Timmy the Ghast tried to back into the warm, moist darkness of the midden, but his retreat was too late. Clawed fingers grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him from the tunnel. The thief found himself nose to muzzle with a snarling monster with a lizard's hide and the glowing red eyes of a fiend, or so he told his mates later.

The monster, unprepared for Timmy's overripe odor (freshened by his latest foray), began gasping and gagging and dropped the culprit.

The break-in artist didn't hesitate, but hit the ground running. Unfortunately, he got all of three steps before someone else tripped him with a scabbard between his legs. As he tried Co get his feet beneath him again, a hand grabbed him by the collar and slammed him into the wall of the house.

"Phew! This one reeks!" his captor cried. She was a muscular woman with red hair and a blue tattoo along her right arm. Her companion, the lizard monster, snarled something, and she replied, 'Hang on, let's do a little cleaning up before we wake the house."

When the watch arrived, summoned by one of the scullery maids, they found Slick Jack tied up in the alley and Timmy the Ghast naked in a rain barrel, muttering about the unfairness of being not only nicked, but forced to wash as well.

Bandilegs collected the loot while Sal and Jojo held then-dagger tips steady at their prey's throats. It was a moxie pinch, smooth and easy. The swells, foreign traders from Turmish, had obviously assumed from Westgate's size and prosperity that it was an outpost of civilization where they would be immune from attack. They'd been strolling the streets with their airs and their purses and their rings and had been shocked by the three youths who'd popped out of an alleyway and demanded at dagger-point that they hand over their valuables.

Bandilegs ran back down the alley with the purses and what rings could easily be pried from nervous fingers. Even with the cut for the Night Masters, there would be plenty for everyone.

Jojo and Sal backed away a few steps from the terrified merchants. Sal gave the high sign to their lookout, who faded into the darkness at the end of the street. Then she and Jojo spun on their heels and dashed after their companion. They'd traveled half a block before the merchants regained enough of their voices and their spines to begin shouting. No doubt they shouted, "Thieves!" or "Help, watch!" but since they shouted in Turmish it was hard for the thieves or anyone else within earshot to tell.

Bandilegs, with her long legs, was a blur, far ahead of her two mates. Sal was the muscle, and Jojo could pick the marks, but Bandilegs was their runner, the one who ensured the goods made it clear. She was the main reason theirs was the most effective "import" team in the Gateeide district.

At least until tonight. As she fled, Bandilegs saw a slender but well-muscled arm jut out in front of her. Then the arm, ending in a wrist bracer and a gloved fist, caught Bandilegs right at her throat. Sal and Jojo heard a thwack and saw their runner's legs fly forward and up, as the rest of her body fell backward to land with a solid smack on the packed earth. They made a half dozen steps toward their runner before they, too, saw the arm. It came, they realized, from someone standing in one of the innumerable two-foot gaps between buildings that laced Westgate's neighborhoods.

The pair thought at first they'd become prey to a poacher, a thief who robbed other thieves, but when Bandilegs's assailant stepped out of the narrow passageway, Sal, at least, realized they'd come up against something more dangerous. Sal enjoyed Jamal's street theater, so she recognized the red-headed, blue-tattooed swordswoman. Jojo reacted as he would to any lone poacher. He drew his blade and snarled, expecting Sal to back him up. Sal was backing up, all right, backpedaling as she calculated her chances at escape if she were to run back out the alley, past the Turmishmen they'd just robbed, and keep going. She spun around, but immediately abandoned her plan to flee.

Behind him Jojo heard a roaring noise as a light flared brightly enough for the thief to see his own shadow. Sensing that Sal was no longer behind him, Jojo shot a glance over his shoulder, then did a quick double take. Sal was laying her weapon down at the feet of a small, dragonlike man who clutched a flaming sword in his paws. Jojo looked back at the armored swordswoman, then again at the dragon man. He sighed and laid his dagger on the ground. He added his boot knife for good measure.

The Turmish merchants were at their inn, bemoaning their fate and trying to figure out how to recoup their losses, when the innkeeper knocked on their door and handed them their stolen valuables. A woman and lizard-man had dropped them off with the request that the Turmishmen stop at the Tower tomorrow to identify their attackers, who were now in custody.

Big Edna wiped tankards with the dry end of her bar rag and rehearsed her lines. "It's been a tough week," she murmured. "What with so many Night Mask muggers in the area, many of me regulars are afraid to go out at night"

No, it's no use, she thought. Littleboy didn't care that her business was slipping. All he cared about was getting his regular cut of what he claimed her profits should be. Littleboy would not listen to reason.

Edna surveyed her little establishment, such as it was- a bar made from a few planks laid across some barrels, a stock of whiskey, brandy, and ale of questionable origin, empty barrels and crates serving as stools and tables, five dozen pewter tankards, and a cracked mirror mounted on the wall so that she could watch the customers. Tonight her only customers were four old fishermen, a one-handed pensioned dockworker, and a pair of cloaked and hooded adventurers. Were Edna one to gossip, she might guess the adventurers were priests of some outcast religion, like Talona or Cyric. Edna, however, did not gossip. That was one of the attractions of her little hole-in-the-wall: You could drink in quiet without being disturbed by the chatter of the owner or the other customers.

The door crashed open, and Littleboy waddled in, flanked by his two toughs. A careless observer might mistake Littleboy for a bald halfling or a shaved dwarf, for the hairless Night Mask was short and barrel-shaped. His round face and apple cheeks gave him a cherubic look, but one that was quickly belied by his unpleasantly cruel attitude. Littleboy dressed in a heavy, open-fronted cloak and a great slouch hat. His supporters were two lantern-jawed lunks who looked as if they had hobgobUn blood sloshing through their veins.

Littleboy climbed onto one of the barrel stools and rested his elbows on the bar. His boys remained standing and silent. "So, Edna," he said.

Edna threw a small pouch of coins on the bar without a reply. Littleboy picked it up, hefted it, and frowned. "You're light," he noted.

"Not a lot of customers," Edna replied, trying a casual shrug.

"Then you don't need a lot of furniture," Littleboy said. He tucked the pouch into his cloak pocket and snapped his fingers. One of his boys moved off. Littleboy heard the satisfying sound of one of the barrels smashing over one of the other barrels. His eyes never left Edna's face. Her eyes widened for a moment, then became slits.

"Let this be a warn-" Littleboy began. He was interrupted by two thumps behind him and startled by the ghost of a smile on Edna's face. Littleboy looked up in the mirror behind the bar.

The Night Mask collection agent was once again flanked by two figures, but they weren't his boys. One was an armored woman in a scarlet cape, the other a big lizard. "Kezefe blood and bladder!" Littleboy muttered,recognizing the pair from the stories that had been coursing through the grapevine.

Littleboy did not need to look around to know his own boys were sprawled on the floor. He laid both his hands on the bar, one resting over the ornate ring of the other.