Masquerades - Kate Novak [119]
Smiles of satisfaction beamed from the Night Masters.
Finally, the Faceless thought, it's time to reveal my plan. "I propose," he declared, "that we use our long-hoarded troop of magical warriors in a single strike that will end the career of Alias the Sell-Sword and at the same time break the power of the merchant nobles once and for all. In light of Melman's betrayal, I will not go into the details of my plan, for security reasons. Are there any questions at this point?"
There should have been questions. Seven years ago, when the current Faceless had managed to wrest the title and power from the doppelganger who'd created this guild, there would have been questions. There had been at least three Night Masters then whose ability to reason, and consequently their power, had been strong enough to argue with him. Over the years, though, the current Faceless had skillfully eliminated these challengers. Melman had been the last. With his demise, there was no one left who would voice what the others hardly dared think, no piece of grit around which a pearl of wisdom might form.
Last of all, the Faceless thought with a cynical grin, display for them an illusion of their power and choice. "I call then for a vote, allowing me the use of these resources"-he motioned to the golems-"to use at my discretion." He pulled a short dagger from his belt and held it out. The blade glistened with a drop of greenish ichor. There was a sharp collective intake of breath from the Night Masters. All wondered if another compatriot would perish at this meeting.
"How say ye to my proposal?" the Faceless asked. "Yea or nay?"
Nine resounding yeas echoed around the table, each Night Master eager to prove his or her loyalty by the zeal with which he or she replied.
Visual aids, the Faceless reflected, never failed to smooth the course of democracy. He smiled with pleasure at the wisdom of his minions.
*****
Dragonbait awakened instantly at the knocking on the door. Alias was gone already. He vaguely recalled her prodding him earlier to tell him she was going with Jamal back to the dressmaker's. He considered rolling over and ignoring the knock. After the late hour he had finally retired, he felt he was owed more sleep, even if it was nearly noon. If it was Mercy at the door with a breakfast tray, the half-elf girl would let herself in and leave it on the table.
There was the sound of a key rattling in the lock, then the sound of another key, then another. Then a wire slid through the keyhole.
Dragonbait swung out of bed warily and grabbed his sword.
The door swung open, and Olive Ruskettle slipped into the room and shut the door behind her. "It's such a pleasure to find a challenging lock for a change," the halfling said in place of a greeting. She pushed her lock-picking wire into her hair.
The saurial lowered his sword and set it back against the wall. Good morning to you, too, he signed, sitting down on the edge of the bed. Alias has gone out with Jamal, he explained.
Olive hopped up into a chair by the table. "I know. I waited until I saw her leave. I wanted to talk with you in private.
The saurial yawned toothily. Impatiently he signed, What is it now, Olive? "It's about Victor Dhostar." What about him?
"He can't be trusted. You've got to convince Alias somehow to drop him like the slimy toad he is, and fast."
The paladin glared at the halfling for her effrontery. I told you I've already studied him with my shen sight.
There is nothing evil in him. I trust him completely.
"Well, I think the old shen sight's going, pal," the halfling retorted.
The paladin bristled. To say his shen sight was wrong was the equivalent of suggesting he had slipped from the grace of his god.
Smelling the fresh-baked bread scent of the saurial's fury, the halfling hurried to put a different tone to her words. "It's like Elminster always says-good and evil aren't always. You've been tricked somehow. Instead of relying on this paladin magic all the time, you should use the evidence of your