Masquerades - Kate Novak [147]
down like water. "There is a form for everything, sometimes two forms, on occasion, three. And gods forbid you sign anything without reading it, or else some clan might receive a windfall and the other clans will start screaming for your blood. And while you're reading every bloody piece of paper the city clerks put in front of you, the other clans are robbing you blind, since you haven't got the time to address your own business. Why can't they just learn to shut up and follow my orders? That's why they made me croamarkh, after all."
"Interim croamarkh," Kimbel corrected softly.
"Maybe I didn't kill enough of them," Victor mused. "Any charges we can trump up against one or two of them? Make an example of them to keep the others in line."
"Most unwise,''Kimbel replied. "It would be bad for business, and the reaction of those remaining would be distrust rather than fear. These are not Night Masters, but nobles, and even the young and inexperienced ones have believed all their life that power is their right. Besides, you already eliminated the most likely candidates."
"The irony," Victor snarled, "is that I've kissed up to them for years to assure myself this rotten job, only to discover that I have to keep kissing up to them to keep it. We need a monarchy around here. I'm tired of all this open rebellion." He turned to Kimbel sharply and asked, "Did you recover my mask?"
Kimbel nodded. "Durgar stashed it in a desk drawer, no doubt unable to come to grips with having covered up Luer Dhostar's infamy. I replaced it with a stage prop of Jamal's, which I looted from Mintassan's lair. It may be some time before Durgar realizes it's not the genuine article. And, of course, I knew you'd appreciate the irony."
Victor allowed himself a smile. "Good old Durgar. There's some more irony. I think I impressed him, arguing that we should tell the 'truth.' about Father. But Durgar is so anxious to preserve the established order that he concealed all father's crimes." An unsettling thought occurred to the young lord. "You don't think he doubts that Father was the Faceless, do you?"
"He does not appear to be pursuing the matter," Kimbel replied, pulling a heavy tome from the pile and opening it to a page marked with a red ribbon. "Now, this is fascinating," the assassin said as he perused the page. "A fortuitous coincidence, no doubt, considering your interest in monarchy."
"What?" Victor said.
Kimbel motioned for the croamarkh to come and look.
With some annoyance, Victor rose from his lethargic sprawl. He leaned over the tome, which had of late belonged to the sage Mintassan. The book was quite old, its cover cracked and frayed, its binding nearly disintegrated, its pages loose, covered in ornate, sweeping script.
"The writing is Elvish and dates back to the last days of King Verovan." Kimbel explained, but Victor held up a hand to silence him.
"I can see that for myself," the noble snarled. "You know Father insisted I learn all the subhuman languages-the better to trade with them, he would say."
Victor frowned with concentration as he pored over the text. "This describes the procedures and protocols of King Verovan's court."
"I direct you to the fourth paragraph," Kimbel said, "on the right-hand page."
"Hmmm." Victor ran his finger along the script, mouthing the words silently, too self-conscious to translate aloud in front of the assassin. "It's about Verovan's treasure hoard!" he whispered excitedly. "It's under, no, tucked away in an interdimensional demiplane, guarded by a… portion of the king's own soul!"
"Planes and dimensions were a specialty of young Mintassan's," Kimbel remarked.
"At the top of Verovan's castle, there is a portal into this plane," Victor translated.
"Matches the common folklore," Kimbel said. "Verovan's castle-that would be Castle Vhammos now, wouldn't it? How terrible that the population of House Vhammos was decimated by the iron golems. The new lord of the castle is still, I believe, on business in