"Perhaps their tongue is related to Auld Wyrmish, or the ancestral dragon languages. Saurials and dragons could share the same ancestors," Mintassan suggested.

"I think not," Dragonbait retorted, emitting a fishy smell that just hinted at how insulting he found the suggestion. Alias translated the words and the emotion.

Mintassan chuckled. "That's the same reaction I got from Grypht."

"Who is this Grypht?" asked Jamal, tearing her attention away from her spiked tea. "A fellow blood," Mintassan replied. "A what?" Alias asked.

"Blood," Jamal said. "That's plane-hopper slang for professional traveler."

"Grypht sent Alias and Dragonbait down to Westgate to make an exchange of magic," Mintassan explained. "He and his people are exiles from their own plane and live up north now. He's a saurial like Dragonbait here."

"Except he's ten feet tall and has horns all over his head," Alias corrected.

"He'll always be little Grypht to me," Mintassan said, with a chuckle. "Now, down to business," the sage said rubbing his hands together. "Show roe, please, what you've brought for me."

Dragonbait set the staff down on the table before the sage.

Mintassan ran his fingertips along the staff. He sighted down its length. Peered into the little mouse skulls dangling from the top. Sniffed at the orange feather. Rapped it sharply against the floor. Squinted at the runes that spiraled down from the top to the bottom. "Definitely Netheril," he declared. "Beautiful workman-ship. A staff of the undead. What can you tell me of its provenance and pedigree? Did it come from the Great Desert?"

"From Anauroch, yes," Alias answered. "A saurial exploration party came across the slaughtered bodies of a Zhentarim patrol decaying in the dunes. The staff was among the corpses.

"That fits, too," the sage said, nodding. "The Black Network has stooped to tomb-robbing ever since their precious city was smashed. Well, I am quite satisfied." He pulled a small box out from under the table and set it down in front of Alias. He turned the handle on the top and the sides fell away.

A perfect blue crystal sphere glowed before Alias, bathing her in a blue light. The sphere floated and spun ever so slightly an inch above a base of white jade carved in the shape of a twisting dragon.

Alias shot a glance at Jamal, but the woman did not seem interested in the magic crystal sphere. The swordswoman looked over at Dragonbait, who squinted at the magic ball with his shen sight. "Nothing malefic," the paladin reported.

"I think that Grypht will be happy with this crystal ball," Mintassan said. "It can find anyone in the Realms." With no magical abilities of her own, Alias was unable to test the sphere's reputed ability, but since Grypht had said all his dealings with Mintassan had been honorable ones and Dragonbait confirmed the magic was not evil, she gave a short nod. "We accept the trade," she said evenly.

Mintassan smiled and flipped up the sides of the box and twisted the lid back on. He looked up slyly at the swordswoman, noting, "There is, of course, one exception to the sphere's abilities."

"I have a permanent misdirection shield cast on me," Alias explained.

"Grypht mentioned it, and of course I had to test it," the sage said. "I struggled for hours trying to get the sphere to reveal you-without success. You didn't even set off the alarms at my door when you entered the shop. Now that we've finally met, I suppose you'll head right back to the Lost Vale." Mintassan sighed and leaned forward to stare into Alias's eyes. "Protected from magical scrying so only the lucky saurials have the pleasure of gazing on you."

"He must realize we don't find you as attractive as he does," Dragonbait said in Saurial.

"He knows," Alias said in Saurial. "He's flirting with me."

"Really?" Dragonbait asked. "Do you think he'd make a good mate?"

Alias ignored the paladin's question and replied to the sage, "That's our plan. As soon as there's a ship going that way," Alias said. "We may be stuck here a few days, though, according to the harbor master."

"Good," Jamal said to Alias. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to retire to one of the spare bedrooms."

Alias wondered if Jamal was explaining her sleeping arrangements to protect her reputation or to let Alias know the field was clear.

Jamal rose and began limping over to a staircase in the back of the workroom. She turned at the stairway and said, "Since you'll be around a few days, you'll have a chance to catch one of our performances. You'll see what a great cheap hero you make.

"I don't want to be a cheap hero," Alias called after her.

"Too late," Jamal called back as she pulled herself up the stairs by the railing. "I've already written the first act."

"I don't want to be a hero, cheap or otherwise," Alias insisted to Mintassan.

"I don't think you get a say in it," the sage replied. "Anyway, there's really nothing I can do about it. Jamal has total creative control over her theater. At least this time she's picked someone easy on the eyes," Mintassan noted with a grin.

Dragonbait chuckled. Alias glared up at him and said, in Saurial, "I am not going to take on the Night Masks, the merchants of Westgate, or whatever cheap villains Jamal has in mind," the swordswoman insisted.

"Don't worry. I'm sure you'll be a very good cheap hero," the paladin reassured her.

Within the city walls of Westgate, but some distance from the neighborhood where Mintassan the Sage lived, a far larger gathering of people would soon be discussing the topics of Jamal, the fire, and the two newcomers. The room where they met was hidden deep beneath Westgate's well-traveled streets. Long ago it had been protected from magical inquiries and priestly divinations, and over the years its entrances had been regularly relocated, the construction crews that performed these feats quietly slain to ensure secrecy. No long-lost crypt in the Fields of the Dead, nor dark-hearted shrine beneath the wreckage of Zhentil Keep had been as diligently protected. In time, the very secret nature of the place became its own protection. A place no one has seen, which cannot be detected super-naturally, must be a myth, so enforcers of the law, fortune hunters, and revenge seekers had long since ceased to search for the lair of the Night Masters, alleged leaders of the Night Masks, and the Night Masters' lord-the Faceless.

Yet myths and allegations are often true, and the Night Masters and the Faceless met in their secret lair to plan the activities of the Night Masks and to evaluate their successes and failures.

These secret masters of their city were average-looking men and women. Most tended to the sprawling girth that marked success in those fields where the younger and less experienced can be convinced to do the physical labor. The Night Masters did not choose nervous fidgets or careless drunkards to join their number. On the surface above, they were shopkeepers, craftsmen, and lesser merchants, the sort of respectable citizens to whom no one gives a second thought. They cultivated this anonymity carefully, avoiding any flamboyance or ostentation.

In their secret lair, they hid their surface identities. Before they entered the inner chambers, each Night Master donned a mask that covered his or her face from forehead to upper lip. The masks were made of white porcelain, with a black domino mask painted about the eye slits, and each was distinguished from all the others with a different golden glyph painted on the forehead. The glyphs designated the speaker's portfolio within the organization.

Since the masks did not cover the lips or jaws or hair or any part of the torso, the experienced eye could compare a beard or a mole or a head of hair or a physical shape or a certain article of clothing with that of some person in the outer world and have a fair idea of the identities of their fellow masters. Of course, the certainty of such knowledge was not absolute; a fake beard, a wig, make-up, magical enchantments, and other disguises could easily mislead. It hardly mattered, though, whether they knew each other or not. They were the ultimate brethren among their brotherhood of thieves and would never willingly reveal another's identity. For one thing, to betray a member to an outsider would be an admission of the betrayer's complicity. There were also other more horrible costs to betrayal, of which the Faceless made sure they remained aware.