"I know about the smoke powder," Luer said. "Smoke powder? What about it?"

"It occurred to me when Alias noted how much more common smoke powder is. She thought perhaps we weren't able to stop it from being smuggled in. She didn't know how efficient the sniffer dogs at the customs check are or just how much we've confiscated. It's all been recorded in the customs records. There should be quite a stockpile." The croamarkh poked a hard finger in his son's chest. "A stockpile I entrusted to you," he growled. "A stockpile I have since discovered has been seriously depleted. You've been selling it to them, haven't you? You've been supplying the Faceless with the smoke powder he uses in his evil schemes. You've made yourself his pawn."

Victor snorted derisively. "I am no one's pawn, old man. I control this game, and when it is through, Westgate will no longer be a squabbling collection of petty nobles, but a powerful kingdom-something I might have already accomplished if you had supported me as croamarkh. We might have avoided this whole ugly mess if only you had given me a chance to prove myself."

Luer's features softened for a moment, and he put his hands on his son's shoulders. "Whatever you've done," he said, "whatever hooks the Faceless has in you, I can put things right again. Escape yourself on that ship to Mul-horand, and I'll sort matters out on this end. Gods know, you're not the first noble scion I've had to pull from the mu-"

Luer's voice faltered, and he gasped and looked down at his chest. A dagger jutted from between his ribs, and Victor, who held the blade's handle, thrust it in deeper.

The green ichor in the blade's groove sizzled as it came into contact with the croamarkh's blood, and a black stain spread across the croamarkh's tunic.

Father looked at son with an unbelieving stare. His lips tried to issue the word "Why?" but the sound was blocked by a bloody foam pouring from bis mouth.

A moment later, Lord Luer Dhostar, Patriarch of Clan Dhostar and Croamarkh of Westgate, crumpled to the floor in a heap.

“I’ll pull myself out of the mud, Father," Victor replied coldly. "It is too bad you wouldn't do as I asked. It would have been so much more convenient for both of us." He looked up at Kimbel. The servant was grinning.

"I fail to see any humor in the situation," Victor snapped.

"It's the irony," Kimbel retorted. "Where the warrioress has been led astray, an accountant comes to the truth."

Victor sniffed in recognition of Kimbel's point, then ordered, "Get the body to the new hideout. When you finish that, begin to search and mark all the books with references to smoke powder so I have evidence of the former croamarkh's pilfering."

"And may I inquire as to your plans, Your Lordship?" the former assassin queried as he opened the library door.

"I have to get ready for the masquerade ball," Victor said with a laugh as he strolled from the room. "You know us merchants. Banes of the dance floor and dessert tables."

Eighteen

Alias returned to Blais House in the late afternoon, lugging a red velvet I gown made from so much fabric it weighed nearly as much as the adventurer's sword. Jamal accompanied her, | carrying the baldric and the masks. Alias had chosen for herself and Drag-onbait. The saurial had gone out, but he returned just as Jamal was buttoning up the side of Alias's gown.

To Alias's questioning look the paladin explained in Saurial, "I've been to see Mintassan about a few matters."

"Anything in particular?" Alias asked as she slipped the diamond-patterned baldric over her head.

Dragonbait shot a glance at Jamal. The actress was beginning to fuss with Alias's hair. "It would be better in private," he answered.

On the pretext that Dragonbait was too modest to change with the actress about, Alias asked Jamal to excuse herself. The actress agreed, promising Alias she'd be waiting in the hotel lobby to see them off. "Well?" Alias prompted once she'd closed the door behind Jamal. "Olive was here earlier," the paladin explained. "And?" Dragonbait shifted uncomfortably. He didn't really know that he credited Olive's story, which made it very difficult for him to present it at all. Of course, if he actually believed the halfling, the truth would be even harder for him to reveal. "She doesn't trust Victor Dhostar," the saurial said.

Alias chuckled as she worked her way into the white slippers Jamal had loaned her. "Neither does Jamal. It seems to be a way of life in Westgate-mistrusting all the noble merchants. According to Jamal, it should be a crime for people to make that much money for so little labor or talent." "What do you think?" Dragonbait asked.

Alias tied her scabbard to the baldric she wore. "Well, Fm sure there's more than a few Haztor Urdos among them." "I meant about Victor," the paladin explained.

Alias smiled. "Victor's different," she said. Dragonbait said nothing, but continued to stare at Alias until she felt obliged to elaborate. "He's wonderful, charming, clever, thoughtful, and, to use a phrase Jamal's fond of, he's a fine figure of а тал."

"Olive thinks he lied to us about the key, that he did not enter the Faceless's lair the way he claimed, that he knows his father is the Fadeless, that he is using you to depose him."

Alias glared at her companion. "That's ridiculous," she snapped. "You do not think he suspects his father?"

"Of course he suspects his father. He's just loyal to him, the way I was to Finder, like you said. Remember? The day you told me how sky-blue virtuous he appeared?"

Dragonbait nodded. "Suppose I hadn't told you that. Would you think the same of him?"

"Of course I would," Alias said in an exasperated tone. "Because he is. It's not his fault his father might be a criminal."

"Olive thinks Victor must have used a different entrance to the lair and lied to us about using the key."

"Oh, and Olive has never been one to jump to conclusions," Alias said with sarcasm. "I'll find out about the key from Victor tonight. We'll get this settled then. You should be getting dressed. Victor will be here soon." She turned to the window and began vigorously yanking a brush through her hair.

Dragonbait changed into his best tunic and strapped on his sword. As he peace-bonded his weapon with a cord of silk, he said, "I spoke with Mintassan about the magic that makes the Faceless and the Night Masters undetectable."

Alias turned about. "Probably something like what makes me undetectable. Cassana could have bought or stole the skill from the priests of Leira. Durgar won't believe in the Faceless because he can't be detected by magic. I wonder, if he tried to detect me, would he conclude I don't exist, do you think?"

"No," the paladin replied. "Not if it contradicted the evidence of his eyes. Mintassan suspects that the Faceless's helmet of disguise was not the only piece of magic looted from the Temple of Leira before it was burned. There might have been objects that could misdirect other sorts of magical detection. Perhaps even something that could blind my shen sight."

From the street outside came the sound of carriage -wheels rumbling on the cobblestones.

"That could explain why you read the croamarkh as completely neutral, if he is the Faceless, " Alias noted as she turned to look out the window.

Dragonbait nodded, but did not add his worse suspicion. He was unwilling to admit there was any magic that could thwart his shen sight, which was, to his mind, a gift from his god. Without proof, he could not bring himself to slander Lord Victor.

"That's Lord Victor's carriage," Alias announced, snatching up her porcelain mask. Her gown rustled as she swept toward the door in a most unladylike dash.