Kel, who'd boasted all the way to the sage's home that Alias would never be able to hold on to him, looked around dumbfounded at all the dead things cluttering Mintassan's workroom; the boy even looked a little'nervous. "What have we here?" Jamal asked.

"I brought Mintassan a specimen," the swordswoman explained. "Westgate human juvenile-descendant of the Night Masks." She smiled at the sage and asked him, Think you could have him mounted for me, so he doesn't runoff.

Mintassan grinned fiendishly. "Hanging or freestanding?" he asked. "Freestanding, I think," Alias said. "It's creepier."

Dragonbait, who eyed the boy with disapproval, asked, "If he's one of them, why did you bring him here?"

"He's given Olive and me a little information. I thought I might return the favor."

"She's lyin'," Kel snarled. "I didn't peach on no one. She tricked me into it. Hey! You never did give up that gold piece," he complained to Alias.

"Two Night Mask leg-breakers worked him over. He could be hurt even worse than he looks," she said to the paladin. "Would you help him, please?"

The saurial rose and approached the boy, but Kel, terrified of the saurial, backed into Alias. "He won't hurt you," Alias said, holding him still.

"Murf," Dragonbait commanded, holding a clawed finger up to the boy's face. He placed his hands on the boy's shoulders and began reciting his healing prayer.

Kel relaxed as he felt his battered flesh mending. His eyes widened in surprise. "He a priest?" the boy asked. "Sort of," Alias replied.

"Alias," the paladin said, "I know he is only a child, but the Night Mask's have twisted his soul. In time you might fix what is wrong, but for now you cannot trust him."

"I know, but I need to keep him off the street so he doesn't talk to his boss. A few days should do it, I think," Alias said in Saurial. She turned to Mintassan and asked, "You wouldn't happen to have a dungeon, would you?"

"Not exactly, but I'm sure I could arrange something," Mintassan said. "I suppose you'll want him fed, too?" "Gruel and water at the very least," Alias replied. "I hate gruel," the boy muttered.

"Well, I was just thinking I could use a hand tidying up around here. If you're willing to work for your supper, I could arrange some roast pigeon," the sage said to the boy, holding up the bird in his hand. "Pigeon's good," the boy agreed.

Mintassan, not expecting his joke to be taken seriously, paled. "There, there, girl," he said, stroking the bird in his hands. "He didn't mean it." He let the pigeon go free.

"You can't be serious, Mint," Jamal argued. "Letting a child loose in a sage's home is like giving a necromancer the keys to the crypt. It's a recipe for disaster."

"As long as he doesn't touch any boxes labeled 'Danger' or 'Keep out' or 'Hope,' hell be fine." "Can't read," Kel said. "What do you mean, you can't read?" Mintassan asked. Kel shrugged. "Never learned. No need."

"How can you grow up in Westgate and not learn to read?" the sage demanded.

"How can you grow up in Westgate and not realize it's full of people who can't read?" Jamal snapped at Mintassan. "Yeah!" Kel seconded.

Mintassan looked taken aback. "Well, I guess I've been told." He looked Kel over. "I suppose we ought to get you cleaned up before we let you sit on the furniture. Come on, boy. Follow me."

Kel looked uncertain, but Alias gave him a shove toward the sage, and the boy followed Mintassan up the stairs.

Td better get back to Blais House and get cleaned up myself," the swordswoman said. "It's not too long till sunset." "What happens at sunset?" Jamal asked.

"Victor Dhostar's sending his carriage for me. He's invited me to a party on his family's new ship."

"Ah, mixing with the Westgate snobs. How-" Jamal stifled a mock yawn "-exciting."

"Victor is very nice," Alias said. "He stood up for your theater the other day."

"He was just trying to impress you with his power. He's a merchant, my dear, to the core. Granted, he's a very good-looking merchant, and possibly a good-humored one, but he's still a merchant."

"What do you have against merchants?" Alias demanded.

"Ah, well, that's a long story. It boils down to the fact that merchants know the price of everything and the value of nothing. Rather like this ship you'll be on-The Gleason, named for the family of Luer Dhostar's late wife. The Dhostarg spent a fortune on a ship to protect their goods from pirates, but they can't protect the people of Westgate from the Night Masks." "They've paid me a good deal to try," Alias pointed out. "The price of a set of The Gleason's oars would cover your retainer," Jamal retorted. "Not that I want to encourage you in this ill-fated fraternization, but what are you wearing?"

"Victor said it was semiformal, so I bought a full-length silk tunic. It's blue with silver embroidery. I thought I'd wear it over my leather britches."

"Ah," Jamal sighed blissfully, "they are so egalitarian about dress up north, aren't they? Let me give you some motherly advice. You can't do that. First of all, the slightest whiff of leather will get you shown to the back door with the bodyguards. Secondly, the ladies of Westgate wear inconvenient, uncomfortable clothing to semiformal affairs to remind them how perilous social arrangements are in this city. You'll want to wear an undergown. I have a white bliaut that should fit you and goes with blue. You'll want to double gird the tunic with two silver belts. I've got a set I've just polished. One can hold your scabbard, peace-bonded of course." "I don't want to impose," Alias insisted.

"You don't want to embarrass Lord Victor either. Trust me on this. A tunic over a gown will look a little old-fashioned, but anyone who's really worth impressing will find that charming. The rest you shouldn't care about. Come with me. Well get you fitted," the actress ordered, rising to her feet. Alias followed Jamal up the staircase, noticing that the older woman was no longer limping.

Jamal pulled Alias into a back room lined with boxes of costumes. Alias stripped off the clothing she'd worn as a disguise while Jamal rummaged through the boxes and pulled out a plain, short-sleeved gown of white silk.

"What were you and Dragonbait discussing?" the swordswoman asked as she slipped the gown over her head. "Oh, old times. Cassana, Zrie, you." "Me?" Alias asked, suspicious.

"You look too much like Cassana to be a distant relative, as you said," Jamal replied as she fastened the clasps at the gown's side. "I thought you must be a daughter or a niece. Dragonbait explained how he stole you from Cassana when you were young-that you felt no loyalty to her."

Alias nodded slowly. Dragonbait had stolen her the day she'd been created. "I hated Cassana," she assured the actress. "That's what your friend said." "What else did you talk about?" Jamal shrugged. "Nothing much."

"The Dragonbait effect," Alias noted. "Everyone talks \ to the silent saurial. Tells him things they won't tell I other people."

"Just boring stories of an old woman's life. Nothing that could interest you." Jamal pulled two glittering silver belts off a hook on the wall and handed them to the swordswoman.

"But they do," Alias insisted. She struggled for some way to explain why Jamal interested her, without giving away the feelings she had for the woman, feelings that Finder had implanted in her for some reason. "My father," she said, "was in Westgate in the Year of the Prince. He died two years later. He told me about a woman he'd met here-an actress named Jamal with red hair." Finder had never actually told her any such thing, but he had to have known Jamal. "I thought you might have known him." "Who was your father?" the actress asked.

"Finder Wyvernspur. He wouldn't have used that name, though. At the time, he called himself the Nameless Bard."