Fifteen

The fog that had drifted through Westgate's streets the night before now climbed as high as the city's wall and poured into the outlying countryside. The midday sun, covered with layer after layer of clouds, was powerless to burn off the mists. From the top floor of the Tower Alias surveyed the few islands of solid matter high enough to poke above the gray shroud: the towers of the merchant nobles' castles, the heaven-aimed spire of the Temple to Ilmater, the Westlight, and the Tower, where she stood.

She'd come to the Tower to see Durgar, but he'd gone out to investigate the remains of last night's mysterious fire. Taking one last look at the covered city, Alias hurried back downstairs to meet Dragonbait and Olive, who had waited for her in the reception hall below.

The halfling, who had regained consciousness soon after they'd left the secret tunnel, now paced up and down the hall, unable to hide her eagerness to hunt for the Facelese's lair. She bore a long, jagged scar on her leg, but Dragonbait had healed her wound sufficiently so that it gave her no pain. Dragonbait stood very still beside the gate, but from the twitch in his tail Alias could see that he, too, was anxious to be going. He had even grown less annoyed by Alias's promise to Melman that she would free him later; an attitude that would hold only as long as it appeared Melman had been truthful with them.

"Looks like we go alone," Alias said after explaining Dur-gar's absence. "The watch captain on duty says he doesn't have the authority to send a patrol out to investigate unless the peace is being disturbed."

The three adventurers donned their heavy cloaks, and Olive lit the lantern she carried before they went outside. Westgate was like a ghost city, for the fog shrouded commerce as well. There were no booths or carts set up in the market; very few shops appeared open, and those that were had no customers. Even those people hardy enough to venture the streets at night remained indoors in the fog. Alias wondered if even the Night Masks avoided working in the fog.

The sound of their footsteps was muffled by the water in the air so that the adventurers appeared to be three wraiths gliding along the streets. Dragonbait squinted, concentrating on using his shen sight so that they wouldn't be surprised by anything coming out of the fog. They strode due east on Silverpiece Way to the bridge that crossed the River Thunn.

Five stone archSs supported the River Bridge, and the road across it was wide enough for two large wagons and several extra pedestrians to use at once. The bridge was not only a masterful feat of engineering but a dumping ground for stone carvings looted from King Verovan's castle when he had died. Brooding gargoyles held out stone braziers flickering with oil flames, which pushed ineffectually at the foggy darkness. Curling sea serpents made up the bridge's railings. The statues of ancient historical figures lined the center, dividing it into two distinct lanes.

At high tide, the river below would slam into the rising waters of the sea, creating a surging wave that ran the width of the river just downstream from the bridge. Now, at low tide, the two bodies of water collided near the mouth of the bay, no more than a mere rill on the water's surface. The river level also dropped down a few feet, uncovering a wide expanse of muddy sandbank beneath the bridge. The adventurers veered from the bridge and made their way down to the sandbank.

"This must be a good place to dig for clams," Alias noted. Olive shook her head. "According to the halqings in the Thalavar household, there's some sea serpent called the quelzarn that lurks in these waters. People who come down here tend to disappear.

"Disappearances no doubt arranged by the Faceless to conceal his lair," Alias guessed. She pulled Melman's key from her pocket, and, holding the key loop up to her eye, scanned the stone embankment. She pointed to a featureless spot a little ways downstream at the foot of the embankment. "There," she said, handing the key to the halfling.

Olive peered through the key loop. It was like looking through a soap bubble. Rainbows of color swirled before her eye, but when she looked toward the spot where Alias pointed, a hot white light shone before her eye. She offered the key to Dragonbait, but the saurial declined to use the magic item, disdainful of handling any Night Mask magic unless absolutely necessary. Out of habit, Olive ran her finger down the teeth of the key, registering its shape, before returning it to the swordswoman.

Once more Alias held the key up to her eye. She strode purposefully toward the stone embankment. Olive could detect only slight, irregular frost cracks in the rock. Abas reached out with her hand and touched a spot on the rock. "There's some sort of keyhole here," she said. Then she guided the key to the hand she held on the wall like a woman trying to unlock a door in the dark.

The key slid smoothly into the rock; Alias twisted it, and from beneath the ground came the sound of a huge bolt being thrown.

The erratic pattern of cracks joined in the shape of a rough-hewn door some three feet across by five feet high. The door popped a few inches out of the wall. Dragonbait grasped its edge and muscled it open.

Behind the entrance lay a tunnel several feet wider and higher than the door. Alias looked around. An outcropping of rock in the muddy bank blocked any view from the bridge. The riverbed widened considerably just below the bridge, so no one standing on the opposite shore at night would be able to see more than the light of their lantern. It was a location well hidden in plain sight Olive thrust her lantern into the inky black tunnel. Brickwork lined the walls, floors, and arched ceiling as far back as they could see. All three adventurers drew their blades and slipped through the door. Dragonbait growled the command for his blade to ignite.

There was a ring attached to the back of the door. Alias gave it a tug, pulling the door nearly closed so that it did not attract visitors behind them, but leaving enough of a gap that they could flee the tunnels easily should the need arise. Then the trio plunged into the darkness.

Thirty feet down, the passage emptied into a larger tunnel with an uneven floor and a canted ceiling cut directly into bedrock. This tunnel appeared to be far older. Along its length were several side passages, all of which were bricked up. The older tunnel went on for some distance straight ahead.

Finally the passage widened slightly. On one side were ten empty sconces, 'and on the other, ten empty pegs.

"At last we've found the cloak room of the Faceless," Olive joked.

Another ten feet ahead, the passage spilled out into a large vault cut out of the solid stone. The walls were bare, and the furnishing was sparse but impressive: a massive obsidian table streaked with veins of gold, polished to a liquidlike luster. Ten large wooden chairs, five to a side, stood about the table, and at the head, on a raised dais, stood a throne of the same black-and-gold material as the table. On the table sat a brass brazier, unlit but stoked with fresh charcoal. Beside the brazier lay a black cloth covering a small object.

Alias lifted the black cloth. Beneath it was a white porcelain mask, a domino mask painted about the eyes and a glyph on the forehead. The mark for Gateside," Alias noted. "Melman's district."

Olive proceeded around the room, tapping the walls and looking for secret access ways.

"Is the Faceless simply letting the others know of Melman's death or informing them that he himself was responsible?" the paladin mused. Alias shrugged and laid the black cloth back over the mask.