Masquerades - Kate Novak [20]
In their secret lair, they hid their surface identities. Before they entered the inner chambers, each Night Master donned a mask that covered his or her face from forehead to upper lip. The masks were made of white porcelain, with a black domino mask painted about the eye slits, and each was distinguished from all the others with a different golden glyph painted on the forehead. The glyphs designated the speaker's portfolio within the organization.
Since the masks did not cover the lips or jaws or hair or any part of the torso, the experienced eye could compare a beard or a mole or a head of hair or a physical shape or a certain article of clothing with that of some person in the outer world and have a fair idea of the identities of their fellow masters. Of course, the certainty of such knowledge was not absolute; a fake beard, a wig, make-up, magical enchantments, and other disguises could easily mislead. It hardly mattered, though, whether they knew each other or not. They were the ultimate brethren among their brotherhood of thieves and would never willingly reveal another's identity. For one thing, to betray a member to an outsider would be an admission of the betrayer's complicity. There were also other more horrible costs to betrayal, of which the Faceless made sure they remained aware.
Their numbers varied according to the needs and whims of their lord, and at this time in Westgate's history there were ten Night Masters. The glyphs on their masks identified three of them as general managers- Enforcement, Finance, and Noble Relations-and the remaining seven as regional managers-External Revenue, Harborside, Thunnside, Gateside, Parkside, Central, and Outside.
All were now gathered around a great table hewn from a single block of obsidian, veined with gold. In the center of the table a small brazier crackled, giving off not only light, but also a welcome warmth, for the meeting place, now, even in the height of summer, was cool and damp. At the head of the table, on a dais as high as the table, was a throne of the same ebon material as the table. There sat the Faceless.
The Faceless dressed like a judge, in billowing black robes with a thin strip of white silk draped over his shoulders. On his feet he wore black clodders, high-topped boots worn commonly by Westgate's fishermen, and on his hands, white silk gloves, like a gentleman. He sported a wide-rimmed hat of dark black velvet. While all this was enough to give him a forbidding appearance, it was the Faceless's mask that unnerved his followers the most.
When the mask lay on a table it looked like a helmet of mesh chain covered in platinum coins struck with the glyph of Leira, the deceased goddess of illusion. No one but the Faceless ever saw the mask's appearance, though, since once the Faceless donned it, the mask seemed to disappear, disguising the wearer at the same time. The disguise was of an astonishing and odd variety caused by a magical illusion.
Everything between the Faceless's hat and his robe blurred like a chalk painting at the very beginning of a rain shower. Anyone who glanced in the Faceless's direction would conclude there was a face to be seen, but one saw nothing but a shifting pattern of colors, like a swarm of bees. The harder one concentrated on trying to discern a face, the harder it became to see anything at all. Stubborn observers found that their eyes began to water and their heads began to pound with the effort.
Most of the Night Masters believed the mask also altered the Faceless's voice, for the sound of his speech was grating and metallic, though still able to convey emotions as subtle as annoyance or displeasure.
None of the assembled Night Masters knew the Faceless's identity. They could tell he was tall and male (unless other magic disguised his physical appearance further), and they suspected he was human. Anything else concerning their