by Kate Novak
The girl gulped. "Mercy," she said, nodding, then added, "My name is Mercy."
"Well, Mercy, it's customary to wait for a tip," Alias said, pressing, not a copper or silver, but a gold coin into her hand. "Part of this is your tip, but part is also payment for services to be rendered. I want you to keep a lookout on our room. К anyone goes into it who shouldn't, I want you to tell me afterward. Will you?"
Mercy gulped again and nodded, her eyes wide with fright. Alias could tell that the girl was glancing nervously at Dragonbait.
"You look the way I must have the first time I saw Dragonbait," Alias said. "I was so frightened, I threw a dagger at him. Fortunately, I missed." "What did he do?" Mercy asked.
"Well, he dropped the puppy he'd just rescued, and ran off."
"Do you like puppies?" the girl asked Dragonbait in astonishment. The saurial nodded solemnly.
"I knew you two would have a lot in common," Alias quipped. She looked back down the railing. "So, is that the servant from House Dhostar?" she asked, jerking her thumb in the direction of the foyer, where a man stood with his back to them.
"His name's Kimbel," Mercy whispered, obviously anxious that the man not overhear her. "Kimbel what?" Alias asked.
"Just Kimbel," Mercy replied. "He doesn't like puppies." With that pronouncement the servant girl slipped around Dragonbait and made off down the corridor, disappearing up a back staircase.
Dragonbait hissed, and Alias turned her attention to her companion. The paladin stood stock-still, with only the very tip of his tail twitching. He was glaring at Kimbel as if he might bore a hole through the servant with his eyes. Alias recognized the signs. His shen sight had detected something he did not like. She studied the servant's back. Kimbel was a slender,almost spidery man. His hairline receded several inches, and what remained of the graying blond hair was pulled back into a severe bun at the nape of the neck, held in place by two long silver hairpins, which Alias guessed could be used as weapons in a pinch. His shirt, trousers, and vest were simply but expensively tailored, all in black. The vest was decorated with silver studs in a geometric pattern. On another man the outfit might have appeared dashing, but it hung tdb loosely on Kimbel's spare frame.
"I take it that not liking puppies is not Kimbel's only failing," she said in Saurial, grateful to have words that could not be overheard.
Dragonbait rested his hand on the hilt of his sword. Alias could detect the just-baked bread scent of his anger and a whiff of the violetlike scent that he used to commu nicate danger. -? "What color evil are we talking here?" she asked.
"Purple," the paladin whispered, though he could not be overheard.
Alias felt a knot in her gut. Purple evil was the most disturbing to her. Purple evil took pleasure in the pain of others. Purple evil liked to be the inflicter of that pain.
Just then, Kimbel turned around and looked up at them. He wore pince-nez, with darkened lenses that hid his eyes, giving him an inhuman look.
Dragonbait, Alias realized, would be very uncomfortable with this man as an escort. She wasn't thrilled with the idea either. "We should accompany him anyway," she said, "so you can check out the croamarkh with your shen sight." Dragonbait nodded curtly, steeling himself to the task.
Kimbel stood motionlessly, watching the pair descend the stairs and approach him. Alias spotted the trading badge of the Dhostar household pinned to the lapel of his vest, but it wasn't until they stood directly before him that the servant showed them any recognition. Then he bowed very low at the waist, his back as stiff as iron. Alias sensed no respect in the servant's action. The display was intended to prop up the fa?ade of Kimbel's gentility.
When he stood erect again, Alias worked at suppressing a shudder. His clean-shaven but weak chin, and the flat eyes behind the darkened glasses, gave him a snakelike appearance.
"Alias, I presume," he said, his lip curling upward in an approximation of a smile. "I am Kimbel, servant to House Dhostar. I have been instructed to await your reply."
"We'll speak to your master. Where can he be found?" Alias asked.
"He is at the Watch Docks, overseeing the customs arrangements. I have a carriage waiting outside to take you to him." He spun about and strode from the inn. Alias and Dragonbait followed at a deliberately leisurely pace.
