Jamal looked for a moment as if she might explode. Olive knew she'd just called into question a basic tenet of the actress's beliefs. A moment later, though, Jamal sighed. "Just because people won't take charge of their own lives doesn't mean they can't," she argued. "I'm not saying that," Olive replied.
"Well, you may be right about the king thing," the actress conceded. "I have heard people talking about Azoun of Cormyr as if he were the gods' gift to the people. Are you sure about Victor Dhostar, though? Alias seemed to think he was ail right."
"Even Alias makes mistakes, something I intend to correct just as soon as she and Dragonbait get back from the sewers," Olive said. "In the meantime, Lady Nettel's dying request was that I protect her granddaughter. House Thalavar lost three halfling bodyguards to the golems last night, so I've spent the last twelve hours not letting Thistle -Thalavar out of my sight. I think the girl was getting tired of me. After making all the arrangements for her grandmother's funeral, she locked herself in the study to go over House Thalavar's account books and Lady Nettel's personal journal. I should be getting back to Castle Thalavar to keep an eye on visitors offering their condolences. When Alias gets back-" "You'll hear from me," Jamal promised.
It was nightfall before the actress sent Kel around with a message for the halfling, but all the note said was that Alias had not returned, and neither had Dragonbait nor Mintassan. Olive penned a reply that Jamal should sit tight. The sewers were vast. It might take a little more time to explore them. The halfling did her best to keep from sounding worried when she handed the message to Kel.
Thistle finally came out of her grandmother's study for supper. Olive pressed her for permission to hire more bodyguards. The young girl fingered her grandmother's brooch like an amulet, then nodded her agreement.
The next morning brought a similar note from Jamal. Alias had not returned, but a fisherman had relayed a rumor that Alias was seen battling a fire elemental in the plaza around the Westlight. Jamal had checked with the watch stationed around the lighthouse, only to learn that some itinerant wanderer had started a trash fire by the water to keep herself company. That afternoon, after Lady Nettel's funeral, one of the Thalavar halflings returned to the castle with the rumor that the Faceless was holding court in a tavern in Gate-side. With Thistle again locked in the study with her account books, Olive hurried down to the tavern in question, but discovered only an outlander in a heavy cloak. He was not holding court, only recruiting bodyguards for a caravan going south, and he kept his face covered with the hood of his cloak to hide a particularly ugly scar received from brigands.
Olive spent the afternoon interviewing halflings to serve as guards for the castle, for the warehouses, and, most especially, for Thistle. While she found several sturdy, sensible recruits worth training, no one with any real combat experience came forward.
By evening, Jamal sent another negative note. The adventurers had not returned. A beachcomber down by the river claimed t% have seen Dragonbait battling the quelzarn in the water below the bridge. After interviewing the witness, Jamal had concluded he was into his third tankard of ale and was seeing anything the actress could suggest to his vivid imagination and besotted brain.
The third morning after the ball brought a new rumor to the servants' quarters of Castle Thalavar: the Faceless was dead. Night Mask activity was so low for the past two days, people had begun to believe that perhaps the Night Masks were in mourning for their leader. Speculation was rife that perhaps one of the deceased nobles had been the lord of the Night Masters. Olive wondered if Victor had had a hand in spreading the rumor.
Kel appeared at the Thalavar castle gate right after breakfast. Olive realized he brought something more than rumor. The boy had been crying. This time he hadn't brought a note. "Jamal's at the Old Beard," he reported. "She says come now." Still crying, Kel ran off.
Olive arrived at the tavern near the river just as House Dhostar"s massive carriage was pulling away. People were pouring out of the tavern. Olive hurried inside. Jamal was sitting at a table, looking pale and shaken. "What is it?" the halfling asked. "A fisherman found it near the Athagdal docks," Jamal explained, "where the Thunn runs into the harbor." "Found what?" Olive demanded.
"Alias-Alias-her-oh, gods!" The actress broke into sobs.
Olive looked up at the tavern's host. "It was an arm," the man explained, "covered with a tattoo of thorns and waves, with a rose at the wrist."
"I found it floating in the water," a young fisherman said. " Tweren'-t chewed up or anything. Someone had hacked it off at the shoulder. It had a domino mask clutched in its hand-in a death grip." "Where is it?" Olive demanded through clenched teeth.
"Croamarkh Victor took it," the tavern owner said. "Wept over it like it were the lady herself. Wrapped it up in a piece o' velvet and said it would be laid to rest in the Dhostar family crypt in honor of her service to the croamarkh."
Olive nudged Jamal to her feet, anxious to get her away from the somewhat crowded tavern.
As they walked down the street, Jamal explained. "I sent Kel as soon as I heard. I thought you might be able to tell for sure-tell if it were hers. You said it was a magic arm. You could tell if it were a fake, couldn't you?" "Maybe," Olive said. "Why'd you let Dhostar take it?"
"He was weeping. He asked the fisherman and the people in the tavern if they would let him take it. No one could turn him down. If he's really as bad as you say, he's the best actor in Westgate," the actress said. "I don't think I could show more grief than he did."
"If you're not careful, hell make your troupe obsolete," the halfling snarled.
If rumors flew before, now they teleported from place to place. Some said that the severed arm meant that Alias had battled the Night Masks and lost. Others insisted that the fact that the arm's fist clutched a domino mask meant she had won, even though it had cost her her life. A third faction held that she, her companions, and all the Night Masters, including the Faceless, had never fought at all, but just been eaten by the quelzarn.
Olive told herself Alias could have survived losing her arm. Dragonbait and Mintassan might be with her even now. It was impossible, though, to come up with a reason why they didn't return, why Mintassan didn't just tele-port them back to bis home to reassure their friends that they were safe. Olive's hope began slipping away.
Five days after the ball, Olive Ruskettle, captain of the House Thalavar guard, self-declared bard, and selfdeclared Harper, was making a halfhearted attempt to drink herself to death. She sat on the open patio of the Black Eye tavern, with its excellent view of the market and the Tower. Three days had passed since the funerals of the croamarkh and the other felled merchant lords. The official period of mourning completed, the market was once again blanketed by a tapestry of motley-the wares of both minor and noble merchants being offered for sale. That, if no other reason, was enough to keep Olive ordering round after round of a highly potent southern drink known as Dragon's Bite. She was disgusted by the way this city shrugged off its losses and returned diligently to the task of making money. There had been no funeral for Alias, Dragonbait, or Mintassan, no official period of mourning for the heroes who had so selflessly risked their lives for this town of money-grubbing greengrocers. Not that three days of mourning could be enough to honor adventurers of their caliber-adventurers who'd been her friends.
She wanted to blow this festhall of a city, to leave it to fester in its own greed, to head north where adventurers weren't treated like carpets for merchants to wipe their feet on. Still, Westgate held her in its thrall. She had business here still.