Masquerades - Kate Novak [17]
"So, what were you doing on my street last night?" Jamal demanded, switching the topic suddenly. "It's not on the way to Mintassan's by any stretch of the imagination."
Alias thought fast for an answer that might satisfy the woman. "I was just passing by, reliving old memories. Someone I knew used to live on that street. The Swan-mays," she answered, hoping that memory wasn't another of Finder's fictions.
"That band of female adventurers? That was a long time ago." Jamal smiled at some memory. "They were such great troublemakers. Solid cheap hero material." Her look grew less suspicious. As she came out of her reverie, she said, "You knew it was the Night Masks who started the fire. Even so, you rushed in to save what they wanted destroyed. They have watchers. You've made yourselves enemies."
Alias laughed. "We already made them enemies. This was just the salt in the wound." The swordswoman explained how she and the saurial had taken care of the shakedown team and the assassin squad.
Jamal laughed with delight. "Definitely a cheap hero story."
"What does that mean, cheap hero?" Alias asked.
"Cheap hero. An everyday hero," Jamal explained. "Not one of those highfalutin, noble-born, kill-a-dragon-before-breakfast, always-get-the-girl heroes. But your regular type hero. The merchant who doesn't cheat widows and orphans. The neighbors who bring you hot meals when you're sick. The kid who stops the pickpocket who grabbed your purse. The fishermen who paid a protection racketeer with the racketeer's own teeth. The festhall girl who testified at a murder trial and had to leave town. The apprentices and journeymen who helped the farmers guard their fields so no one could start a brush fire to drive up the price of grain and start famine in the outlying regions.
"I'm the Lady of Cheap Heroes. I tell their tales," Jamal said with a flourish of her hand. "Jamal's Street Theater. Four performances daily. Written, directed, and performed by Jamal herself, with the help of some loyal associates. That's why the Night Masks want me dead, and the merchants wouldn't miss me any. I tell everyone that ordinary people can fight their oppressors."
"After tonight, it looks like you may have to make your living in some other city," Alias replied.
"Make my living!" Jamal laughed till her eyes teared. "You don't make a living in the theater, girl. It's a calling. And Westgate is mycity. They are notdriving me out."
Mintassan came bustling back into the room carrying a silver tea service laden with a silver teapot, a silver creamer, a silver brandy flask, a tiny parcel wrapped in brown paper, and four mismatched clay mugs.
The sage sunk into a wood-frame-and-canvas chair, which looked about ready to collapse under his weight. With a flick of his finger, he opened the paper parcel on the tea tray, revealing little cubes about the size of dice but without markings. He dropped two into a mug and held the mug out for Jamal to fill.
"Amnite sugar cubes," Mintassan explained upon noting Alias's curious look. "Among the many things the Amnites have stolen from the Mazticans. For years they were a novelty known only to the upper classes, but last year House Dhostar brought in a huge consignment and lowered the price. Now they can't keep up with the demand. They're all the rage."
Alias picked up a grainy cube, then dropped it tentatively into the mug of tea Jamal handed her. The sugar cube bubbled and dissolved. She blew over the tea's steamy surface while Mintassan added a dollop of cream to his mug. When the sage had taken a sip of his own beverage, Alias hazarded a taste of her own. "It's good," she declared with surprise. "Sweet, like honey."
Jamal snorted. "Sweet, but no kick," the actress said, pouring a more-than-healthy dose of brandy into her own tea.
"So what's your