The carriage, pulled by four black horses, was a huge, black monstrosity that, though capable of holding eight comfortably, was unable to negotiate Westgate's smaller streets. The house trading badge, a wagon wheel topped by three stars, was painted on the doors. According to the briefing Elminster had given Alias, the design granted by the Westgate city council to family Dhostar required the wheel color be tawny, but the ones marking the carriage had been gilded. Apparently Luer Dhostar liked to show off his political power.
Dragonbait found the carriage ridiculous and would have preferred to walk or even run, but he wasn't about to leave Alias alone with Kimbel. Before he would climb in, though, he studied the driver for a full minute, assuring himself that at least that servant harbored no evil intentions. He sat beside Alias, facing the front of the carriage.
Kimbel folded himself into a corner facing them. Dragonbait, using ordinary vision, stared at him, trying to gather more information, but the servant sat rigid, making no attempt at conversation, betraying nothing of himself. Alias kept her eyes on the view outside the carriage.
The city in daylight bustled with activity. In order to keep the main thoroughfares clear for carriages, the law required expensive and limited permits to load or unload wagons on those streets. To circumvent the fees, brute force had become the means of transport on the wider avenues, which were consequently crammed with milling legions of porters lugging boxes, urns, wicker baskets, crates, and passengers in riding chairs in an ever-milling dance. Added to the crush were shopkeepers trying to hustle customers into their establishments and vendors pushing carts or toting backpacks and hawking the wares they offered.
The carriage passed Mintassan's, but there was no sign of the sage. At one cross-street Alias caught a glimpse of people gathered around a dancing minotaur. Down another she thought she saw a street theater group performing atop a hay wagon, but the carriage moved too quickly for her to notice if Jamal was among the actors.
They came out to the Market Triangle, and Alias had a momentarily unobstructed view of the bay and the harbor, as the northern sections of the city sloped gently down to the sea.
The harbor was a tapestry of sails attached to ships from all over the Sea of Fallen Stars, cogs from Aglarond and Thesk, red cedar galleys from Thay, caravels from the Living City and the Vilhon Reach, strangely carved crafts from Mulhorand and Chondath, and carracks from nearby Cormyr and Sembia. Westgate was a major port on the Inner Sea. It stood at the entrance to both the Neck, the channel leading to the Lake of Dragons, and the northernmost caravan route to the west. It was also one of the few cities that did not belong to a larger kingdom, so there were no national politics influencing the city's trade with the outside world. Trade was the city's reason for being.
The carriage followed the road down the peninsula that sheltered the western half of the harbor from the bay and pulled to a stop at the end of the Watch Dock. The driver hopped down, unfolded the stairs, and opened the door.
Kimbel hopped over the stairs, displaying a liveliness Alias suspected was meant to impress his master, then offered his hand to his charges. Alias accepted the servant's help without thinking about what she knew of him, but Dragonbait hissed him back and hopped over the stairs unassisted.
A great canopy had been erected before the Watch Dock warehouse, and a pole planted before it displayed the banners of those officials currently engaged in business there: the harbor watch's, the customs inspector's and, at the top, the croamarkh's.
Alias and Dragonbait followed Kimbel into the shade beneath the canopy. Rows of tables were set up beneath to process the paperwork required of anyone coming into or out of the city via the harbor. In one line stood ships' officer
s with bills of lading, in another, servants of various merchant houses with petitions to release seized' goods, and in a third, private passengers with their baggage. Alias and Dragonbait had come through this last line the evening before. This morning there was a noticeable improvement in the efficiency of customs personnel.
Alias could pick out with ease the inspiration of the efficiency-a large, solidly muscled man with a stonily impassive face, who hovered behind the customs officials seated at the tables. Each time the man moved to stand behind some worker, the worker wriggled nervously and concentrated with fervor on the work before him. The reaction was so pronounced that even were the man not wearing the chain of office about his neck, Alias would have guessed he was Croamarkh Luer Dhostar. His mantle of snow-white hair was swept back and held in place with a gold headband. The long, sleeveless robe he wore over his silk shirt and velvet trousers was made of the most elaborate brocade Alias had ever seen. Every finger sported a ring set with a stone worth a princess's ransom.
