Masquerades h-10

by Kate Novak

  "Come on," Alias chided from the hallway. "I don't want to keep him waiting." Dragonbait followed bis companion from the room.

  Victor stood at the bottom of the stairs, looking up at Alias with delight written all over his face. Was it possible, the saurial wondered, that the merchant's pleasure could be a ruse? With his shen sight, the paladin studied the man as he bowed low before Alias. Once more he saw nothing but the cool blue flame that symbolized virtue. Dragonbait shook himself. It was entirely possible that Olive was wrong and that Victor was everything he appeared. The paladin descended the stairs, determined to make no more judgments until he'd heard what the merchant noble had to say about the key and his father.

  Victor made a polite, although less dramatic, bow to greet Dragonbait. From the corner of his eye the paladin caught sight of Jamal in the shadow of a pillar. She winked conspiratorially at the paladin as Victor ushered his guests out of the hotel.

  From the anteroom behind the actress, a small voice noted, They've dressed alike."

  Jamal turned to face the little half-elven servant girl, Mercy. "Pardon?" the woman asked.

  "Lord Victor and Mistress Alias," the girl explained. The fabric of the sash about his waist is the same as her baldric-the same diamond design. And his tunic is dark red velvet, too. A darker shade than Mistress Alias's gown, but close. He has her favor on his tunic, too." "Her favor?"

  "She gave him a lock of her hair the other night. I saw her cut it off. I was watching from my window," Mercy admitted. "It was so romantic."

  Jamal frowned. "It looked romantic. That's not always the same as being romantic," she muttered.

  "No, Ma'am," the girl replied, too well trained to argue. She scurried off to avoid any further disagreeable comments. The aging actress leaned back against the pillar, realizing she must sound like an ill-tempered old maid. It was a curse, knowing so much. It made it impossible for her to suspend her disbelief and accept a fairy-tale romance as fact. Westgate nobles did not court for love, and they certainly did not court commoners. What was Victor Dhostar up to? she wondered.

  The ride to the Tower, where the ball was to be held, was brief but lively. Victor steered the carriage skillfully through streets full of people apparently gathered to watch the pageantry of the nobles in their splendor. The crowds recognized not only Lord Victor but Alias as well, and cheers and shouts greeted them all the way to the market. Still, Alias felt compelled by Dragonbait's dour look to lean over and ask the merchant noble, "Have you spoken with your father?"

  Victor nodded and returned a wave to a gathering in an outdoor cafe. "I'll tell you about it later, in private."

  The watch was posted around the perimeter of the market, allowing only those who had an invitation to the ball to approach. Victor pulled his carriage up to the edge of the green. A member of the watch in buffed leather armor and a white capelet with a white plume jutting from his helmet helped Alias down from the carriage. Victor's elderly driver stepped up from the green to take the horses' reins from his master and move the carriage out of the way of newer arrivals.

  Lord Victor donned his mask, a mere strip of red velvet with eyeholes bordered with gold stitching. Alias and Dragonbait did likewise, then their host led them up a path covered with ornate carpets. The market had been cleared of its mercantile trappings, leaving the crowds about the green a clear view of the nobles as they climbed the path to the Tower.

  The Tower was alight with magical faerie fire, which formed the symbols of all the noble houses of Westgate, from Athagdal to Vhammos. Alias shuddered to think about all the nobles' homes guarded only by sleepy servants. The Night Masks must make quite a haul on nights like these, she realized.

  There was a small queue of glittering nobles inside the Tower's entrance. "What are we waiting for?" Alias whispered.

  This is a formal ball," he explained. "We must be announced, so the others present know we are here." "And can give us the once-over," Alias mused. "Don't worry," Victor said. "You look radiant."

  When they reached the front of the queue, Victor leaned over to give their names to the acting seneschal,another member of the watch with a white capelet and white plume.

  "Lord Victor of House Dhostar," the seneschal announced. "Alias, Foe of the Faceless, and Dragonbait, Companion of Alias."

  "Foe of the Faceless?" Alias repeated with disbelief, her laughter muffled behind her mask.

  "It's the thought on everyone's mind, here," said Victor. "You might as well admit it."

