"Maybe," Alias said, "if we can get Durgar to hurry, well be able to clean out this lair before nightfall."

One of the few joys of being half the size of the dominant race of Faerun, Olive reflected as she hung on to the low-slung storage area at the rear of Victor's carriage, is that unless someone is on the lookout for you, it's easy to hide just beside them. Even if the day were not ridden with fog, it was unlikely that she would be detected. She looked just like an old horse blanket someone had thrown in the back, and she was too light a stowaway for the horses to seem burdened. She kept her ears pricked during the ride through the city, out the West Gate, and through the countryside to Castle Dhostar, but Victor and his driver did not even attempt a conversation with one another. The halfling was not surprised. According to her mates at the Thalavar household, the Dhostars were very strong believers in the separation of stations.

Things might have been dicier for the halfling had their destination been a real castle with a curtain wall and guards at the portcullis, but Castle Dhostar was really just a very large manor house. Victor hopped down from the carriage, and, as the driver pulled away, Olive rolled out of the boot and slipped into the shadow of a yew tree by the drive. There were no guards at the front door, but, as Victor let himself in, he called for someone named Kane, and a butler appeared to take the merchant lord's sewer-drenched cloak.

Olive sneaked into the front hall as the butler was pulling off Victor's muck-‹encrusted boots. She slipped into the shadow beneath a table against the wall. As the servant handed the nobleman a pair of comfortable house slippers, Olive caught the words, "Your father… the library… soon as you arrive."

The halfling listened for the sound of Victor's retreating steps, and, as soon as the butler disappeared with Victor's wet things, she slipped down the hallway after the merchant lord.

Fortunately, Castle Dhostar was an easy place to sneak around in. Apparently Luer Dhostar did not believe in wasting money on candles to light the halls. The servants all carried their own lights, so Olive could see as well as hear them coming and take cover in a shadow as they passed. There were plenty of shadows cast by the usual bric-a-brac of the wealthy: out-dated armor, stuffed animal trophies, stone statuary, ancient urns on pedestals.

Olive pressed her ear against several doors without hearing Victor's or Luer's voice. Then, from a room just ahead, she heard the croamarkh shouting. Victor had left the door open, so Olive peered inside. Luer Dhostar sat at a desk; his son stood before him, receiving a paternal dressing down.

"In the sewers! Gond's gears! What were you thinking? You could have been killed! "You are a Dhostar, not some cheap hero from the street plays. You hire people to take risks for you, then you stay away from those people. That way, when they make mistakes, you don't suffer directly."

When they make mistakes? Olive wondered. What mistakes?

"Anyone could have set off that trap," Victor replied. "You can't blame Alias because a halfling couldn't resist handling things."

He's blamed me for picking up that mask! Olive thought with a huff. What a little rat.

Just inside the open door was a large stuffed displacer beast mounted rampant, its forepaws and tentacles batting the air. Lord Luer or one of his ancestors was quite the accomplished hunter. Olive slipped into the library, positioning herself behind the trophy beast.

"I hired this woman to take care of the Night Masks, not drag you on dangerous jaunts into the underworld. It's bad enough you've been neglecting your duties-"

"I have not been neglecting my duties," Victor snapped in a low growl. "There isn't a single obligation to you, the family business, or Westgate that I have not fulfilled."

Luer Dhostar drummed his fingers on his desktop. "First you champion her acting friends in front of the rabble," he accused his son. "Then you spend last night's cruise almost exclusively in her company, time you might have spent with your peers, men and women of your own rank. Now I find you've been diving into sewers with her. That is not the life of a Dhostar."

"No, the life of a Dhostar is all cold figures and hard cash. There's no room in it for honor or courage," Victor taunted, stepping forward and wringing his shirt sleeve out on the accounting books spread out before his father, leaving puddles in the blue ink.'

Lord Luer turned several shades of red, though Olive couldn't be sure whether he was more angered by his son's words or his reckless disregard for bookkeeping. For a moment it seemed as if Victor, faced with his father's apoplectic wrath, showed a moment of fear, a recognition that he had gone too far, for he backed away suddenly from his father. In the next moment, however, the young man's back stiffened, and he stood his ground.

Several moments of icy silenced followed, then Victor said, "I've issued Alias and her companion an invitation to the masquerade ball."

"And you expect the other noble families to accept her because you keep dragging her into their presence?" Luer said with a laugh.

"I don't care about the other families. I expect you to honor her for the service she's done us. She's discovered the Faceless's lair for you. Within a few days she may have his identity."

"That's what I've paid her for. I am not required to reward her success with invitations to socialize with her betters," Luer growled. "Since you have so injudiciously invited her, I suppose there is nothing I can do. Welcome her to the ball, introduce her as your guest, dance with her. I will not be there. I will not watch my son cavorting with a common adventuress or seem to give my approval with my presence."

"Father, you cannot mean that. You are blowing this all out of proportion. I haven't forgotten my rank or hers. I am simply extending a courtesy to a very useful employee. I assure you I have no intentions of forming an alliance beneath my station.''

Funny you forgot to mention that to Alias, Olive thought.

"Your lack of propriety is not my concern," Luer replied to his son. "It is the appearance of impropriety I cannot tolerate. If that girl is there, I will not attend the ball."

Someone rapped at the door frame, and Luer barked, "Enter."

Kimbel stepped into the room. "Excuse me, Lord Luer," the assassin-turned-servant begged. "Lord Orgule has sent his son with a message. He awaits your reply in the hall." Kimbel proffered a scrap of parchment.

Luer read the message and cursed softly. "Orgule could foul up a one-horse parade," he muttered, pushing himself out of his chair. "I'll speak with the boy myself," he said as he stalked over to the door. Just before he stepped out of the room, he whirled about to address Victor once more. "Get into some dry things," he ordered, "before you ruin the carpets."

When the croamarkh had gone, Kimbel closed the door softly behind him. Victor flopped into his father's chair and propped his feet up on the desk. "He is a fool, you know," the young lord said.

"So you have informed me," Kimbel replied without a trace of irony or humor. "He refuses to see how useful Alias is," Victor steamed.

Useful! Olive thought angrily. Is that all you have to say about a girl who's welcomed you with her arms and lips and given you a token of her regard? You Westgate nobles are so romantic.

"The rabble is rather taken with her, thanks to Jamal," Kimbel noted, "but, aside from House Thalavar, the noble families are cool."

"Short-sighted fools," Victor muttered. Olive could see his jaw clenched in irritation.

"It's hardly surprising," Kimbel pointed out. "Every one of them has some involvement with the Night Masks, which they wish to remain hidden. They do not perceive this Alias as an ally. You do not want to offend them. After all, it is still the noble families who choose the croamarkh."