Masquerade

The common room of The River Pearl was transformed. Decorations of all sorts filled the walls and tables. Some of them reminded him of the masks from the Western Isles that he had seen in Maximilian's home; others looked almost Tyrian or perhaps Sindhian, portraying strange shapes or symbols unknown to him.

As for the guests, some were dressed as him, while others wore far less. In fact, Martel could not always tell the difference between the serving girls and boys of the Pearl and some of the guests; all wore masks, regardless of status. The only tell-tale sign would be the great amounts of jewellery that some, especially the female celebrants had upon them; the staff of the Pearl usually wore only earrings and a simple necklace.

Music played in the corner, though the clamour of voices and laughter gave it few chances. Food stood scattered on tables, and cups with various spirits were constantly being emptied and refilled. Near the beleaguered musicians, the empty floor allowed about two scores of people to dance, though it was far different from how such took place in Engby or the marbled halls of the nobility in Morcaster. People intertwined their bodies closely without thought of scandal or decorum.

Remembering his task, Martel walked around the room while letting his magic sense extend around him. It told him of heat, countless people with blood pumping, far too much information that he could discern anything useful from that alone. But he also met cold pockets where gold jewellery killed his magic. Quite a lot wore such tonight, giving him a strange sensation of an irregular pattern with warmth and cold stretching throughout the great room, like a chequered board becoming fluid.

Focusing, Martel looked around for the particular masks he had been told to investigate. He searched around, finding their wearers and letting his magic examine their belongings and whether they portrayed themselves to be something other than their appearance; masked face aside, of course.

He noticed nothing unusual in that regard, but something else caught his notice. Besides food and drink, many of the guests had small pouches, which they opened and withdrew pinches of powder from, sprinkling it on their tongue. Strange in itself, the brown powder almost seemed to have a little spark of its own. And while some guests seemed to have brought their own, Martel also noticed the scantily clad servants of the Pearl bringing it to their customers, giggling as they performed the same method of delivery into the other person's mouth.

Confused, but not really eager to investigate, Martel continued his assignment.

***

When done, Martel grabbed a cup of wine, grateful that his mask did not cover his mouth as well; he noticed quite a few having troubles, as their chosen disguise filled their entire faces.

He wondered how long to stay; Lady Pearl had told him to otherwise enjoy the party and come back another day with his findings.

"Am I in the presence of the powerful wizard who serves Lady Pearl?"

Martel almost flinched at the teasing voice, feeling caught. He relaxed as he remembered that he was not actually doing anything wrong, and instead, he looked towards the speaker.

A woman met his eyes. A mask of blue with red suns covered her face; her lips had the same colour in a darker hue. Compared to the serving staff, her clothing was practically modest, if still sitting close to her body.

"Not tonight," Martel replied, thinking about what Eleanor had told him of masquerades. "With this mask, I am nobody you have ever met."

"Is that so? Am I likewise unknown to you?" Her red lips formed into a smile.

"On this occasion, I guess so. Though any other night, I'd recognise my favourite gemstone."

Ruby laughed. "Favourite? Such easy flattery will not convince me of anything."

"Not flattery at all. Rubies are born of fire, didn't you know? Just as I was." Martel raised a hand and let a weak flame run across his fingers.

She caught his wrist and pulled his hand down. "What about dancing? Does this mysterious guest indulge in that?"

Martel looked towards the open area with the men and women contorting themselves across the floor. The boy from Engby would have said no; under these circumstances, so might the acolyte from the Lyceum. As for the fox, he nodded. "Yes. Yes, he does."

With a smile below her mask, Ruby pulled him towards the troupe of musicians, already swaying to the music.

***

In the halls of the nobility, dancing had been formal, delineated by strict rules and placements. On the streets with Regnar's travelling troupe, it had been rhythmic and exhilarating. At the Pearl, it was wild and intoxicating. Martel moved as the music took him, unsure of the rules; there did not seem to be any. Ruby approached and distanced herself, always with a teasing smile when her face looked at his. Martel was unsure what he felt about all of this, but his heart beat at a frantic pace, trying to keep up.

Eventually, the musicians stopped. Loud protests could be heard along with demands that they resumed playing. Martel found himself wishing the same.

But instead, a single player stepped onto the pedestal. He carried a lute, and Martel doubted that his music could reach through the room with only that, considering the noise. It took him a moment to realise the man was not some bard, but rather, a skáld. Besides his physical appearance, marking him as Tyrian, his instruments carried runes marked upon the wood.

He had only begun strumming the strings and sung a single word when a hush fell over the crowd. Martel doubted any of them understood the song; nor did he. As the skáld continued, it proved irrelevant. Martel forgot time and place. He felt himself wandering through a forest, rain falling rhythmically against the leaves above. His heart became calm before it soared with joy. And the song continued.

***

Into the early hours of the night, as the celebration still continued, Ruby slipped into her mistress’s study. "Some of your guests are wondering where you are."

The bald woman, standing behind her desk, looked up with a smile. "Just placing the gift from our northern friend somewhere safe. He is already on his way. And our wizard?"

"He went home as well. Poor boy has school tomorrow, after all."

"You kept an eye on him?"

Ruby pursed her red lips below her mask. "Of course."

"And the Friar's spy?"

"He didn't glance twice at the mage. He won't expect anything."

Pearl unlocked a drawer in her desk. "Even so, once the fun begins at the Friar's, you won't have much time before they guess your presence."

The slender woman shrugged. "I'll be fast. And the northern bard? Will it work?"

The proprietress held out her hand, which carried a stone marked with runes. To those with magical sight, it glowed with power. To the women present, it looked simply like a pebble with scribbles. "I'll ask our mage friend when he comes back. But if it doesn't, I suggest you make a hasty retreat." She carefully placed the rune token into the drawer and locked it.