More softly, Olive added, "Should you happen to show any more initiative and follow Lady Thistle about, without getting caught at it, or letting her know afterward, that would probably be the best use of your skills."

Winterhart smiled slyly and saluted Olive with her own wooden blade.

Kimbel stood in the center of the Faceless's new lair, turning, slowly, surveying the contents of the room. From inside his shirt he pulled out a golden rod and began tapping it against all the magic in his sight, against the remaining iron golems, against the masks worn by the Night Masters, against the enchanted staves and weaponry hanging on the wall. A tiny spark jumped from the wand each time it touched a magic item.

A bell chimed, and Kimbel turned to face the magical portal mirror as a figure stepped through and entered the lair.

"You're late," the assassin noted calmly to the new arrival, a comely halfling dressed very primly.

Tve been reassigned," Winterhart explained. "Ruskettle's got me drilling the Thalavar castle guard. You've never seen a sorrier bunch of would-be warriors. I couldn't get away until lunchtune."

"You aren't eating with the others? Someone might suspect you're not a halfling," Kimbel said.

"It will be over before anyone guesses the truth," Winterhart replied.

"So you aren't Lady Thistle's maid anymore? Do you think you'll get a chance to snatch her brooch in your new position."

"No, but despite my warnings, Thistle is obviously crazy about your master. I'm sure he'll have no trouble sweet-talking her into handing it over to him. Hell probably enjoy that more than receiving it from one of us."

An evil chuckle drifted around the pair. "So true," a disembodied voice agreed.

Kimbel whirled about, the little golden wand in his hand held out at the ready, but Winterhart stayed his hand. "It's only the dragon skull," the halfling woman said. She turned to the corner of the room where the dragon's skull sat balanced on an iron tripod, its eyes glowing like hot coals. "Hail, Mistinarperadnacles Hai Draco," the halfling said coolly.

"Hail, servants of the Faceless," Mist replied and chuckled again. "And what amuses you so?" Kimbel asked the creature.

"I have lost my life, my body, and my freedom, yet I still have my sight," Mist replied, "and a dragon's sight is not easily deceived by invisibility, illusion, or other magic."

"Prove it," Winterhart challenged. "Tell me what you know."

"Very well. You, Miss Winterhart, are no more a halfling than I, bub I know what and who you are," Mist retorted. "As for Kimbel, I think the Faceless would be very interested to Јnow the truth about his magically enslaved assassin. There is a way, however, to ensure my silence. You know what it is."

Winterhart nodded. "Once the Faceless has obtained Verovan's hoard for the Night Masks, I will grant you your boon."

Victor Dhostar sat in his office in the Tower, listening to one of the city's accountants explain why the budget for the preceding month had been exceeded by twenty thousand gold pieces, but how the deficit for the current month would only be half that amount if the croamarkh passed the oar and sail tax. Fortunately, the croamarkh was delivered from having to deal immediately with the budget nightmare by a knock on the door. "Come," the new croamarkh called out.

A guard entered the room. "Excuse me, Your Lordship. Lady Thistle Thalavar is here."

"Thank you. Please show her in," Victor said. To the accountant he explained, "I'm afraid my business with House Thalavar is more urgent than this problem. We will have to continue this discussion later. Make another ppointment with my scribe." "But, Your Lordship, we need-"

"Dismissed," Victor growled with an expression that would brook no argument.

The accountant gathered his books and pens and bowed. He bowed again to Lady Thistle as she entered the room. As the accountant exited, Victor smiled with delight. The croamarkh had no appointment with Thistle, but on the off-chance she would take it into her head to visit him here he had left instructions that she be shown up immediately. "What service can I do for Your Ladyship?" Lord Victor asked.

"I can wait if I'm interrupting your work," Thistle began.

"Lady Thistle, you are the head of one of the leading families of Westgate. I wouldn't dream of keeping you waiting."

As he rose from his desk and circled around to stand before the girl, Victor noted how his flattery caused her to straighten with pride. "Besides, if I kept you waiting and you left, I would be disappointed that Fd missed seeing you." He took up the girl's hand and brushed his lips along her fingertips.

"I've given a lot of thought to our conversation last night," Thistle said. "I'm feeling very unhappy that I would not-could not give you the token you asked for." She touched the feather brooch pinned to her gown. "After more careful consideration, I have decided to give you my wholehearted support, and you will have my token, tonight."

"Oh, Thistle, my darling," Lord Victor whispered. He swept the girl up in his arms and kissed her as if she were a woman.

"Lord Victor," Thistle remarked when the croamarkh finally released her, "I fear you've mistaken my meaning."

Victor stepped back and turned his head away as if to hide his disappointment. "Forgive me, Lady Thistle, I thought… I dared hope…"

"Oh, Victor," Thistle whispered, stepping forward and taking the croamarkh's hands. "It's not that I'm not honored by your declaration. It's only that I meant something different by offering my support."

Victor looked the girl in the eyes once more, confusion written on his face. "What did you mean, Thistle?"

"I meant I will deliver Verovan's hoard to you. So you can do all you said for Westgate. So you can make it the greatest city in all of Faerun."

A smile fluttered across the croamarkh's face. "Oh, Thistle. Sweet lady. All that talk 6f Verovan's treasure- that's just dreams, faerie tales. Someday, I will do all those things I spoke of, but when I asked for your support I was thinking more realistically-I was thinking of the kind of support a woman gives a man. Thistle, I love you. I want you to be my wife."

Thistle beamed with pleasure, but she was still determined to prove herself. "There is no position I'd like more," the girl replied, "but I will give you Verovan's hoard. It's not a myth. Meet me tonight at Castle Vhammos, and I will prove it."

Victor shook his head. "Darling, even for Verovan's hoard I cannot meet you tonight. I must be at the Temple of Gond for the ceremony to initiate apprentices. If I did not attend, it would offend every artisan in the city, not to mention the priests of Gond, and probably Gond himself."

Thistle laughed. "You are so dutiful. Meet me tomorrow night then. You shall have Verovan's treasure, and you shall have me."

"Very well," the croamarkh agreed. He leaned forward and whispered in the girl's ear, "Tomorrow night I'll let you prove whatever you like."

The next morning, Thistle called Olive out to the veranda to join her for breakfast. The lady was watching Kretschmer and Winterhart drilling the castle guard. Marching in formation, the new recruits were beginning to look like a force to be reckoned with. "Miss Winterhart is better suited to her new post, I think," Thistle commented.

"Miss Winterhart tells me you visited Lord Dhostar yesterday afternoon, again without an escort," the halfling retorted.

"She followed me again? Of all the nerve! I want you to dismiss her at once."

"No, Lady, I will not," Olive replied. Before the girl could protest, the halfling pressed on with an explanation. "I authorized Miss Winterhart to follow you. I couldn't care less about your courtship of Victor Dhostar, but if you're attacked by Night Masks, there must be someone present to defend you. I'm sure Lord Victor would agree with me that your safety is more important than your privacy."