Cade Tantelar chuckled appreciatively along with the others as Sanalli wound up her latest tale of other people's business in the decadent upper levels of Westgate society.  He downed the rest of his wine, snagged another full glass from a passing servant's tray, and replaced it with his empty one.
       "Cade, dear, that's your third just since I wandered over," Sanalli told him gently.
       "Dull party."  The young Cormyrian noble took a big swallow, and his dark eyes lingered on the main door to the festively decorated ballroom.
       Darlei turned to follow his gaze, though he hastily shifted his eyes away.  Dawning comprehension lit her face as she turned back toward him.  "Ohhhhh," she said slowly, her tone rising and falling again as a knowing smile spread across her fine features.  "I think someone hasn't shown up, yet.  I hadn't noticed."  She nudged her escort in the ribs, and Ilorrem blinked at her, then at the smiling but slightly-blushing Cade.
       Jerrit glanced at all of them, noticed Cade's wry look and reddened ears, and burst out laughing.  "You blush more easily than I do!" he declared a little too loudly.
       "Yes," Cade said ruefully, "I suppose there are only two real differences between us.  First of all, of course, you can't hold your liquor.  Second, people like me."  He was deliberately blunt with that.  Subtlety be damned, when it came to Jerrit.  This had gone on more than long enough.
       Ilorrem and the two ladies snickered and waited expectantly for the retort.  These barbed exchanges had become something of a running joke in their circle of friends and associates since the two had had a fling together at a party last year.  Cade maintained that he had been drugged and so had not been responsible for his poor choice of company that night.  Jerrit didn't appreciate the implications.
       The wealthy young fop drew a breath for his reply, which was certain to be no more imaginative than any of the past ones.  But he stopped and followed Cade's suddenly-captivated line of sight.
       Vanth had arrived.  Cade swallowed to keep his throat from drying enough to choke him, and hastily took another sip of his wine.
       "Cade," Ilorrem said slyly, "it's Midsummer Night, and I have connections..."  He pulled a key from a pocket and waved it like a metronome as he spoke to draw Cade's attention to it.
       Vanth noticed Cade between clusters of people.  His smile was small, dark, and terribly alluring.
       His ears were definitely coloring again.  Without a word, Cade grabbed the profferred key, handed his half-empty wineglass to Jerrit, and walked as confidently as he could manage, weaving between gesturing people to approach the newcomer.
       "Well, there went all the fun," Jerrit sniffed as the two started slowly away together, speaking quietly.
       "Maybe for you," Ilorrem returned with a soft snort of mirth.  "Darlei, why didn't you say anything before?"
       "Didn't think to," she said with a shrug.
       "Are you certain he isn't getting in too deep?" Sanalli asked her friend, concerned.  "I've heard things about Vanth Corlarres."
       "You mean about him being with the Night Masks?"  Darlei glanced around a bit too casually to check for people who might be listening.  "Well, he was," she said, lowering her voice almost to a whisper.  "Uncle Kalder says he met with Vanth in secret just a few days ago, and the man told everything.  He'd dropped bits of information here and there before that, but he finally sold out completely.  Said he'd stay in their ranks just long enough to find out who killed Azarra, and then he'd want the Watch to provide an armed escort out of Westgate entirely."
       "Azarra?"
       She rolled her eyes at her escort for the night.  "Surely you remember the fuss over her?  The owner of the Golden Hand?  You played cards enough there, for a while."
       "Oh.  Well.  She didn't often appear among the patrons.  I remember her now.  She's dead?"
       "Always so aware," Jerrit commented.
       "Shut up, Jerrit.  Night Masks killed her?" Ilorrem asked Darlei.
       "No doubt about it."
       "She was found in her bedroom above the card hall," Sanalli elaborated.  "Naked in her bed, with her hands tied behind her by one of those black cloth masks they use.  Not a mark on her," she said with morbid satisfaction at bearing the disturbing news.  "Except that her mouth was all bloody inside, and her lips."
       "Poison?" Ilorrem asked quickly.
       "Not that anyone could discover," Darlei replied.
       Jerrit shuddered visibly and downed more wine for distraction.  "Well, then," he said with forced cheer, "who'll lay odds on how long Cade will be upstairs before he comes storming down in a huff, claiming he was drugged?"
       When Cade did finally emerge from the ballroom's side door, Darlei smacked Jerrit on the shoulder.  "Just over an hour," she noted.  "Pay up."
       Their friend bore a disgruntled look as he rejoined their little group, avoiding their eyes.  He wordlessly handed the key back to Ilorrem and snagged another wine glass from a servant for a long drink.
       "Everything went well?" Jerrit prompted, trying not to smirk.
       "Your life would be considerably less lonely and meaningless if you didn't gloat," Cade told him.
       "Are you all right, dear?" Sanalli asked, laying a hand on his arm.
       "He accused me of working for the Night Masks!" Cade burst out, incredulity and hurt in his voice.  "After not only going off alone with me, but leading the way!  The man's downright paranoid, and mad as well!"  He drained his glass but surprisingly didn't reach for another, instead just staring into the empty one cupped in his hands.
