Dragonbait picked up the letters and turned away to fetch a gratuity, but when he turned back with a few coins, the child was gone, the hallway empty. Dragonbait shrugged and shut the door.

Alias had risen after all and was peeling off her chain mail. "I cannot believe you let me sleep in my armor," she said testily.

Dragonbait shrugged again. "You went out like a candle. I doubt I could have awakened you if I tried." Alias snorted, "The best bed I've seen along the Inner Sea Coast, and you let me sleep in a steel nighty. Ouch!" She stretched out the kinks in her back. "I wonder what a hot bath runs in a place like this." Dragonbait held up the two letters. "What's that?" Alias asked.

"I think you can afford a hot bath," said the saurial, throwing the heavier of the two letters on the bed. It landed with a satisfying thump and jingle. Alias snatched up the letter and ripped it open. A few magical sparks danced from the paper, and belatedly Alias saw that it bore Mintassan's sigil set into the blue sealing wax.

Four gold coins slid out from the letter's folds onto the bed. Alias leaned against a bedpost and read the letter aloud.

" Lovely Alias and stout-hearted Dragonbait, " she began, then looked up at the saurial. "How come I never-get to be stout-hearted?" "How come I never get to be lovely?" Dragonbait parried.

"Hmpph," she said, and continued reading. " 'In the press of our business dealings last night, I neglected to thank you for aiding Jamal. She is an old and dear friend.' I'll just bet," Alias muttered this last. "I would be heartbroken to see her charred to coal. Thank you. We are greatly indebted to you. I have arranged with the hostler of Blais House to turn all your charges over to my account. Please, accept this hospitality as a token of my gratitude.

" I hope that your stay in Westgate lasts long enough to afford me the opportunity to speak with both of you at length in order to broaden my knowledge of saurials. Thank you once again for your courageous rescue. Yours sincerely, Mintassan the Sage. P.S. Ask for the pan-fried prawns for dinner-they are a taste treat." "Sounds like you have a fan," the saurial said.

"Me? It's your brain he wants to pick. Probably trying to prove your people are related to tree frogs or something. He only wants me as a free translator."

"Alias, he's a spellcaster. He can use magic to speak with me. If he claimed to need you to translate, he would only be using it as an excuse to hear you speak." Alias furrowed her brow, but could think of no solid argument. "Hand me that other letter," she demanded.

Dragonbait held out the second missive by the edges, as if it were a dead thing he did not want to touch. Alias plucked it from the saurial's grasp. The paper stock was far heavier than Mintassan's stationery, and the watermarks gave it the look of a very thin slice of granite. The purple sealing wax was marked with the coat of arms of the Croamarkh of Westgate, the elected leader of the city's council of noble and wealthy merchants. Alias sniffed at it. "Smells like money," she joked. Dragonbait harrumphed. "Smells like corruption."

"In this city, it's usually the same thing." Alias slid her throwing dagger between the wax seal and the paper and unfolded the single sheet. "It says, 'From the Office of the Croamarkh, Lord Luer Dhostar, to the adventurers herein identified as Alias and her lizardman companion. Greetings in the name of the Croamarkh of Westgate.'"

Alias took a deep breath and read on. " 'Your recent activities against the criminal organization known as the Night Masks have come to our attention. We wish to discuss with you the possibility of continued employment in that capacity on our behalf. If you are interested in such, a manservant will escort you to our present location for discussions. Such dealings will undoubtedly be extremely profitable for you, and we strongly recommend you avail yourself of this opportunity. My servant is instructed to await a reply. Yours sincerely, Luer Dhostar, Croamarkh of Westgate.'"

Alias let the missive drape delicately from one hand. "What do you think?"

"Last night you wanted to take the first boat back. You said you didn't want to be a cheap hero," Dragonbait pointed out.

"Ah, but the croamarkh isn't offering us the job of cheap hero. He's giving us the chance to be 'extremely profitable' heroes." "We don't need money."

"But I like to think my services are worth money," Alias pointed out. "Lots of money. You're just hurt that he called you a lizardman," she teased.

Dragonbait sniffed with disdain. "He sounds like the sort of merchant who thinks everything can be solved by throwing money at it. The Night Masks are not a simple problem."

"Could take us more than a few weeks," Alias agreed cockily. Dragonbait laughed and shook his head.

"Look," Alias cajoled, "Grypht isn't expecting us back immediately, and I know you miss CopperBloom, but it couldn't hurt to hear what the man has to say." "Maybe not," the paladin replied dourly.

"I'll need a bath if I'm going to be presented to the croamarkh," the swordswoman declared, hopping off the bed.

Dragonbait pulled a guest bathrobe from the armoire and tossed it to her. There was a tiny rap on the door frame. Alias draped the robe over her arm and pulled open the door. A tray of fruit, muffins, and tea sat on the floor.

"Complimentary breakfast," Alias noted, looking down the hallway. "Where's the server?"

"She's shy," the paladin explained, picking up the tray, "but very sweet."

"Is she now?" Alias asked. It was rare that the saurial made that sort of compliment. "Well, you'll have to introduce us when I've finished my bath."

"What about this servant waiting downstairs?" asked Dragonbait. "Dhostar said hell wait for our reply. Let him wait."

Alias slipped out of the room, closing the door behind her. Dragonbait could hear her launching into a bawdy folk song involving dryads and paladins, as she went in search of the bath.

Dragonbait picked up the croamarkh's letter and sniffed. He couldn't use his shen sight on a soulless object, and while he'd joked about the smell of corruption, the only scents he could detect were paper, ink, and wax. Still, the letter made him uneasy.

"Westgate," Alias explained to Dragonbait, while she stuffed down a breakfast roll and slipped into a clean tunic, "is ruled by a council consisting of representatives of all the major trading families, along with a cluster of minor houses. No one else gets a vote in council, not craftsmen, not shopkeepers, not tavern owners, no one, not even persons like Mintassan. Most of the council's power is invested in the croamaskh. Luer Dhostar was elected by the council to three terms as croamarkh, before he was forced to yield to Lansdal Ssemm for a term. No one had really been happy with Lansdal, and during his term interfamily feuding and Night Mask violence was worse than ever. Last spring Luer Dhostar convinced the other families that only he could organize the chaos left by Lansdal, and he was returned to his former office.

"Besides his duty to the city of Westgate, Luer Dhostar oversees a mercantile empire consisting of twelve ships, twenty-four stockyards and warehouses, nine caravans, fifty representatives in other cities across the Heartlands, seventy-five businesses and craftsmen under his direct control and twice that controlled in all but name, a castle, a host of servants, ten purebred Zakharan horses, three carriages, and one son."

"Something tells me you were briefed by Elminster before we left Shadowdale," the saurial said when Alias had finished her monologue.

"Yeah. You think the old sneak had some premonition I would need to be up on current affairs?" she asked as she pulled on her chain mail and buckled on her sword.

The paladin did not answer as he buckled on his own. He didn't like to think of all the things Elminster must know.