Harborside led a round of applause, which silenced any other questions or doubts. The Night Masters filed out, congratulating themselves on their good fortune. Seated on his stone throne, Victor, the Faceless, cradled a heavy head in his hand. It was exhausting managing a city, a family business, a criminal cartel, and a seduction all at once. When he finally had Verovan's treasure, he would turn loose his golems on this nest of thieves. Then there would be nothing standing between him and his eventual empire.

Twenty-Two

Olive's attempts to steer Thistle away from Victor were thwarted by the hard-line attitude of her supposed ally, Miss Winterhart. The halfling newcomer, while capable, intelligent, and alert, had to be the most tactless halfling in Faerun. Unfortunately, Olive did not discover this flaw until the morning after Thistle's dinner date with Victor Dhostar, and by then it was too late.

That morning Olive was headed toward the dining hall, her mind on mushroom-and-chicken omelets, when she heard Thistle, angry and strident, shout, "It is none of your business what Victor and I did last night."

All thoughts of breakfast took a back seat to whatever potential disaster was brewing with the mistress of the house. Olive veered in the direction of the shout. She spied Thistle seated on the veranda, cornered by an irate Winterhart.

"It is very much my business if it threatens you or your household," Miss Winterhart snapped back just as Olive stepped outside to join them.

"Something amiss?" Olive asked helpfully, hoping to instill some calm in the air before the other halflings in the household heard the argument and began gossiping about it.

"This new halfling of yours," said Thistle, her eyes squinting with annoyance, "is prying into my private affairs. Her manner has gone beyond mere halfling cheek, and verges on full-fledged impertinence." If Thistle had been standing, Olive was sure she would have stamped her dainty little foot, but she was not, and so Olive was spared that bit of theatrics.

"She sneaked out to dine with Victor Dhostar last night without a chaperon or a bodyguard," Winterhart explained to Olive, "and she did not return until well after the midnight bell.

"I am mistress of this house," Thistle retorted shrilly. "I will not be given a curfew."

"Of course not, Lady Thistle," Olive agreed. "Yet midnight is a little late for a dinner engagement to run, even in Westgate. Surely you can understand how Miss Winterhart must have worried for your safety."

"There was nothing to worry about," Thistle replied, her voice softening a little. "It was just a dinner aboard The Gleason, a farewell banquet for the captain and the officers. Afterward we climbed up the lighthouse, just for the view. That's all." "A likely story," Winterhart exclaimed.

"I beg your pardon?" Thistle said with a shocked expression.

"You heard me," Winterhart replied. "He didn't take you up there for the view. He took you up there so he could give you his little speech about how he dreamed of finding Verovan's treasure so he could use it to make Westgate the greatest city in the Realms-greater than Waterdeep. How he'll make Westgate safe, fill it with scholars and musicians, irrigate the fields."

Thistle started at the mention of Verovan's treasure, but her tone was as cold as the Great Glacier when she answered. "I do not appreciate my own staff spying on me. How dare you follow us?"

"Did you believe him when he told you he felt he could conquer the world with you by his side? When he asked if he would have the support of a clever, beautiful lady, what did you tell him? Have you given him a token of your esteem?" Winterhart asked snidely.

The girl reached without thinking, to feel the feather brooch pinned to her gown. "I find this petty espionage most unappealing," she snapped back, but her face flushed scarlet as she spoke.

"How else can I be expected to protect you from such a devious scoundrel?" Winterhart demanded.

"Victor," Thistle replied icily, "is… not… a… scoundrel. Mistress Ruskettle, I think you should find some other duties for Miss Winterhart. I simply cannot tolerate her as a lady's maid." The girl rose and strode imperiously back into the castle.

Olive surveyed Thistle's untouched breakfast tray and plucked a piece of bacon from the plate. She crunched on it as she thoughtfully appraised Winterhart.

The younger halfling glared back at her. "How can she be such a fool to fall for that arrogant, conniving greengrocer?" Winterhart growled.

"She's a girl, Winterhart," Olive said, picking up a forkful of fried potatoes. "Remember when you were a girl? When you argued with your mother about the relative worth or worthlessness of some boy who took your fancy? When you were certain you could take care of yourself without anyone's help? When no one could reason with you?" "I was never like that," Winterhart argued.

"Never? I'm beginning to wonder about you, Winterhart," Olive said and wolfed down the forkful of potatoes.

She motioned for the other halfling to follow her down to the lower courtyard, where Kretschmer, one of the few surviving members of Lady Nettel's guard, was drilling the new recruits Olive had hired. Olive pulled two wooden swords off the rack and tossed one to the prim halfling. Winterhart caught the practice weapon smoothly.

"It's time I assessed your reputed skill with a blade," Olive said.

"Is this another trial, Mistress Ruskettle?" Winterhart asked.

"No. Just a little exercise while we discuss tactics." Olive gave Winterhart's wooden blade a smack with her own. Winterhart responded by weaving her sword warily.

"I applaud your initiative following Lady Thistle last night," Olive said. "I can't, however, say I think much of the way you gave yourself away." She struck a blow aimed at Winterhart's thigh.

Winterhart parried the strike easily. "Does this mean you will try to convince Her Ladyship to keep me on as her personal maid?"

Olive shook her head, parrying a blow of Winterhart's aimed directly at her heart. "I can't afford to invite censure on myself. Someone's got to undo the damage you've done."

"Damage I've done?" Winterhart squeaked, lunging with her blade at Olive's shoulder. "Victor Dhostar is the one who'll being doing all the damage. That man is a menace," the younger halfling snarled.

"Agreed," Olive replied, leaping backward to avoid the lunge.

"If you know I'm. right, you have to keep me close to Lady Thistle," Winterhart said, pressing her advantage, lunging again witlv her blade at Olive's shoulder. "Did you see how she blushed when I asked her if she'd given him a token? Did you notice she left the veranda instead of ordering me away? Even she knows Fm right."

"It doesn't matter who is right to a girl like Thistle," Olive said with a sigh, smacking the hilt of Winterhart's sword away from her body. "It matters who makes her feel good about herself. Dhostar makes her feel like a woman. You made her feel like a child. You've practically driven her into Dhostar's arms. I've got to try to make her feel like a lady before Dhostar makes her forget her position." She struck a blow against Winterhart's hip.

Winterhart's blade whipped back before Olive had a chance to parry. The tip of the younger halfling's weapon slid across Ruskettle's throat.

Olive stepped back and saluted with her practice weapon. "You have the drive and the skill and the reflexes," she told Winterhart, "but you still have to learn when to pull back. I'm assigning you to help Kretschmer drill the new recruits. That would be a better use of your skills, I think." Winterhart glared at Olive.