  Dragonbait pushed on his mask, which kept slipping up on his reptilian muzzle. He wished irritably that the Foe of the Faceless had not chosen him a mask with feathers. They kept tickling his eyes.

  The interior of the Tower was awash with light. Hundreds of candles bufned from a large central chandelier of cast iron, and all about the perimeter hung magical globes of light enchanted to appear as if salamanders and efreeti were dancing inside the orbs. Two great mirrors hung opposite one another, reflecting back into the room all the light they caught and creating the illusion of two infinite corridors filled with revelers.

  The watch officers' desks had become buffet tables, and a ten-piece orchestra was playing a rondo. A dozen couples occupied the center of the floor, spinning in their own little orbits around an imaginary central point. The stairs to the upper levels were blocked by more of the watch, decked in white plumage.

  The guests' clothing was rich and varied, but it was the masks that impressed Alias the most. They ranged from simple domino masks and silk veils to full face sculptures of papier macho and enamel. There were silvered globes of the sort worn by priests of Leira, the goddess of illusion, and more than a few veils of strung coins or beads. Most amusing were the masks that were common to street theaters everywhere: the Merchant, the Gossip, the Red Wizard, the Cat Burglar, the Twins.

  Alias spotted Durgar dressed in his silvered armor but wearing the mask of the Doctor, a pompous character in street plays who always offered bad advice. With its high forehead, bulbous nose, and thick handlebar mustache,the mask looked like a parody of Durgar's own face. The swordswoman would never have credited the priest with such a sense of humor.

  Catching sight of Haztor Urdo's black, puffed out hair, Alias paused to watch him. The Night Mask noble was wearing the mask of another theater staple-Captain Crocodile, the foolish, brash young warrior who blusters, but at heart seeks only love. Haztor was flirting with a woman dressed in an extremely low-cut gown made of fabric covered in mirrored facets and a silvered globe mask. Alias watched them just long enough to see the woman slap the young man and stalk off.

  Alias chuckled. "Their battles are fought at the ball," she quoted. "Pardon?" Victor asked.

  "A song that my-* She hesitated a moment. "That Finder Wyvernspur wrote about nobility in general," she explained. In a low voice audible only to Victor and Dragonbait, adjusting to the rhythm of the orchestra, Alias sang softly: "For all of their dancing, Posturing, prancing, They'll fight with their backs to the wall. Till then they are eating And drinking and meeting; Their battles are fought at the ball."

  Victor smiled. "That sounds like Westgate," he agreed. "Good evening, Lady Nettel," he said.

  Alias turned to greet the elderly Thalavar matriarch. The noblewoman was dressed as before, in a black velvet gown and her verdigris feather brooch, her only concession to the masquerade a bit of white silk tied about her eyes, with eyeholes cut into it. In her wake she pulled her niece, Thistle, and Olive Ruskettle.

  Olive cut a dashing figure in the green-and-white Thalavar livery, which included a huge, floppy hat bedecked with a great green plume. She wore a mask of silver glittering with fake emeralds. Al ias could see other halflings in the crowd similarly costumed.

  Thistle wore a veil of fine white lace over her face and was bedecked in a pink gown with a very high collar and short, ballooning sleeves. Long pink gloves covered her lower arms. As she approached Alias, her eyes were glittering with excitement.

  "See what I have?" t
he young woman exclaimed, holding out her right arm for Alias to see.

  Thistle's right glove was embroidered with a blue stitchwork very similar to Alias's own tattoo. Waves and thorns crested from wrist to elbow, but where Alias's pattern displayed a rose, the young noblewoman's featured a thistle.

  Alias nodded politely, grateful that her face was masked and her amusement hidden.

  "It is a compromise," Lady Nettel explained with a smile, "one that myjht keep her from attempting any major transformations in her appearance for a few months. Victor, I do not see your father here."

  "My father was… detained," Victor replied, avoiding Alias's look. "He's asked me to stand in his stead until his arrival."

  Alias was about to pull Victor aside and demand that he elaborate on his last statement, but Olive was tugging on the swordswoman's bodice to get her attention. "Did you and Dragonbait talk?" she whispered anxiously.

  Alias frowned down at the halfling, wishing now that the mask she wore did not hide her displeasure. "This is not a good time, Olive," she growled.

