The statues were iron, covered with a thin film of oil to ward off rust. They were about twice Alias's height, molded in a humanoid form but with dragon heads. Alias was sure they were some sort of golem-automatons capable of serving as deadly guards. Those constructed of iron often breathed poisonous gas, and Alias found herself holding her breath as she approached them.

She reached out and touched the nearest statue. It was cool and remained immobile. If the statues were iron golems, they did not appear to be activated. They were set in a military formation, two rows deep. It was in the back line where she thought she saw movement.

The warrior woman slid between the two ranks, roov-. ing as silently as a cat. She saw a flash of light on metal behind the second rank. Swinging around the line, Alias raised her sword, prepared to skewer whatever skulked back there.

Fortunately, her mind analyzed what she saw before her instincts took over. She recognized the man in fine silk vestments who stood before her gripping with white knuckles a sword held out in an awkward defensive position. "Victor!" Alias gasped.

Victor Dhostar lowered his sword and held his other hand over his heart as if to keep it from leaping out of his chest. His eyes were wide with both fear and astonishment. "Alias!" he exclaimed, breathing a sigh of relief. "Am I glad to see you!"

"Come on out," Alias ordered, holding her sword level, still ready to strike. Magical creatures sometimes used the face of a friend as a ploy to get adventurers to lower their guard.

Victor stumbled forward sheepishly, nodding at the saurial and the halfling as they approached him warily. "Dragonbait. Mistress Ruskettle. How do you do? I was afraid you were the Faceless."

Alias looked at the paladin for some confirmation of Victor's identity. Dragonbait concentrated his shen sight on the man before him. There was nothing but the sky-blue of grace in his soul. If he was not Victor Dhostar, he was his twin in all respects. The saurial nodded.

Alias exhaled and sheathed her sword. Then she leaned in toward Victor and snapped angrily, "What are you doing down here?" Her voice rang through the chamber like a bell clapper.

Victor sighed. "Being a damned fool," he answered. "I thought I could help you find the Faceless's lair. I followed up a few clues and found this place. I was investigating it when I heard a voice down the hall. I hid because I thought it might be the Faceless."

"How did you get past the quelzarn?" Olive asked suspiciously.

Victor blinked tyvice. "There was a quelzarn? I mean, there really is one?" he asked.

"Perhaps it didn't attack because it failed to hold him magically, just as it let me across," Alias suggested.

Olive was not mollified. "So how did you get in?" she demanded of the merchant noble.

"This," Victor said, pulling out from his vest pocket a key on a pink ribbon. He handed the key to Olive. It appeared identical to the one Alias had from Melman. "There's a secret door on the banks of the Thunn. You look through that hole in the grip to see it, then the key opens the door."

"How did you find the secret passage beyond the meeting room?" Olive demanded, running her fingers along the teeth of the key before handing it back.

The latch behind the throne. King Verovan had something like that over a hundred years ago. Now it's a fairly standard release for the merchant houses to use in their treasuries." "Where did you get the key?" Olive demanded.

Victor looked down at his hands as if examining them for dirt. "I'm afraid I can't tell you that," he said coolly. "Can't or won't?" Olive pressed. "Olive," Alias said in a cautioning tone.

Victor met Olive's intense gaze. "Won't," he retorted. "Certainly not to an employee of a rival house." He looked at Alias. "I will explain all to you later," he said, "when we are alone."

Alias accepted the noble's terms with a nod, but she had to ask, "Lord Victor, if you had some clues, why didn't you contact me?

Victor sheathed his sword. "There was some indication that another noble house was involved, so I thought I had better check it out first, to spare you another incident like yesterday's with the Urdos," the young man explained.

"You shouldn't have come down here alone. You could have been killed!" the swordswoman exclaimed.

"I realize you think of me only as a merchant, but I am capable with a sword and I can take care of myself," Victor replied.

There was a chill in the nobleman's tone that stung Alias like an icy rain. I've offended his pride, she realized, and although she couldn't help think of the awkward way he'd held his sword up only a moment ago, she knew she couldn't bring herself to challenge him. "Victor, this isn't about your being able to take care of yourself," she began carefully. "This is about your life being too important to risk on such a reckless excursion. Your father, the croamarkh, needs you. Westgate needs you." The swordswoman held his eyes with her own and, in a whisper, added,"/ need you."

"How absolutely precious," a harsh whisper echoed through the cavern. "I'd nearly forgotten how amusing mammal love is."

Alias and Dragonbait held their swords up at the alert and wheeled back to back in a long-practiced maneuver. Without discussion they kept Lord Victor between them. Olive ducked quickly into the shadow of the iron statues.

The pool at the far end of the room began to bubble and hiss, and from it rose a great dragon's skull. "Hello, children." The words seemed to come from the dragon's skull. Its tone was mock cheerfulness. "It's good to see you again, even in my reduced circumstances."

It took only moments for all three adventurers to place the voice, but it was Olive who replied first.

"Misty!" the halfling chirped, sheathing her sword and stepping out from the shadows. "Long time!"

"So nice to be remembered," the dragon skull said as the water finished dripping from its sides. "I have not forgotten you either, Mistress Ruskettle. Or you, Champion. Or you, Alias, you red-headed witch."

Alias moved cautiously toward the skull. "Mistinarper-adnacles. You're an ally of the Faceless, aren't you?"

"No, witch. I'm merely a pawn," the dragon skull answered. "Just as is everyone in this city, yourselves included."

Victor stepped forward. "I am no man's pawn, dead thing," the young lord declared.

Mist's laughter rang all about them. "You are one of the biggest pawns of all, Dhostar pup. Pawn to your father, pawn to your ambitions, pawn to your… desires.

"As for you, Alias of the Inner Sea, you are a pawn of the Faceless's. He has plans for you. He will make himself your master." '"

"An evil sorceress, a lich, a fiend from Tarterus, a mad god, and an assassins' guild all tried to master me. All are now dead," Alias retorted.

"True," Mist replied. "If your luck is still as it was, you may defeat the Faceless. I will aid you in exchange for a boon." "What boon, wyrm?" the swordswoman demanded.

"Swear that you will free me from this bondage of my spirit so that I may rest in peace, and I will tell you three of the Faceless's secrets."

"I so swear," Alias agreed. "First. The device that shields the Faceless and the Night Masters from detection. Tell me all you knew of it."

"It sits there on that table," Mist answered, turning so that one eye socket seemed to look at the tree rack hung with the white porcelain masks. "It was crafted by the priests of the temple of Leira, the deceased goddess of illusions, and stolen by the priests of Mask, god of thieves. A doppelganger imitating the Shadowlord of Mask's temple stole it and used it to build the Night Mask guild. The masks must hang there on that rack for a day to recharge their magical powers. Anyone wearing one of the masks for one hour is protected from all magical detection and divination for four days. The Faceless sets them out for the Night Masters to wear just before the meeting they attend every other night so there is no chance of their being discovered. Even the Faceless dons one beneath the coin mask he wears to conceal his features from his own servants, including myself"