"No fires, for any reason," the innkeeper ordered, silently gesturing coin after coin from The Masked's palm into his own until a rather stiff sum had been reached. He evidently judged his late-hours patron to be someone on the run, or in great need of shelter. In this, he was, of course right.
With a silent wave at a basin and ewer that turned into pointing at a battered chamber pot under the bed, Harl withdrew.
The Masked went to the window so he could whisper to Tantaerra, "Keep silent. He hasn't moved away from the door yet."
She patted his stomach through the sack to let him know she'd heard, and held her peace. The Masked examined the bed and then the room's lone chair, settling onto it with a groan worthy of the weariest of travelers.
That seemed to satisfy the master of the Hearth, whose departure they could hear as a series of faint, increasingly distant creakings.
The Masked went and slid the whittled peg on its length of twine through the hasp that would keep the door closed, presuming nothing stronger than a feeble child tried to get through it.
Then he unbuttoned, went to the bed, and eased off clothing and sack to let Tantaerra out.
She stretched like a cat, wincing at sudden aches in one thigh and the opposing shoulder, then grabbed at her nose to keep from sneezing as dust rose from the bed like a drifting ghost.
She was still struggling not to erupt when there was a sudden sharp knock on the door.
"Open up, in the name of Braganza!" a voice firm with authority thundered.
Chapter Six
Tantaerra wasted no time in cursing, but made for the window, sneezing hard-only to find three grim-faced men had appeared outside on the roof. Heavily armored and menacing, they held hand crossbows. Cocked, loaded, and pointed at her.
She skidded to a halt, then sighed and waved at The Masked to open the door.
He did so.
In the narrow passage outside, bearing a hooded lantern that gave off even less light than the innkeeper's lone-candle lamp had done, was a grand-looking armored warrior with half a dozen armored fellows at his shoulders-all aiming more loaded hand crossbows past him at The Masked.
"Yes?" The Masked asked gently. "Can I help you?"
The man took a step forward. The Masked held his ground.
The man took another step forward, bringing them chest to chest, almost brushing noses.
"I am here," he announced grandly, "to recruit you."
His gaze slid to Tantaerra, now standing truculently on the bed with hands on hips, face half-hidden behind netting. "Both."
"Recruit us into-or for-what?" she asked boldly.
The warrior regarded her for a moment, then turned back to The Masked.
"It talks," he told the masked man, almost resentfully.
"It's something of a princess," The Masked told him calmly. "Recruit us for-?"
"To stand with House Mereir."
"Ah. Mereir or Telcanor, I see. The problem is, I don't see."
"We don't see," Tantaerra corrected crisply.
The warrior frowned. "Your deaths would be regrettable," he murmured, "seeing as they could be avoided …"
"Sir," Tantaerra said quickly, before The Masked could speak again, "we know Molthune to be a land of order, and of law. In that spirit, we'll agree to nothing until we know what we're agreeing to. Before standing with House Mereir, we insist on being told what's going on in Braganza."
"Indeed," The Masked continued smoothly, as Tantaerra's breath ran out. "We are successful traders, able to sway many allies-other traders, across Golarion-to the side of Mereir. Yet we won't do so unless we understand the true state of affairs here in Braganza. Do not all Braganzans obey the Imperial Governor, and the General Lords?"
The grand warrior's face tightened. "But of course."
"What, then," The Masked asked, "does Lord Cole Ravnagask think of this rivalry?"
"Lower your bows," the warrior ordered curtly over his shoulder, ere asking politely, "May I come in?"
The Masked bowed and stepped back, waving him into the room.
Tantaerra shot her hireling a dubious look, but the warrior's entrance did bring him within reach, where he could be snatched to serve as a shield if bolts started whizzing about.
"You request answers, so permit me candor," the warrior began, stepping past them to the far end of the room. Turning to face them, he hung his lantern from a ceiling-hook obviously intended for that purpose, raised his hands, and launched into what sounded like a speech he'd given many times before.
"There have arisen," he announced, "two rival families in Braganza-ambitious, capable, and militarily accomplished, risen in power far above others. I speak of the houses of Mereir and Telcanor, who hate each other heartily. Yet many of both families detest and despise Lord Cole Ravnagask still more. As do most Braganzans, if truth be told. The Lord of Braganza is widely thought to be …crazed."
"Because?" Tantaerra prompted.
The warrior raised a quelling hand, and went on. "Though workers hired by Mereir and Telcanor do most of the ceaseless construction work ordered by the Lord of Braganza, and so enrich both houses, we and the Telcanors both see Ravnagask's mania for building as an endless leeching of the wealth and power of Braganza. How is Holy Abadar exalted by this raising of empty grandeur? The dust and din, the streets closed or cluttered with wagons and building stone, all this wasted work …it drains our wealth, and robs Braganza of its rightful greatness and preeminence in Molthune."
"So if Mereir and Telcanor are agreed about this, what is there to choose between them?" Tantaerra asked, trying to sound bewildered rather than letting any hint of her rising anger into her voice.
The warrior frowned. "No one who dwells or toils in Braganza can be neutral. Those who claim to stand with neither Mereir nor Telcanor face the ire of both, and last not long. So let me acquaint you with the bright nobility of House Mereir-and the bottomless villainy of the Telcanors."
Tantaerra bent forward as if eager to hear every word, and saw The Masked doing the same. Like her, he was really shifting so they could trade silent glances with each other.
They were well and truly trapped. If they wanted to live to see morning, they would have to convincingly declare themselves for Mereir.
The grand warrior was a good, stirring speaker, and wasted little time in recounting the staunch and patriotic loyalty of House Mereir and the cynical falsity of the rival Telcanors, who would do or say anything to gain more coin and wielded their power in petty ways, like a cruel slaver fond of the whip.
It was some time before he ran out of breath and florid phrases-and Tantaerra lost no time in loudly and firmly declaring herself for Mereir, trying to sound deeply inspired. The Masked echoed her with a hasty urgency that seemed to convince the warrior that he'd truly won them both over.
"So the city shall know we stand with House Mereir?" Tantaerra asked, one hand raised to her breast and throat as she'd seen Canorate's aristocratic ladies do, to demonstrate that they were so moved as to be on the verge of swooning.
The grand warrior bowed low to her. "Indeed, youn-er, exquisite lady. Well before first light, I assure you."
"Good, good," The Masked said heartily. "Yet pray tell us, sir-by the Master of the First Vault, I don't even know your name-why us? Surely not every newcomer to your city receives this welcome."
"No," the man admitted. "Indeed, educating travelers, or even conscripting the lower classes, is rarely worth the effort. Yet the most perspicacious innkeeper downstairs recognized you from one of your previous stays as a man of …particular talents, shall we say, and informed us of your presence, so that we might persuade you to stand with House Mereir."