by Kate Novak
Masquerades
( Harpers - 10 )
Kate Novak
Jeff Grubb
Kate Novak, Jeff Grubb
Masquerades
One
The Night Masks
Alias watched the young couple seated at the edge of the plaza fountain. They appeared as stark silhouettes backlit by a golden sunset. The swordswoman shielded her eyes from] the glare and picked out more detail. The boy's tender face and oversized ' jerkin were both blackened by soot, and the young woman's face and apron were dusted with flour. Apprentice smith and baker's daughter, Alias guessed. Oblivious to the presence of others, the pair sat side by side, staring wordlessly into one another's eyes. The boy leaned forward; the girl leaned forward; their lips hovered inches apart…
Then the girl turned her head and giggled. The boy scowled and frowned, certain that she was laughing at him, at something he'd done. Then the girl looked back at him; the light danced in her eyes, and she smiled. The boy's face twisted into a lopsided grin. He leaned toward the girl, and they began the courtship dance again.
Alias smiled, too, until her reverie was broken by the sharp cough of her reptilian companion, a sound akin to a sword being unsheathed.
"Fur-gathering about courtship?" teased Dragonbait. The saurial swiveled on his hips so that he stood upright, his heavy upper body balanced by a prodigious tail that now twitched back and forth impatiently. Although he stood at his full height, he had to look up at the swordswoman. Even the top of the flared fin erupting from between his eyes and cresting over his skull reached only to Alias's shoulder. Beneath his hooded cloak the saurial's face was more dragonlike than human, and his hide was made up of smooth, pebbly scales. He wore a soft leather tunic cinched at his waist with a broad belt of interlocking metal plates. In one clawed hand he carried an ornate staff of ash decorated with mouse skulls and orange feathers. He was trying to make it appear as if he actually needed the staff to walk, so would-be thieves would not be so quick to assume the staff was some powerful piece of magic, which in fact-it was. To complete the illusion of being a lame beast, he had even gone so far as to give his enchanted blade to Alias to wear on her weapon's belt.
Alias's hand slid down beneath her cape to her own scabbard, reassuring herself that her sword and Drag-onbait's weapon were both within reach. She wore chain mail over her tunic, plate protectors over her leggings, arms and shoulders, and an iron collar about her throat. Even without the armor, though, there was no mistaking she was anything but a swordswoman. Her attractive figure was muscled from years of drilling for combat, trekking about in heavy armor, and battling monstrous foes. She wore her bright red hair cropped short, and her green eyes were constantly shifting about, alert to any and all possible dangers. "The word is woolgathering," she corrected her companion.
Two passing pedestrians turned their heads to see if she was talking to herself, for Dragonbait had spoken in Saurial, a tongue too high-pitched for the normal human ear, while Alias had repUed in the ordinary Common language of the Realms. A magic spell gave her the ability to hear and understand the saurial's "voice," and even speak it, but only a decade of comradeship allowed her to pick up the nuances of the accessory scents, clicks, and postures that conveyed his mood and tone. Other reptilian creatures, such as dragons and lizard men, still often understood him more swiftly and completely than she did.
Conversely, the more subtle nuances of her language often eluded the saurial. "Isn't wool the fur of sheep?" he asked. "Yes, but you have to say woolgathering," she replied. "Why?"
Abas shrugged. "Maybe something to do with counting sheep before you go to sleep."
Dragonbait nodded at the wisdom of tallying a herd before resting, but still couldn't understand what that had to do with daydreaming.
"Actually," Alias countered before her companion could distract her further, "I was not woolgathering about courtship. I was thinking about how foolish those youngsters are. Look at them, oblivious to the world."
"Their eyes are for each other," Dragonbait whistled, and Alias caught a whiff of rose and honeysuckle-sort of a saurial sigh. He was thinking, she realized, of CopperBloom, his mate who had remained behind in the Lost Vale with their children. Alias also knew that the paladin had agreed to adventure so far south with her only because their mission was for the good of the saurial tribe.
