Masquerades - Kate Novak [150]
"She runs House Thalavar. I guess she must be. The Grayclaws," Olive began before Thistle could lose her patience, "is the name of the thieves guild in Tantras. Tantras is a dead magic zone, so murder is just a little more common there than in other cities. Should the Grayclaws' guildmaster meet an untimely demise, as happens every few years in that city, everyone knows about it-immediately. There's blood in the streets for weeks while various factions vie for control of the guild. The Tantrans call it a spell of red weather. I suppose there's a very slight possibility that it's different here in Westgate. It could be that the Faceless ran everything so tightly that his minions are afraid to make a move without him. It's much more probable, however-"
"-that the Faceless is still around," Winterhart concluded, "and his grip on the Night Masks is as tight as ever."
Thistle considered their assessment silently for several moments. "It would be awful if that were true," she said at last. "That would mean that Victor lost both love and father for nothing. That poor man."
Winterhart gave Olive a frustrated, angry look. The elder halfling shrugged, resigned to the battle to come. It was going to be a fight to keep Thistle away from Victor, but at least she seemed to have a reliably informed ally in the very proper Miss Winterhart.
*****
Victor noted that the door closed a trifle fast behind him-not enough to merit an insult, but enough to make the halfling's point. In a few weeks, he thought, it might be reasonable for the Night Masks to make a reprisal attack on the halfling who was the friend of the woman responsible for killing their leader.
Victor climbed into his carriage and set off for the Tower. He didn't know how much longer he could tolerate the interminable paperwork and meetings. He spotted Jamal's street troupe giving a performance, and, overcome by an urge to procrastinate, ordered the driver to stop.
The Faceless lived, at least on stage, though Jamal had replaced her stolen prop mask of coins with a veil of golden fabric. She was ordering her Night Masks about with a large wooden spoon, ordering them to "be still." The Night Masks would freeze in impossibly ridiculous positions under the Faceless's merciless eye. Jamal's Faceless would smack an offender for twitching or swaying, and he would go catapulting forward. One Night Mask tried to surreptitiously pick a fellow thief's pocket, but was spotted and received a smack for his action.
The audience, and it was a small one, appeared unimpressed as the Faceless put the collected Night Masks through a precision drill. They dropped to the floor as one and jumped around like frogs while Jamal sounded the beat with the pounding stick. Victor noted that the various puppets representing the noble families were not in use, and that there was nothing mentioning the new croamarkh, either good or ill. He wasn't sure whether to be pleased by that or not. Jamal might have complained about her eviction from Mintassan's, but she might also have at least given the new croamarkh credit for the relative peace in the city, even if she didn't seem to believe the Faceless was deceased.
Then up popped a figure wrapped completely in black bandages, save for its right arm, which was bare. The arm was marked with Alias's tattoo and wielded a wooden sword. Jamal's Faceless quailed in the presence of Alias's disembodied spirit and sent the Night Masks out to stop it. The thieves were quickly bested, one after another. Then the spirit chased the Faceless himself around the small stage until he tripped. As the villain lay on the ground, the arm pressed the sword into his breast. The shrouded figure cried out, "Heroes never truly die!"
and lunged forward. The Faceless shuddered and expired.
Scattered, bored clapping broke out in the crowd, but that did not prevent Jamal and her troupe from bouncing nimbly to their feet and bowing to the applause.
Victor grinned with delight. Most of the populace was sick of the Night Masks, bored with dead