"Easy, child," Alias said, holding the boy's upper arm to steady him. "You're sale now." "Na' a chil'," the boy retorted and shook off Alias's grip,but he was so disoriented that he began to fall backward. As Alias steadied him, he insisted, "I just need a minute.I’ll be fine- Alias guided the boy back to their hiding place behind the stack of crates. After a minute of steady breathing, he seemed to regain his balance and his senses. He touched his sore jaw and let out a string of curses-an imaginative array of gods' names coupled with parts of the human anatomy that might have been amusing were he not so young.

"So what's this all about?" Olive prompted the boy, all the while keeping her eyes fixed on the back door.

The boy shrugged. "Nothin'. My fault. There was some foolsilver in my payments, some bogus coins. They said I had to be made a 'zample for th'others."

"Made an example? Who said that?" Alias demanded. "Who ordered those men to hurt you?"

The boy looked at Alias with suspicion. He withdrew into himself and would not reply. Alias shook her head as she studied the boy. While nothing about his appearance attracted attention, making him the ideal delivery boy, he was obviously neglected and abused. His dark brown hair had been trimmed crookedly, probably with a knife, and certainly hadn't seen a comb within the last month. He was rail thin and smelled heavily of unwashed flesh. His clothes, ragged gray trousers, a dingy white shirt, and a moth-eaten vest, were probably washed only when their wearer was caught in a rainstorm. Only his good eye, shining with savvy and cunning, set him apart from a zombie. "Who was it?" Alias asked again.

"Leave me go," the boy muttered. "I'm fine." He turned and spat out some blood.

"You're the picture of health," Olive retorted. "Don't let him bolt," she warned Alias. "Hell be right off to the head man to warn him about us."

Knowing Olive was right, Alias positioned herself so that the boy could not slip past her. She couldn't bring herself to play the bully, though. She pulled out a gold coin from the money belt beneath her tunic and held it out, twisting it so that it glittered in the late afternoon sun. "Tell me who gave those men orders to hurt you, and this is yours," she offered.

The boy eyed the coin longingly but remained firm. "You think I'm stupid?" he asked. "One-Eye'd kill me if I told you anything. There's nothing she don't find out." "One-Eye?" Alias repeated. "She?" Olive added.

Realizing he'd let slip this information, the boy muttered another string of curses. Then, apparently deciding-he would be safer betraying his rescuers to One-Eye, he suddenly began shouting, "Help! Help!"

Alias shoved her hand over the boy's mouth and pressed him against the wall. The boy struggled, trying to push her arm away, and when that failed, nipped at the ewordswoman's hand. "Be still and stop shouting," she hissed. With her free hand she yanked her scarf off her head and shoved it in the boy's mouth.

"Hold him tight," Olive warned in a whisper. "Someone's coming out."

The back door swung open, and a short, dark-haired woman stepped out. She was dressed all in black leather, and her severe haircut and sharp facial features gave her a hawklike appearance. When she turned to look down the alley. Alias and Olive could see a black patch over her right eye. She held the straps of a heavily laden backpack, which clinked like chain mail when it bounced against her black-clad legs. She looked very annoyed.

"Kuost!" she called out, then more uncertainly, "Marcus?" She looked up and down the alley, tapping her black-booted foot impatiently.

Alias noticed the boy had ceased struggling and had;_ begun shaking with fear.

"Damned fools," the black-clad woman muttered. She went back inside the tavern.

"One-Eye, I presume?" Alias asked. "Undoubtedly," Olive replied.

One-Eye reappeared in the alley, this time with the muscle-man, who doubled as a bouncer.

"-damn fools probably went too far again," One-Eye was saying. They'd better pick a better spot to dump the body this time. Come on," she said, handing the muscle-man the backpack. He shouldered the pack and followed on One-Eye's heels. "You'll have to hold onto the kid," Olive said, "so I can follow the money." Alias nodded. "Be careful," she whispered. "You never let me have any fun," the halfling sniffed. Then she sneaked off after the pair of Night Masks.

After a few minutes, Alias released the boy, prepared to grab him again at the first sign of trouble.

The boy pulled the gag out of his mouth, but he made no trouble; he was'too intent at staring, his eyes wide as saucers, at Alias's sword arm.

Alias followed his gaze. In his struggles the boy had pushed up her tunic sleeve, revealing the azure tattoo, which seemed to swirl of its own volition.

"You're her-that Alias witch," the boy gasped finally. "Oh, Cyric-on-a-stick, I'm really dead." Alias shook her head, insisting, "You're not dead." "You kill Night Masks," the boy said in a trembling voice. "Knost said you sliced up fifteen men last night." Behind his fear there was a hint of curiosity in his voice, as if he hoped she would confirm her bloody spree to him. "Knost is a liar or a fool, probably both," Alias retorted. "You're not going to kill me?" the boy asked in a small voice. "I just saved your life," Alias pointed out. The boy shrugged as if that didn't mean much in his line of work. "What's your name, child?" the swordswoman asked. "I'm not a child," the boy insisted. When Alias did not respond, but waited patiently, he answered her question, full of bravado, "My name's Kel, like in Kelemvor the death god."

"As in Kelemvor the judge of the dead," Alias corrected. "He was a hero before he was a god. Anyway, you look like you were born before the Time of Troubles. You're too old to have been named for him. Where are your folks? Do they know you work for the Night Masks?"

"Mom took off when I was little. Don't remember her. Dad was a collector for the Masks 'til he got stuck with a dagger in the back by a poacher after his take. Knost gave me a job carrying, but said I was too small to collect-yet. You gonna let me go?" Kel asked.

Alias considered his request. She didn't think she could trust him to keep his mouth shut. He might start bragging that he'd escaped as soon as her back was turned. One-Eye might have Kel brought in and beaten into confessing he'd identified her. One-Eye would then know she'd been followed by the halfling and would warn whoever she was taking the extortion money to.

Then there was the question of the boy's condition. His left eye was swollen shut, and he was still spitting blood. No one was looking after him, and he needed looking after more than ever. When One-Eye found and released Knost and Marcus, they'd go looking for the boy.

"No, I'm not going to let you go," the swordswoman replied. "Fm going to have to take you into custody."

"Nay, ya can't. Ya got no proof I did nothin'. Not even old Durgoat'd hold me just for bein' beat up."

The boy's arrogant grasp of Westgate's justice system made Alias's hackles rise. "I didn't say I was turning you in to the watch," she retorted. "I said / was taking you into custody."

When Alias arrived at Mintassan's, Jamal and Drag-onbait were in the midst of a lively discussion. Jamal did most of the speaking, but the heavy table was littered with paper covered with Dragonbait's tiny script, indicating that he was keeping up his end of the conversation. Mintassan was sitting at the desk, counting and measuring the feathers of living pigeons he pulled from a cage. When the sage finished with a bird, he recorded the numbers in a log, then let the bird loose. Freed birds fluttered around the back and front room of the shop until they found the open half of the front door and made their escape.