Masquerades - Kate Novak [118]
The warrior woman shook herself out of her rage. "I will find him again!" she declared. "He cannot hide from me much longer."
Seventeen
Accusations
The Faceless looked over his nine surviving minions, and from behind his two masks, one of porcelain, the other of coins, he smiled. They had responded well, and promptly, to his summons. Each had received, from a messenger they'd never seen (nor would ever see again), a single scrap of paper with the code word "kudzu." They all knew what this meant. It had happened on rare occasions before, when some local activity near the bridge prevented them from using the entrance to their lair in secret. They were to meet at a different site, but at the same time as usual. So the Night Masters' business continued uninterrupted while Durgar and his watch were occupied examining a lair that had since been pillaged and abandoned.
Two Night Masters who lived near the bridge had apparently detected the watch's interest in the sandbank and were now informing the others in hushed whispers. They were like nervous cattle milling in the path of an approaching storm, the Faceless reflected. They needed only that sharp crack of lightning to turn them into a stampede. The Faceless was prepared to be that lightning.
The Night Masters' lord sat at the head of a wooden table, in a tavern that had closed for business two hours earlier. Behind him stood two rows of dragon-headed iron golems, arranged like obedient troops, to remind the others of the power he commanded. He drummed his fingers impatiently on the tabletop.
First the stick, the Night Masters' lord thought. He began the meeting by tossing Melman's mask on the table.
The glyph that labeled it as Gateside's had been scratched off the porcelain. "Gateside is dead," he announced. The effect on the assemblage was immediate. To the Faceless, their fear and uneasiness was palpable… and exquisite.
Now the carrot, the Faceless prompted himself. "I have at this time no plans to turn the management of his district over to anyone else. It might be better, I think, to divide his duties and his income among those of you who remain." A tingle of excitement passed though the Night Masters. It was a great risk, being a Night Master, but the rewards were what made the risk worthwhile.
And finally the challenge: "Before Gateside died," the Faceless declared, "he betrayed us to Alias the Sell-Sword. Before his betrayal, this Alias was nothing more than a mercenary, a trumped-up member of the watch. In betraying us, though, Gateside made her into exactly what he feared her to be-an enemy capable of destroying our organization."
The Faceless paused, letting his words sink in. It took his minions a few moments to shift their thoughts from their own greed to their own self-preservation. He ignored their impassive masks, but studied instead the pursed lips, the clenched jaws, the trickle of sweat along the cheek of Finance Management. Aside from fearing the loss of their wealth and freedom, some of them, he knew, had a childlike terror of being killed by this red-headed witch.
After a few moments, the Faceless continued. "I had not expected Gateside to betray us." It was an admission that he was, after all, only human, but one that also laid the blame squarely on the deceased. "Once I was made aware of his betrayal, I did everything in my power to keep the damage to a minimum. Our secret identities remain unthreatened." It was important to make them aware that he alone had preserved them from their enemies.
"The loss of a secure meeting place is a minor loss. Our treasury and our armory remain in our possession." Now to give them blood, the Night Masters' lord thought. "This swordswoman has lunged at us with all she had," the Faceless growled, "but we have parried her attack. Now it is time for our riposte."
Around the table, heads bobbed up and down in agreement.
"It is time to show this mercenary witch and all the people of Westgate that we are the true commanders of this city. It is time to let the merchant nobles