As Kimbel and the adventurers approached him, the croamarkh was leaning over the table beside one worker who perused a document handed to him by a servant wearing the trading badge of the Urdo family. The croamarkh leaned forward and drummed his fingers on the table beside the worker as he read the document over the worker's shoulder. One might have thought the servant would have appreciated the extra attention his paperwork was getting, but instead he shifted uneasily from one foot to the other and bit his lower lip repeatedly.
Kimbel brought their presence to the croamarkh's attention with a simple, "Milord," but the older man motioned him to silence.
Alias noted Kimbel's jaw tighten, and was pleased to learn the servant did on occasion betray his feelings.
The Croamarkh pulled a document out from beneath the worker's elbow and chastised him. "If you would keep abreast of the documents sent from the council, you would realize that this shipment was cleared last week." He pointed out the relevant lines to the worker. Flushed with red, the worker,whispered a terrified, "Yes, sir," and stamped the servant's release papers.
The servant from,the house of Urdo reached for the papers, but Luer Dhostar grabbed his wrist. "You tell your master," he said to the servant, "that this document releases only the statuary, not the ten pounds of smoke powder we found hidden inside. He will also be charged with the time it took our men to drill out the bottoms of each statue and empty them of the proscribed substance." With that, he pushed-the servant's hand away.
The servant fled from the scene like a game bird released from a trap.
Only then did Dhostar turn his attention to the newcomers. "Well?" he addressed Kimbel.
Kimbel smiled pleasantly despite his lord's glare. He stepped forward and gave the croamarkh a half bow. "Milord," he said, "may I present Alias and Dragonbait?"
Lord Dhostar stepped out from behind the table and inspected the adventurers with the appraising look he might give a shipment of goods. He dispensed with pleasantry and preamble and addressed the pair directly. "It's been brought to my attention that the pair of you interrupted a number of Night Mask activities last night."
Alias could tell by his tone that he did not require an affirmation on their part, though he made the statement sound so much like an accusation that she wondered if he was expecting her to make a denial. Alias remained silent beneath the croamarkh's gaze, but kept her eyes locked on his.
The croamarkh raised his eyebrows in appreciation of the woman's nerve. He continued. "Common tongues are always quick to wag about heroes. Wiser tongues question. So-whom do you serve?"
It was hardly the question Alias expected, so she was for a moment confused by it. She shot a look at Dragonbait, who she could see was studying the croamarkh with his shen sight. As the paladin did not seem to be exhibiting the same violent reaction he'd had to Kimbel, the swordswoman relaxed and answered the question simply. "No one." Then she decided she'd better rephrase that. "I sell my sword as I choose," she said. "At the moment, it's available.
"So you are not an agent, representative, or servant of another house?" Lord Dhostar queried sharply.
"I'm not working for anyone in Westgate," the swordswoman responded, her brow knitting in irritation with the cross-examination.
Lord Dhostar frowned, apparently unable to believe that she was truly free of allegiances. He stared hard at her, trying to assess her truthfulness. As he did so, another man wearing the trading badge of the Dhostar family approached. He was dressed less fashionably than Kimbel, in a simple white shirt, dusty brown breeches, and muddy riding boots, but from the way he took a place at the croamarkh's right hand. Alias presumed he was a servant of higher rank. He was tall and handsome, with wavy brown hair and bright blue eyes, and although he looked only thirty-some years old, he was more self-assured in the croamarkh's presence than anyone else Alias had seen. He held a packet of letters up, and, as he stood waiting patiently for Dhostar to finish his business with the swordswoman and take the packet, the younger man grinned and winked at Alias.
Finally, the croamarkh harrumphed and said, "We have a watch in this city. It keeps the common people orderly. The Night Masks, however, are a lawless bunch.
I want someone to deal exclusively with them. I want them knocked down every time they have the arrogance to rise. I want them to start fearing the consequences of crossing me. I'm prepared to pay you a retainer of one thousand gold coins. After a ten-day trial, I'll evaluate what I think your continued service would be worth and we can negotiate your pay."
"Ill need more information and some time to consider your offer," Alias replied.
