Realizing that any argument she might make would be construed as a challenge to the priest's convictions, Alias replied simply, "I see." Durgar, recognizing that the swordswoman was not really acquiescing, huffed. He nodded at the performers. "Jamal may spew whatever nonsense she chooses, but if the watch catches her without a permit again, Lord Victor, not even your patronage will keep my men from bringing her in for disturbing the peace. As for you, woman-" Bur-gar's steely gray eyes rested on Alias once again- "at Lord Luer's request, I have ordered the watch to render you any assistance you need, but you do not have leave to interfere with their official business. Good day to you."

Durgar turned his back on the trio before Alias could return his farewell. He plowed through the crowd, which parted for him more widely than it had for the five members of the watch.

"I wouldn't take Durgar's rejection personally," Victor said. "He's just blowing off steam after having had to listen to Father tell him how to do his job. You just got in the way.".,

Alias nodded. "You didn't mention Westgate had a church of Тут," she said.

"It doesn't," Victor replied. "Durgar was a wandering adventurer. He rah with a group called the Invisible Hand. They had some run-ins with the Night Masks, and only Durgar survived. He stayed and convinced the nobles to charter the watch."

"He seems pretty orthodox as priests of Tyr go," Alias noted, "yet he doesn't wear the gauze strip across his eyes to symbolize his deity's blinding."

"He did, immediately after the Time of Troubles, but Father and the other merchants forbade him to continue. It's bad enough to be ridiculed in the street and have the Night Masks steal you blind, but can you imagine the comments when the head of the watch wears a blindfold? I don't think Durgar hikes it, but he follows orders."

Behind them, the audience applauded again as the performers took a final curtain call, and the puppeteers huckstered once again for loose change.

"About tonight's dinner-" Victor said, looking down at the ground.

Alias sensed his discomfort and remembered the croa-markh's sharp commands. Tm afraid well have to decline your offer," she interrupted hastily. "Dragonbait reminded me we have a previous engagement. I will keep in mind your suggestions about the Gateside district, though."

Victor looked up at the swordswoman with a sheepish grin. "You heard Father dressing me down, didn't you? That's very gracious of you to provide me with an out. Still, I ought to apologize for extending an invitation I could not honor."

"Fm sure there'll be another chance to honor it," Alias replied, offering Victor her hand.

Victor smiled with delight. "More than one, I hope," he replied, clasping her hand in both of his own.

The swordswoman blushed. "We've kept you from your work too long," she said. "Please, don't feel obliged to see us back to our inn. We need to familiarize ourselves with the streets, and we really do have a previous engagement."

Victor held her hand a moment longer. "In spite of what Durgar says, I have a good feeling about you. You're just the hero this town needs. I know you'll succeed." "I’ll do my best," Alias promised.

The young merchant released her hand and bowed. Without further words, as if he might become overwhelmed with emotion if he spoke again, Lord Victor climbed into his carriage, took up the reins, and drove away.

"So do we have another engagement?" Dragonbait queried with amusement. "Or did you only say that so Lord Victor would return your hand?" he teased.

"I guess there's no way around it," Alias said. "I'm going to have to go back to Mintassan's with you and wind up playing 'Ask-me-another' about the saurials."

"So you can grill him for information on the Night Masks," Dragonbait guessed. "You know my methods," Alias replied. "Then?"

"Then, although they don't know it yet, we have an engagement with the Night Masks. With any luck, more than one engagement."

Timmy the Ghast had not earned his appellation from any kinship to the undead or for his revulsion of the clergy, but rather for the simple fact that he smelled as bad as (some said worse than) a ghast. Timmy's unique personal scent was the result of his chosen career and his less-than-fastidious attitude about his personal hygiene. Timmy was a midden man. He broke into townhouses and family quarters through the kitchen waste pits. While the thief occasionally gained access from a wood or coal cellar, the contents of the kitchen refuse never deterred him from making an entry if the midden was his only choice. Unlike other midden men, however, Timmy never felt compelled to bathe after a night's work; the closest he came to washing was being caught in a drenching rainstorm. Consequently, while Timmy the Ghast had many coworkers, he had very few drinking companions. Tonight Timmy had begun his evening's work on a burglary assigned to him by the Night Masters. He was to steal a certain necklace from a certain courtier's daughter. Although Timmy wasn't given the necklace's history, he assumed it had been a gift from a wealthy merchant who had imagined himself enamored of the gift's recipient. Now, no doubt, the relationship had cooled, and the gift giver wanted to dispose of the gift so that it could not haunt him-or his wife-in the future. Timmy would be paid five hundred gold for the necklace and was free to keep any incidental plunder that came his way. According to Timmy's sources, the family was at a dinner engagement, the servants had been given the night off, and the household had no dogs. Timmy slithered through the tunnel he'd dug into the refuse pit and waded his way to the access door, unperturbed by the stench, the bugs, or the rats. Timmy had had two friends who had suffocated trying to sneak into a house through a chimney and one who'd broken his neck climbing into a second-story window. Timmy preferred the safety of the refuse.

Timmy climbed up into the kitchen. There was a low glow from the fireplace, and the thief let his eyes adjust to the dark. Two young children, scullery help, were curled in front of the fire, in an exhausted sleep. As he made his way out of the servant quarters, Timmy's boots squelched along the passageway, leaving filthy tracks on the carpets. The midden man wasted no time finding the young debutante's room and her jewelry box. The necklace, a diamond-and-ruby chain, was concealed rather amateurishly in the box's lining. There was an inscription on the clasp, but Timmy could not read, which he realized was probably his best qualification for being hired to steal the necklace.

Timmy tossed the chain into a sack, then dumped the remaining contents of the jewelry box in with it. He slipped into the master's bedroom and added the contents of the debutante's mother's jewelry box to his sack. Timmy did not bother searching for any other treasure. "Portable property only" was his motto. The bounty on the necklace and his earnings for this job, even with the fence's cut and the tax to the Night Masters, were sufficient to keep him in comfort for weeks.

Timmy headed back for the kitchen. His teacher had gotten nicked once when he bumped into the house's owners coming in the front door. "You won't meet the owner in the midden," was another of Timmy's mottoes.

Timmy snitched a peach from the kitchen larder, wolfed it down, and left the pit on the kitchen table before he slid back into the refuse pit. He peered out of the tunnel. Slick Jack, his lookout, was not standing by the hole, which was odd. Night Masks did not abandon their posts. Timmy popped his head out of the tunnel,like a turtle from his shell, and looked around. He spotted Slick Jack across the alley, resting comfortably, unconscious, his wrists and ankles tethered with leather thongs.