"Let's see if Melman is interested in talking about his books," Alias suggested.

Just as the adventurers began climbing the stairs, they encountered their man turning on the landing, coming down toward them. He was dressed in a long nightshirt and slippers, and oddly enough, a full cloak with a very deep hood, which concealed his features.

For such a heavy man Melman moved very quickly. The moment he spotted them, he grabbed from the landing a halfling-sized urn filled with dried flowers, tossed it down the stairs, and bolted back up to the second story.

Dragonbait dodged aside, but longer-legged Alias leaped over the obstacle and charged after her prey. Olive caught the urn and fell back down the stairs with a curse and a crash.

In the upstairs hallway, Alias caught sight of Melman disappearing into the only lit room in the house. He tried to slam the bedroom door closed, but he caught his cloak in the door frame and was forced to reopen it to pull the robe free. Alias threw herself against the door before the Night Mask could manage to lock it.

The force of the swordswoman's entry flung the vintner into the center of the room. His hood fell back, revealing his face, and Alias felt her throat constrict in horror.

This must be what Jamal had meant when she spoke of the branded ones, Alias realized. Melman's face was hideously burned all about his eyes, in the shape of a domino mask. The damaged flesh was covered with great white blisters and bright red all about the edges. Blisters even covered his eyelids, and in the brightly candle-lit bedroom his eyes squinted as if the light pained them.

Alias recovered quickly from her shock and leveled her sword at the man's chest.

"It's you! Alias the Sell-Sword!" Melman gasped. "When I saw you on the stairs I thought you were a burglar," he explained. Meekly, he raised both hands, shaking back his sleeves to reveal there were no weapons! concealed there.

"I'm glad to see you recognize me, Master Melman," the swordswoman said. "We have a lot to talk about."

"I haven't got anything to say to you," the vintner insisted. Dragonbait and Olive entered the room.

Olive whistled at the sight of Melman's brand. "I can see why he needed a priestess," the halfling muttered.

"The rest of the house is empty," the paladin reported in Saurial.

"I can summon the watch, you know. You're all trespassing!" Melman declared, his voice rising in pitch.

"It appears you've let all the servants have the night off," Alias noted. "Didn't want them to catch sight of your face? No matter. I'm sure Olive will be glad to fetch the watch for you… if you're serious. The watch will probably be fascinated with the trove of treasure you've got downstairs. Especially those pieces that are undeniably stolen property. Then, too, there are the ledgers. So many different accounting books."

Olive made for the door, suppressing a grin, but she halted when Melman called out, "No need for that. What do you want? As you already saw, I can offer you a great deal."

Alias motioned for Melman to have a seat. "What I want from you, Master Melman, is information. Let's start with the Faceless."

Melman sat down on the bed. "Who?" the vintner asked, but there was a quiver in his voice that belied his ignorance.

Alias leaned forward. "The Faceless, Master Melman. You remember him. He's the man who burned your face."

This," Melman said, pointing to-his face. "An accident. Walked into a torch."

"Very funny," Alias said. "We'll see if the watch finds you so amusing. You should get along with His Reverence Durgar. He doesn't know anything about the Faceless either. The Faceless, however, knows something about you. He probably knows you'd be dangerous in Durgar's custody. I understand Night Masks do not always survive once they are taken by the authorities."

Melman flinched, and he licked his lips nervously. "Try to understand," the man pleaded. "If this is my punishment for arguing," the vintner pointed to his face again, "imagine what will happen if I betray them."

At a nod from Alias, Dragonbait stepped forward. He spread his clawed fingers to touch the perimeters of Mel-man's shocking wound. At first the vintner shrunk back, but when it became clear that the saurial was not attacking him, he relaxed considerably. The paladin's whispered prayer invoked the same healing blue aura over his hands as ever, but the blue light seemed to spark and dissolve as it formed. Melman's face remained as damaged as before.

The saurial looked at Alias and growled and clicked, "There is some evil force preventing the healing. I've never encountered anything like it."

"Is that what happened when the priestess of Mask tried to heal you?" Alias asked Melman.

The man nodded. "He said it wouldn't heal until it scabbed over." "He who? The Faceless?" Melman nodded. Alias felt her stomach twist with excitement. An admission of the Faceless's existence was a major concession from the man. Now if she could just press her advantage.

"So basically the Faceless has made it impossible for you to leave your home for the next several days," Alias pointed out. "In the meantime, you're a sitting duck." Melman did not reply.

"You didn't think we were burglars when you spotted us, did you? You thought we might be Night Masks assassins," the swordswoman guessed.

"That's ridiculous," Melman retorted, but without much conviction.

"Is it? I don't think so. This is the deal, Master Melman. You tell us all you know about the Faceless and the Night Masters, and if you're telling the truth, I'll help you escape from Westgate."

Dragonbait radiated the scent of his displeasure with – this idea, but he said nothing, instead shifting toward the window.

"You hold out on us, though, Melman, and I'm going to have to leave your fate to Durgar's discretion."

Melman shuddered. "Ill-I'll tell you what I can," he said.

"Good. Let's start with you. Are you one of the Night Masters?" the swordswoman asked. Melman nodded wordlessly. "Why did the Faceless brand you?"

"I argued with him in council. I wanted you killed, but he insists he has some other plan to take care of you. He's playing some bizarre power game that's liable to ruin business for good. None of us have any idea who or what he might be."

At Alias's prodding, Melman described the last several meetings of the Night Masters, highlighting the parts of the discussion that dwelt on her and Jamal. As he began covering the details, Melman began to relax, until finally it was as if he were sitting with other merchants in the bar, chatting about business.

"The Night Masters report to the Faceless every other evening," Melman explained, "always at low tide. The entrance to the hideout is on the western bank of the Thunn, beneath the River Bridge. It's covered at high tide. It's hidden by magic, but if you have the key, you can see through the illusion."

Melman reached into his shirt. Alias raised her sword just an inch. The Night Master gave her an uneasy smile and pulled out a chain around his neck. Hanging from the chain was an iron key with a circular grip. He held out the key, and Olive took it from him.

"You look through the grip," the Night Mask explained, "and you can see the door. The tide is just turning now. You won't be able to see the door until tomorrow afternoon. The next meeting of the Night Masters won't be until tomorrow night-"

"Alias," Dragonbait interrupted in Saurial. "There's trouble coming this way. Night Masks. Assassins." "Olive, check outside," the swordswoman ordered.

The halfling moved toward the window and peered out from the side. "I don't see-wait. Hmmm. Night Masks, nine that I can count. Probably more around the other side of the house. Hanging in the shadows across the street. Surrounding us."

Melman's face went white from shock, making the red markings of his burned mask stand out all the more. "He's found me out already! Those are assassins! I shouldn't have talked to you!" The vintner stood up, looking as if he might try to run past Alias, but Dragonbait pushed him back onto the bed.