent, and alert, had to be the most tactless halfling in Faerun. Unfortunately, Olive did not discover this flaw until the morning after Thistle's dinner date with Victor Dhostar, and by then it was too late.
That morning Olive was headed toward the dining hall, her mind on mushroom-and-chicken omelets, when she heard Thistle, angry and strident, shout, 'It is none of your business what Victor and I did last night.'
All thoughts of breakfast took a back seat to whatever potential disaster was brewing with the mistress of the house. Olive veered in the direction of the shout. She spied Thistle seated on the veranda, cornered by an irate Winterhart.
'It is very much my business if it threatens you or your household,' Miss Winterhart snapped back just as Olive stepped outside to join them.
'Something amiss?' Olive asked helpfully, hoping to instill some calm in the air before the other halflings in the household heard the argument and began gossiping about it.
'This new halfling of yours,' said Thistle, her eyes squinting with annoyance, 'is prying into my private affairs. Her manner has gone beyond mere halfling cheek, and verges on full-fledged impertinence.' If Thistle had been standing, Olive was sure she would have stamped her dainty little foot, but she was not, and so Olive was spared that bit of theatrics.
'She sneaked out to dine with Victor Dhostar last night without a chaperon or a bodyguard,' Winterhart explained to Olive, 'and she did not return until well after the midnight bell.
'I am mistress of this house,' Thistle retorted shrilly. 'I will not be given a curfew.'
'Of course not, Lady Thistle,' Olive agreed. 'Yet midnight is a little late for a dinner engagement to run, even in Westgate. Surely you can understand how Miss Winterhart must have worried for your safety.'
'There was nothing to worry about,' Thistle replied, her voice softening a little. 'It was just a dinner aboard The Gleason, a farewell banquet for the captain and the officers. Afterward we climbed up the lighthouse, just for the view. That's all.' 'A likely story,' Winterhart exclaimed.
'I beg your pardon?' Thistle said with a shocked expression.
'You heard me,' Winterhart replied. 'He didn't take you up there for the view. He took you up there so he could give you his little speech about how he dreamed of finding Verovan's treasure so he could use it to make Westgate the greatest city in the Realms-greater than Waterdeep. How he'll make Westgate safe, fill it with scholars and musicians, irrigate the fields.'
Thistle started at the mention of Verovan's treasure, but her tone was as cold as the Great Glacier when she answered. 'I do not appreciate my own staff spying on me. How dare you follow us?'
'Did you believe him when he told you he felt he could conquer the world with you by his side? When he
