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 dodders, 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 lord's identity was pure speculation. The rewards for serving as a Night Master were great, and the members chose not to risk their positions by angering the Faceless with curiosity. If they suspected who their master was, they did not share it with each other. None of them knew the extent or nature of the Faceless's networks of informants. They did know that those who lied in this chamber rarely made it out again.
One of the more portly Night Masters, the glyph on his mask identifying him as the manager of the Gateside district, stood before his fellows and his lord, prompting himself from a list on a sheet of yellow paper. The insurance money paid by the Gateside festhalls has increased to ninety percent, up from seventy-two percent, no doubt owing to the recent fires that have plagued nonpaying elements in the Outside district.
The Gateside manager's tone was flat and emotionless, like the singsong of a sergeant-at-arms reading the charges of the hundredth petty pickpocket of the day. The Ssemm supplies discussed two nights ago have been acquired and moved through a third party to Elturel, where the Vhammos family will purchase it in the name of the Free Traders. The indoctrination of young Haztor Urdo continues. He believes it's all an exciting game, and doesn't suspect we know his identity. We continue to experience difficulties from halfling agents throughout Gate-side (similar to those experienced and reported by Harborside), most of which can be traced back to Lady Nettel's employment of inordinate numbers of these vermin." Gateside halted, double-checked his list, then offered the paper to the brazier, which greedily consumed it.
Throughout the report, the Faceless sat in repose, white-gloved hands resting comfortably on the sides of his throne. After the portly Night Master finished, there was a short silence, as there always was. Then the Faceless's metallic voice rasped across the table. "Are all these reports accurate?"
Ten masks bobbed around the table, and ten voices replied in varying tones, "Yes, milord." The Faceless drummed his fingers on the slick obsidian of his throne's armrest. "What of the matter of Jamal the Thespian?" he growled.
"Still…" Gateside hesitated, as if his words had caught on something, "under review," he finished. It was apparent that he'd been hoping this matter would not come up. "Her home was set afire," he reported, "and the clothing merchant who not only rented her a room but refused our protection was killed as a warning. We have yet to discover if she survived the blaze." "She survived," the Faceless intoned.
Gateside held hands out, protesting, "We are as yet unaware-"
"I said, 'She survived;' " the Faceless repeated, raising his voice just a fraction, silencing Gateside. "She was rescued by a red-haired swordswoman, who was aided by a lizardlike creature with a staff. Jamal fled the burning building for the quarters of an ally, the sage Mintassan, whom we are unwilling to directly confront. The red-haired woman and the lizardman joined Jamal at Mintassan's."
Gateside tried to interrupt, saying, "We had no knowledge of-"
"If you had followed procedure," the Faceless reprimanded, "and confirmed both the burning and casualties by posting eyes, you would have known. Instead you waited for the watch's report to be smuggled to you. as you have done in the past. Had you posted eyes, your man might have been able to finish off the woman as she fled. I requested her tongue be silenced. As it stands, the wretched banshee is still loose, unharmed, as is her tongue and her annoying troupe of ragtag performers.''
Gateside, his eyes now fixed on the tabletop, replied, "I apologize for my carelessness."
"On a related matter," the Faceless continued, turning to face the Night Master in charge of Enforcement, "What news is there of our naked assassins?" Gateside exhaled slowly in relief while Enforcement pursed his lips until they nearly disappeared.
The other nine Night Masters looked puzzled. The Faceless nodded in Enforcement's direction to indicate he should explain.
"External Revenue's people requested the elimination of two out-of-towners," Enforcement reported. "External Revenue's people failed to inform my people that these out-of-towners were heavily armed. Consequently the team who took the assignment was overpowered. The targets stripped my agents naked and forced them to run through a street fair."
There was an uneasy shifting of the other Night Masters. None were amused by the embarrassment suffered by the agents; the cost to the brethren's reputation was too high.
"And these targets," the Faceless prompted, "which gave External Revenue's people trouble and then gave you such trouble… describe them."
"Well," Enforcement replied, "one was a red-haired woman, the other was a-" Enforcement paused as he realized his description was about to match the one given of the pair who'd interfered with Gateside's hit on Jamal,*-urn, it was a lizardman, carrying a staff."
"I see," said the Faceless calmly. "And you did not think this was an important enough matter to bring to our attention?"
"I hesitated to broach the matter, since External Revenue did not include the pair in her report," Enforcement explained.
The Night Master who managed External Revenue spun in her seat and gave Enforcement a hard glare. Despite her mask, it was clear that she gave her companion a warning.