"Lady Crane has solved the Riddle," Jack said instantly. "She wishes to announce her solution at once!" He heard Illyth gasp beside him, perhaps mortified by the sudden attention of the entire audience, but he squeezed her hand and winked at her.

The Master Crafter bowed. "Very well, then. I am sure the entertainers will not mind if we briefly interrupt their skit. After all, great events are afoot!" He stepped up onto the stage proper and bowed to the assembled players. "Lords and ladies! The Lady Crane attempts the riddle!"

"Jack, I'm not-" Illyth began to whisper.

"You'll do fine. Now, give them the answer."

Illyth swallowed and faced the crowd. She cast one more nervous glance at Jack, and then started. "My answer follows. The Red Lord is Buriz of Pentar. The Orange Lord is Fatim of Quarra. The Yellow Lord is Dubhil of Trile. The Green Lord is-" she checked her journal surreptitiously- "Carad of Dues. The Blue Lord is Erizum of Unen. The Purple Lord is Geciras of Septun. And the Black Lord is Alcantar of Hexan."

Morran made a great show of consulting his sealed scroll. "My lady," he said quietly, "you have won! The Riddle is solved!"

The chamber stood silent, then erupted in applause.

"Three cheers for the Lady Crane!" called out one voice from the hack of the theater. "Huzzah! Huzzah!" Illyth curtsied and tried to conceal her own surprise behind a calm demeanor, but she couldn't help rubbing her hands unconsciously and beaming from ear to ear behind her mask, creating a very curious expression for a crane.

Randall Morran raised his hands for quiet. "My lords and ladies! Although the riddle is solved and the Lady Crane has claimed the grand prize of the event, the Game continues! The Seven Faceless Lords have discarded their signature robes and masks, and now stand among you in masked anonymity. Now, gentle persons, you must put your fellows to the question and determine who among you is not what they seem. I will even offer a hint to get you started: each lord attended only the gathering he sponsored and this evening's theatre, and knows nothing of the events or occurrences at the revels of the other Faceless Lords."

"I see that you were prepared for the possibility of an early solution," Jack murmured to the Master Crafter.

"We have already made arrangements for three more Games," the fellow replied jovially. "It would be a terrible waste to end the Game in its entirety tonight."

"I wager you have another development in mind should your Faceless Lords be unmasked too quickly," Jack observed. The Master Crafter merely smiled and inclined his head. "Your resourcefulness is to be commended. Now regarding the prize-"

"Excuse me," said Illyth. "I think you'll have to reconsider the next step of the Game."

"I beg your pardon, my lady?" Morran asked.

"The Seven Faceless Lords are standing right over there, in their full robes and masks." Illyth said pointing.

At the other end of the theatre, the robed actors slowly filed in, solemnly proceeding toward the stage.

The Game players looked at each other and whispered or muttered, checking with their neighbors to make sure they had heard the Master Crafter correctly. The marching figures silently surrounded the audience.

"What is this?" Morran muttered under his breath, so quietly that only Jack and Illyth were close enough to hear. "This is not in the script!"

In years of thievery, swindling, pursuit, and evasion, Jack had developed a distinct knack for sensing trouble when he chose to apply himself. The mysterious robed figures stood over the audience, positioned more or less in front of each exit from the room.

"An ambush," he realized. He reached out and caught Illyth's wrist, starting to pull her back from the stage.

As one, each of the robed figures withdrew a slender wand from its sleeve and pointed it toward the crowd. Game players surged up out of their seats, suddenly aware of the danger, while attendants stood frozen in shock and panic.

"Come on!" Jack yelled at Illyth, hauling her into the nearby conductor's box and ducking for cover.

At that moment each figure unleashed great bolts of brilliant lightning through the masked crowd, splitting the air with painful cracks! and then booming thunderclaps a second later. Brilliant blue shadows flickered and pulsed across the walls, leaving bright spots in Jack's eyes even though he was not looking directly at the bolts.

"Tymora's teats!" he cried. "What now?"

Outside people screamed in pain and fear. In the space of a heartbeat, the theatre became a scene of absolute bedlam. Ruthlessly, the robed figures shifted their aim and discharged their lightning wands again, burning great swaths through the seething press of nobles and merchants and Game-attendants who charged, fled, or cowered as their personal courage demanded. Suddenly the massive bulk of Randall Morran skidded into the conductor box, knocking both Jack and Illyth to the wooden floor.

"My apologies, Sir, Madam," the Master Crafter huffed. He was singed in a couple of places, but mostly unharmed. "Your selection of shelter seemed sound and well advised."

"Morran, what's going on here?" Illyth demanded. "Is this some kind of drastic plot twist?"

"No, fair lady. It seems that someone has taken this occasion to assault the noble and privileged among our Game players. We had nothing to do with those villains casting lightning bolts." The bard's speech was punctuated by another pair of deafening thunderclaps. Jack noticed that Illyth's hair stood on end from the near miss.

"I have no quarrel with the Faceless Lords," Jack said. "Illyth, might I suggest a withdrawal from the scene?"

She cringed, but nodded. "Which way?" she asked.

"Behind the stage. There should be an actor's exit unobserved by our assailants."

Jack scrambled up out of the box and turned to help up Illyth, crouched double to keep low. He glanced out over the theatre floor; several of the Faceless Lords were now embroiled in a furious scuffle with burned Game players, while others kept the crowds at a distance and continued their murderous work. Dozens of players seemed to have been killed or injured; the screams of the wounded and the wails of their companions filled the auditorium with a hellish cacophony of noise, still punctuated by the frequent crack! of more lightning.

"Dear Oghma," Illyth murmured, shocked by the carnage. "What could possibly bring this about? Who would want to do this, and why?"

"I deem that a matter worthy of investigation but not at the moment," Jack replied.

He led her across the stage, darting for the wings. The Green Lord spied them and leveled a bolt of white death in their direction, but his aim was spoiled by a sudden assault from two angry young noblemen armed with small swords. The robed figure collapsed under multiple stabbings as Jack and Illyth dived headlong behind the curtains, followed a moment later by the Master Crafter.

The actors in the skit Jack had interrupted seemed to have had the same idea. Unfortunately, they had discovered that their exit had not been overlooked. Standing in the doorway, two theatre ushers-the very same two that Tiger and Mantis had spoken with before Jack and Illyth encountered them-stood in the doorway with bared blades. Lord Tiger himself stood behind them, snarling in anger and vehemence. Several dead or unconscious comedians lay crumpled on the floor before the door.

"Fox and Crane," the lord hissed. "Time to settle our differences at last!"

Jack understood everything in one moment of perfect clarity. For his own reasons, Toseiyn Dulkrauth and his mysterious accomplice had decided to strike at the city's most indolent nobles and pretentious merchants by arranging a slaughter in the Game of Masks. Dulkrauth had replaced the theatre's ushers with his own hired blades to seal the exits. Then he'd dressed assassins with a knack for magic in the robes of the Faceless Lords, equipping each with a deadly wand of lightning.