"For each other, yes," Alias grumbled, "not for the world around them, or for their change-purses. They're oblivious to how long I or anyone else may have been staring at them. Splashing water in the fountain would drown out any sound of approaching footsteps. They're sitting ducks for any purse-snatcher, pickpocket, or grifter that happens by."
"They should be fairly safe," Dragonbait argued, puzzled by her assessment of the dangers. "They are in the middle of a city with lots of people around. And surely they have friends nearby."
Alias gave a derisive grin and snort, "We are in the middle of Westgate, my friend. Crime is this town's hobby, vocation, and major export. Didn't you read the sign at the port entrance-'Welcome to Westgate, Home of the Deadly Night Masks?" "I saw no such welcome sign," Dragonbait stated. "I'm joking, Dragonbait. Remember humor?"
"I do not understand the humor. Maybe because I'm saurial." Alias shook her head. She switched to the Saurial tongue, "Or maybe because you're a paladin," she suggested. "Haven't met the paladin yet who could catch a joke on the first bounce."
"How many paladins have you met besides me?" the saurial asked.
Evading the question, Alias declared, "We should get going. The sooner we find this sage Mintassan, the sooner we can unload that staff and escape this wretched city."
Dragonbait nodded in agreement. The saurial wizard Grypht had arranged for them to meet the sage Mintassan and exchange the staff for a scrying device to help protect the saurials from attack. If not for the importance of the mission, the paladin never would have agreed to travel to Westgate. His two previous trips to this city had been fraught with peril, and he did not harbor any fondness for the merchant town.
Alias surveyed the six streets leading away from the plaza. "This way," she instructed, pointing down the least grand of the thoroughfares.
The two adventurers left the plaza and the young couple behind in the gathering shadows. The westward sky had turned the crimson of dragon's blood, coloring pink the mounting clouds over the bay to the east. As if in response to the dangers of the darkening city, the clouds were fleeing southward, leaving only starlight to shine over the city below.
The buildings surrounding the plaza, homes to merchants and taverns catering to traders, while not of the most recent or expensive designs, were neat and well scrubbed, and the roads immediately adjacent were spacious and relatively uncluttered. As the two adventurers probed farther into the city, the quarters became more tightly packed, the alleyways narrower and strewn with the debris of civilization. Alias, taking one shortcut after another, dragged her companion off the main flagstone roads and down alleys of hard-packed earth until the saurial paladin had seen more backsides of buildings than front. As they stepped onto another main artery of the city, Dragonbait noted that the merchants were pulling down the great overhanging wooden shutters that provided shade from the sun during the day and protection from criminals at night. Lanterns were already alight outside the bars and slophouses, though their weakly flickering flames served more for advertisement than to chase away the gathering shadows.
Dragonbait mewled once with consternation and pulled from his belt a folded piece of paper. He grasped the edges, and the sheet unfolded like a delicate Turmish paper sculpture. Dragonbait paused beneath a lantern pole, squinted at the human letters and lines scrawled in octopus ink, looked around for a landmark, then squ
inted again at the map. He growled.
Alias had already crossed the street and was about to plunge into a wide alley before she sensed that her companion was no longer in tow. With a huff, she stomped back across the street and tugged on the paladin's cloak. "Will you come on?" she demanded, "rd like to make this exchange and find decent quarters before midnight."
Dragonbait did not look up from the map. "I do not recognize this area," he said flatly.
"Don't worry," Alias reassured him breezily. "We're on Silverpiece Way, north of the market. We cut down this alley, cross Naga Way, go left on Southgate Market Street to where Fishman's old place was before the fire, go right, and we're there." "This alley is not on the map," he countered.
"Of course not," replied Alias, "You think an ink-stained mapmaker is going to risk his hide in this neighborhood? Anything you see sketched in the poorer sections of town-it comes from a cartographer's imagination-it's just doodles. The poor don't buy maps, and the wealthy never come this way. Come on. I know where we're going. I grew up here, remember?"
"You did not. You were born-" Dragonbait began arguing, but stopped when he realized he was addressing Alias's back as she headed for the alley.