The croamarkh raised his eyebrows again. No doubt it had been a long time since he'd offered someone that much money and been told he must wait for a reply. "Fine," he replied sharply. "Victor, here," and he jerked his head in the direction of the new arrival who'd winked at Alias, "will be yomv liaison. You can ask him your questions and let him know your answer by this evening."
"So, Your Lordship," Victor asked the croamarkh, "are you going to authorize the hiring of more staff for customs inspection?"
"Only if the inspector fires the staff he has," Dhostar growled as he took the parcel of letters from the younger man. "If my people worked as well as his do, I'd be a poor man. Convince this woman she would do well to accept my offer. I'm returning with Kimbel to our own docks." "Yes, Your Lordship," Victor replied.
Without even a nod, the croamarkh strode away with Kimbel in his wake.
Alias shot Dragonbait a questioning look about the croamarkh. "Gray," the paladin said.
"Gray? Just gray?" Alias complained in Saurial, hoping for some other insight into Dhostar's character. Gray was neutral, neither evil nor virtuous.
"Bleak and empty, a cold rain drizzling on an abandoned keep. Strong and very, very proud," Dragonbait replied.
Victor, unable to hear the high-pitched tones of the adventurers' conversation in Saurial, stood before them grinning, waiting for Alias to speak. After a moment, he ran his fingers nervously through his hair, pushing it back off his forehead, and spoke up. "Well, I have my orders. Do you mind if we walk while we talk? I have to look over some ships that have come in for inspection."
"Fine," Alias said, following the man from beneath the canopy. The three walked along the broad stone quay, in the direction of the hghthouse that stood at the mouth of the harbor.
Victor began brightly, "The Night Masks have been a thorn in Westgate's side for, oh, fifteen years, at least. Most people consider them part of the price of doing business here, but the croamarkh is a man of law and justice. He wants the citizens of Westgate freed from the tyranny of their lawlessness."
"Yes," Alias said, "I can see he's frantic with worry for them." "I beg your pardon?" Victor said.
"Luer Dhostar is a merchant. His first concern is that his books show a healthy balance. Now that that balance is so obscenely huge, there's no challenge to his work, and, not content with being the bane of the dance floor or the dessert tab
le, he takes on the mission of proving his greatness. He keeps a carriage large enough to house a halfling family. He hangs over customs workers, demonstrating he's more competent than they in a job he couldn't stomach for a week. He tries to hire professionals to do away with a thieves guild he tolerated for his first three terms because now they are an embarrassment. Their continued unchallenged activity proves they have more power than he. He has no more concern for the people of Westgate than the Night Masks do."
Victor was stunned into a momentary silence. When he spoke again, though, his tone was fervent. "You're wrong. Father cares very much for the people of Westgate, as do I. He just has a hard time showing it."
"Very diplomatic," Dragonbait chided Alias in Saurial. "You've just insulted your new employer to his son."
Alias closed her eyes and stated the now obvious, "You're his son."
The young man bowed low. "Victor Dhostar, scion of House Dhostar, heir to Croamarkh Luer Dhostar, bane-in-training of the dance floor and the dessert table, at your service." Alias felt a paralyzing blush climb to her face. Dragonbait gave her an order in Saurial.
"How do you do, Your Lordship?" Alias said, repeating, like a puppet, the phrases the paladin fed to her. "I'm Alias, and this is my companion, Dragonbait. Dragonbait begs that you forget this swordewoman's foolish gaff."
"What gaff?" Victor asked with a smile. Then he was serious once again. "It is true, some of what you say. We are concerned with our books' balances, and Father does like to show off, but we merchants aren't all heartless. Just as I'm sure there are some compassionate sell-swords."
"Touche," Alias conceded the young merchant the point.
"It is true that the, merchant families have tolerated the Night Masks too long," Victor said with an apologetic tone. "Some of the families, or to be more accurate, some members of some families, find organized criminals useful. Sort of a shadow government that keeps the more powerful families in check and allows the lesser merchants a leg up with illegal business dealings. All the families use them to handle business they would rather not sully their hands with, or pay to keep them away from their doors." "Does that include House Dhostar?" Alias asked.