  Olive lowered her eyelids suspiciously, but with Lord Victor so near she did not dare elaborate. "Fine. I guess П1 go check out the buffet table."

  Alias turned back to Victor, who was making excuses to Lady Nettel that he needed to circulate. Thistle asked Dragonbait to escort her and her grandmother about the room. The paladin nodded his assent. As he let each Thalavar woman take an arm and draw him off, he tilted his head in Victor's direction. His meaning was perfectly clear to the swordswoman. "You said your father was going to be here," Alias declared heatedly.

  "He is," Victor replied, nodding at a passing Thorsar dignitary. "We… talked this afternoon. When I showed him the key, he looked surprised, but he wouldn't speak about it. He promised that he would come later to talk to you and Durgar before the end of the ball."

  "Victor," Alias stressed, "you have to go to Durgar with this right now. Your father could be using this time to flee the city."

  Victor shook his head. "My father isn't going to flee. This is his city. I think maybe the key belonged to another noble, and Father is covering for him. He just needs time to decide how to handle this gracefully."

  Alias shook her head at Victor's stubborn loyalty to the croamarkh. Part of her wanted to bolt the party immediately and track down Luer Dhostar, while the other part was willing to wait for Victor's sake, even though it probably meant losing the Faceless. She sighed and nodded. Til wait," she said.

  "Good. Then, since you're waiting, we may as well dance. Would you do me the honor?" Victor asked, extending his arm. He froze for a moment as an uncomfortable thought occurred to him. "You can dance, can't you?" he asked. "I can manage," Alias replied with a laugh.

  Victor called the dance a Westgate procession, but Alias knew it as a Shadowdale reel. It was simple and repetitive, but Alias found herself enjoying it nonetheless. The orchestra was skilled and lively, and the nobles on the dance floor at least showed her no animosity. She looked into Victor's blue eyes, and her heart soared.

  Along the sidelines, Dragonbait stood Bwtwring politely to Thistle as the young woman explained the origins of all the different food on the buffet table. All the while, he stared at Victor Dhostar, wondering whether Olive could be right.

  The halfling popped up beside him, munching on a sticky roll. "Shen sight still out of focus, eh?" she taunted, noting the look with which he fixed the croamarkh's son. "You could stand on your head. Maybe that would turn everything right side up." She wandered off to another table for some liquid refreshment.

  The saurial glared after her for a moment, then smiled. Only Olive could suggest something so ridiculous that might actually have merit. Not upside down, but backward, the paladin thought. He turned about to face the buffet. As Thistle chattered on about the longer growing season required for melons, the paladin closed his eyes and reached out with his shen sight.

  He let the myriad colors slide, along his consciousness. He stopped, focusing on a very dark purple to his right. He peeked out one eye. Kimbel, the former assassin, stood on a staircase, watching the guests from behind the guards.

  Dragonbait closedfliis eye again. In a moment, he could sense a deep red hatred speckled with green jealousy. The paladin confirmed his guess. Haztor Urdo, hating Alias, jealous of Victor's pleasure in her company.

  With his eyes squeezed tightly shut, the paladin let the colors wash over him longer, until he could sense their pattern as they moved about the blue that he knew must be Alias, as they stepped back from her, circled around her, pulled her close.

  Blackness like a shroud covered the blue flame of Alias's spirit, blackness so dark, it devoured the light from her, giving up none of it. Blackness was the lust for power, the voracious appetite for control over all others, the desire that swallowed its tail and devoured the being's own universe.

  Dragonbait whirled and glared at the man holding Alias in his arms. Once again, where Victor stood, the paladin saw the blue flame so like Alias's. Now he concentrated on what lay beneath the blue. As if Victor's soul were a canvas, he stared at it for the pentimento that lay beneath the illusion of virtue painted on the surface.

  Then he could see it-the image that lay beneath what Victor had seemed. There were pits of blackness filled with black serpents, all poised to devour whatever came their way. As Victor reached a hand out to the swordswoman, Dragonbait saw a serpent wind about the flame of Alias's spirit, prepared to crush the life from it before making it a meal. Despite himself, Dragonbait let out a mewling cry and nearly toppled forward.