He refolded the map hastily, shoved it into his belt, and chased after his companion, emitting clicks-the saurial version of grumbling.
Alias had not grown up in Westgate. She had not grown up anywhere. She was a magical creation designed by an alliance of evil beings who tricked the great bard Finder Wyvernspur into building her. Their intent had been to use her as their personal assassin, but she had found the strength of will to turn on them and destroy them. A swirling azure tattoo graced her right arm from elbow to wrist, a constant reminder of her previous enslavement, and of her quest for freedom.
Nonetheless, in order to complete the illusion of a real human, Finder had invested Alias with memories of growing up in Westgate. Although the memories were total fiction, they provided her with an intimate knowledge of the city-a knowledge that, so far, seemed infallible.
The shortcut Alias took now plunged through an even more decaying quarter, of the city. The alley was wider, as if the buildings on each side did not want to get too close to the greenish sewage that flowed down the center of the lane. The walls had been blackened by decades of grime and colored with graffiti. Any windows or doors that had once opened to the alley at the ground level were walled over with mismatched stone only slightly less dirt-encrusted than the surrounding stone.
Dragonbait ambled after Alias with a growing feeling of anxiety. He concentrated on his shen sight, the ability to perceive good and evil, a gift from his gods to aid him in his duties. Although he could see nothing in the darkness, he could sense trouble up ahead on the right, two souls pricked by constant greed and rotted by a disgusting pleasure in the pain and humiliation of other creatures.
First one, then the other-hulking brutes, human, but a head taller than even Alias-stepped from the shadows. They were dressed in dark leather jerkins and trousers. The satin capes that hung over their shoulders fit so poorly that Alias suspected the capes had been acquired from much smaller and no doubt weaker persons. They had kohl-marked eyes and a broad swipe of soot running from temple to temple. They reminded Dragonbait of raccoons-with unsheathed swords.
The leader held up a gloved hand and thundered, "Hold, travlers. You need to answer a few questions."
Dragonbait growled, and Alias gave a short, almost imperceptible nod. She didn't need shen sight to realize the pair meant trouble. "Who's doing the asking?" the swordswoman inquired politely.
"We are humble customs agents," said the lead raccoon, and his companion stifled a grin. "It is our duty to make sure travlers have the proper paperwork for items they bring in t' sale in Westgate, transactions they revoke here, and material for exportating-ah-talcing out."
Alias, who could hardly check her own amusement, wondered who had taught this thief his patter. She heard the scrape of boots on hard earth behind her, and guessed there were more "agents" blocking escape from the mouth of the alley. Dragonbait would be aware of them with his shen sight.
"Ah," said Alias, throwing back her cloak in a gesture to show that her hands were empty, and incidentally giving her easy access to her scabbard, "but as you can see, we have no such paperwork. Your fellow customs agents at the watch dock determined that we carried nothing of sufficient value to warrant any fees. As you can see, we carry only personal property. So you need waste no more of your time on us." She smiled sweetly.
The second raccoon edged forward and whispered something in the leader's ear. The lead raccoon waved him back in annoyance. "Well, y" know those boys at the dock are so overwarked, they get careless," the leader said. "For instance, your pet-"
"He is not a pet," Alias snapped, her smile becoming brittle. "He's my companion."
"— carries an interesting staff," continued the raccoon leader.
"My companion uses the staff because he is lame," Alias argued, her tone now more severe.
"Nonetheless, we'll have t'zamine it, prob'ly take it back to our superiors for-um-" The thief fumbled for the word. No doubt he was new to the shakedown trade, more accustomed and suited to the mindless violence of muggings. "Proper evaluation?" suggested Alias.
The thief nodded. "Prop'revaluation," he agreed and flashed a gap-toothed smile.
"I see," said Alias. "Dragonbait, show the nice man your staff."
The saurial limped forward, looking like a tired, lost, wounded puppy. He held his arms out with his palms upward, the staff resting across them. The raccoon leader towered over him and reached out to snare his prize with a free hand.
Dragonbait arched his tail around and slapped the ornamented end of the staff. The thick ash of the lower portion of the staff swung upward and smashed the thief square in the face..The thief dropped his sword and grasped his nose and mouth with both hands. Sputtering blood and bits of teeth, he fell to his knees.
Alias tensed, listening to the shuffle of heavy boots behind her and, without looking back, swung an elbow upward sharply. There was a cracking sound as her elbow guard connected with something solid. A rearguard raccoon gasped and groaned, having discovered that grabbing the swordswoman from behind was not as simple as it looked.
Alias spun about, launching a kick in the direction of the groan. She struck her assailant in the hip, and he crashed to the ground. From behind him came a fourth raccoon, wielding a blade.
The swordswoman retreated a step, pressing her back briefly against the saurial's as she drew her slender sword. Dragonbait's hand slid back and patted her hip, indicating that, although he'd dropped the staff, he had no intention of drawing his own enchanted blade from the swordswoman's second scabbard. For such dishonorable opponents he preferred to go hand to hand.
The paladin hopped onto the kneeling raccoon leader's shoulders, driving the thief into the ground, then used him aa a springboard to leap, snarling and clawing, toward the leader's companion. A trained fighter might have had the presence of mind to meet the charge with his sword, but the companion reacted instinctively, raising both arms to protect his face from what appeared to be a raging beast. Dragonbait landed hard on his foe, sending him sprawling back into the brackish green sewage flowing through the center of the alley, knocking the wind out of the thief. The last thing the human saw was the saurial's gleaming, sharp white teeth, then Dragonbait snapped his jaw shut and head-butted him in the face. The human remained motionless as the water dammed up behind him and finally flowed around him. Dragonbait rose, pawing and sniffing with distaste at the evil-smelling, oily liquid splattered on his tunic.
The last assailant, the one facing Alias, had the wisdom to hang on to his weapon, but not much experience in its use. He led with his sword, lunging at Alias, who neatly sidestepped the thrust and brought the heavy pommel of her own blade down hard on the back of his neck. The raccoon-faced man sprawled forward and did not rise. The entire battle took only thirty seconds.
&
nbsp; "No fatalities," Dragonbait observed as he kicked away their felled opponents weapons.
"We can find the local watch and send them in to-" He hesitated, noting how Alias stood stock-still, scanning the rooflines of the buildings surrounding them. "Problem?" he asked.
Keeping her eyes on the rooftops and switching once again to the Saurial tongue, Alias explained, "The Night Masks guild is the strongest criminal organization in the west; some say it's the real power in Westgate. They didn't get there without more cunning than our humbled 'customs agents' here possess. The guild assigns watchers to spy on their thugs-to make sure they don't skimp on reporting their loot and to provide backup in case of emergencies. I'm looking for this group's nanny… There!" Alias declared, pointing up at a roof to the north.
Dragonbait snapped his head upward, but caught sight of only a fluttering cape disappearing beyond the roofline.
"He'll go for reinforcements. Let's get moving," Alias suggested.
Dragonbait picked up the staff, inspecting it hastily to be sure its sudden impact with the Night Mask's face hadn't damaged it. Then he hurried down the alley after Alias.
A second alley crossed the one they traveled in, and they hurried through the intersection with all their senses on the alert. From ahead oame the sound of music, singing, and shouting.
Dragonbait and Alias exchanged glances and headed toward the sound. Their ears led them to a small paved street that opened into a plaza dominated by a fountain just like the one where the lovers had sat. Probably both had been built by the same works project to bring more water to the commoners, Alias guessed.
A local street fair was just getting started all about the fountain. Paper lanterns swayed in the trees. A bonfire crackled on a patch of flagstone before the fountain. An old woman with a yarting and little boy with a drum were playing reels for girls who whirled about in the street and taunted boys on the sides to come dance with them. Tavern owners were setting up chairs and makeshift bars of sawhorses and planks. Dwarves rolled great barrels of ale and mead through the street to supply the bars. A couple of halflings were already halfway through one of their never-ending drinking songs. The air was full of laughter, shouts, mild curses, and the smell of spit-roasted fish.