  It was a moment before he could gather his shen sight back into whatever spot it rested when not in use. He saw a flame of blue, tinged with a little green jealousy just before his vision cleared. Thistle stood before him, her hands resting gently on his shoulders. "Are you all right?" she asked slowly, in a manner that presumed that because he did not speak her tongue, he could not hear or easily understand it.

  The paladin nodded, tapping his chest to indicate he'd only swallowed something the wrong way.

  As Thistle turned to get a glass of water for the saurial, Dragonbait watched Victor with new insight. He remembered how Mist had claimed the noble was a pawn to his ambition and desires. The wyrm always did have a talent for understatement, the paladin thought with a wry sense of amusement.

  The dance ended, and Alias strode from the dance floor, hand in hand with Victor. Dragonbait excused himself from Thistle and moved toward the couple.

  "I must speak with you," the paladin said to Alias in saurial, "alone."

  "Can't it wait?" Alias asked, eager to reach the refreshment table and ease her parched throat.

  The paladin shook his head to indicate it could not. With a sigh, the swordswoman excused herself from Lord Victor's company. She followed the saurial to a less-crowded section of the room.

  "What is it?" Alias asked. She removed her mask and spoke in Saurial so that she would not be overheard. "Night Masks?"

  "No, it is Victor," Dragonbait replied. "Olive is right. We cannot trust him."

  "Would you forget about Olive? She doesn't know what she's talking about."

  "It is not just Olive. I have seen it with my shen sight. He is corrupted. He is an evil man." "Four days ago your shen sight saw he was virtuous," Alias argued heatedly.

  "I was deceived somehow. Some illusion covered the truth."

  "How do you know you aren't being deceived now?" Alias demanded. "Olive convinced me that I was wrong."

  "I think Olive talked you into seeing something that isn't there," Alias snapped. She burst into a tirade, which consisted of several growls and clicks audible to the other party goers around them, and a few of them glanced nervously in her direction. Tm tired of hearing about your shen sight, of the way you judge everyone with it. There's more to people than your paladin visions. What they say and what they do is what really matters. That's how I know Victor is good," she declared. She spun around and bolted off.

  While the
swordswoman and the paladin argued, Kim-bel slipped up behind Lord Victor. "Is everything in place?" the merchant asked.

  "Yes, but there may be a problem," the servant whispered. "The lizard was studying you and seemed to have an attack of some kind. I suspect he has seen past the illusion projected by your amulet of misdirection."

  "Bloody hell," Victor muttered. "He's talking with Alias now."

  "I suggest you continue with the plan," Kimbel said. "If there is a problem, you can deal with her once you are alone. I can deal with the lizard."

  "Remove him, but do not kill him yet," Victor ordered. "She might be able to sense that somehow. Make it appear innocent."

  "As if he left town in a fit of paladin snobbery," Kimbel suggested. "Yes. Nice touch," Victor agreed. "Go."

  The former assassin slipped away. Victor looked in Alias and Dragonbait's direction. Alias appeared to be arguing with the paladin, which was certainly a good sign. The merchant lord spotted Thistle Thalavar standing beside her imposing grandmother. The girl was as good a pawn as any, Lord Victor thought. He hurried over to ask her to dance.

  Alias returned to the spot where she'd left Victor, only to discover he'd escorted Thistle Thalavar out to the dance floor. She slipped her mask back on, grateful for the way it hid her fury. She watched as Thistle seemed to hang on Victor's every word. The merchant lord may think of her as a i child, but it was obvious the young girl thought of him as a hero. Alias felt miserable standing alone in the room full of people, but she could hardly blame Victor for abandoning her. After all, he was supposed to mix with the guests. The swordswoman was just toying with the idea of finding herself another dance partner when Victor and Thistle parted company. Thistle moved in Dragonbait's direction and Victor came toward Alias.

  The young noblewoman soon cornered her quarry and dragged the saurial onto the dance floor for a quadrille.

  "I thought your friend could use a little coaxing onto the dance floor," the nobleman explained as he rejoined the swordswoman. "He looks far too dour for a celebration. Thistle said she'd see what she could- Alias, what's wrong?" ¦ "Nothing," Alias retorted hurriedly. "What makes you think something's wrong?"