       "You?" Jerrit said with a snort.  "With the Night Masks?"
       "And what makes that so blasted impossible, Jerrit?" Cade demanded, whirling on him.
       "Well, you--I mean--I didn't--" the fop stammered.
       "You think I couldn't steal something I wanted, or kill someone if he gave me reason?"
       "I just meant--well--"
       "It's all right, Cade," Sanalli said soothingly, gently taking hold of his other arm as well and starting to turn him away.  "Why don't we go get some of that marvelous cheese torte and sit down, and you can tell me what happened?  Hm?"
       His jaw clenched noticably, but he went along.  He did have a well-known weakness for sugared cheese tortes, he'd just been too distracted by waiting for Vanth's arrival to sample the ones on the buffet table.
       Once they were seated on an intricately-carved bench against one wall, Cade picked sullenly at the dessert on his little silver plate and described the whole sordid event.  There were certain details he didn't share, of course; Sanalli was an acknowledged and widely-known gossip, and Cade felt some things should remain private.  But she was also the best listener he'd ever met, and he knew her concern for her friends was real, even those friends whose attractions strayed to members of both sexes.  Even in the hedonistic circles of Westgate's high society, not everyone was that accepting.
       "Everything was going so well," he concluded with helpless regret, "and then he just pulled that out of nowhere!"
       "Why in the world...?" she murmured to herself.
       "He said he wanted to join, and he was hoping I could put in a word for him.  I wouldn't be surprised if that was his only reason for leading me on like that," he added bitterly.  "Two whole months, now, since he started the charade!"  He spat out a few things not generally said in polite company.  "I'm out of torte," he noted in sudden defeat, looking mournfully at his plate.
       "I'll get you some more," she offered, and started to rise.
       "I don't want any more," he grumped.  "I told him I didn't want anything more to do with him.  He said it wasn't only about his hope for the Night Masks.  I said I didn't believe him, and I never wanted to see him again.  He even managed to squeeze out a few tears!  Can you believe that?"
       Hot tears ran down his own cheeks as he glared at his plate.  Sanalli put her arms around him in silent sympathy, and he quietly cried on her shoulder.  Eventually, late-night weariness and too much wine took its toll, and he drifted to sleep there.
       Early the next morning, Cade sat in the local City Watch office and rested his pounding head against the back of the wooden chair, the heels of his hands pressed into his tightly-closed eyes.  "Why am I here?" he asked pitifully.
       "Because you were seen going off alone with Vanth Corlarres last night," came the uninflected reply from across the desk.
       "What I do in my private life is none of your concern," he grated out, not moving.
       Parchments rustled as the officer looked over the reports before him and started to read one of them aloud.  "Cade Tantelar was the last--"
       "Lord Cade Tantelar, to you."
       "--Last person to be seen with the victim, by the account of--"
       "Victim?" Cade said, lowering his hands and blinking painfully in the light.  Vague impressions of last night were filtering piecemeal back into his mind, some kind of disturbance after he'd passed out on Sanalli's shoulder and partially reawakened...
       The officer was looking straight at him without expression.  "Yes, victim.  Vanth Corlarres.  He was pushed out of a third-storey window at a party last night to land in a paved courtyard.  Dead on impact, as far as we can tell.  Fourteen people in the courtyard saw him fall, or at least saw the reactions of others near them when he fell."
       Cade stared, hangover momentarily smothered by shock.  Then the implications of his presence here as the last person seen with Vanth hit home.
       "There was a servant in the hall when I left him," he insisted.  "He saw us both, he must have heard us talking!  He must have seen me walking away and Vanth going back to the room--" He broke off, unwilling to say any more about that to this blank-faced man.  "Vanth was fine when I left him," he said weakly, slumping back in his chair.
       "And just what would the servant have heard you saying?"
       Obviously fighting back annoyance at such personal questions coming from a commoner, the Westgate-born Cormyrian forced himself to answer.  This was, after all, a murder investigation, and Cade was a suspect.
       "When I opened the door, Vanth was begging me to stay.  I stood in the doorway and told him what I thought of his callousness and accusations.  I wasn't with the Night Masks and I wouldn't help him get into the organization even if I was.  He said it was all a mistake, and he wanted me to stay and let him explain.  I said no, I don't appreciate being used.  I started down the hall, and he followed me.  I turned around and told him to leave me alone, and I never wanted to see him again.  He hung his head and returned to the room like a beaten dog to its kennel, and that's exactly what I thought of him at the time."  He rubbed at his eyes again.  "I realize now we'd both had too much to drink.  It wasn't a good time to try to forge any closer--" He stopped again.
       "You remember an amazing amount for having been drunk."
       "It was a memorable event," he said flatly.  "Despite what your taproom friends may gossip about, not everyone with social standing has a constant stream of nameless lovers waiting outside his room!"
       "I'm sure they don't," the officer murmured absently with no more emotion than before, looking over the parchment he'd lifted partway in one hand.
       "And just what is that supposed to mean?"
       The officer ignored him.  "Another servant said she heard noises coming from the room before you were seen leaving."
       Cade's silence caused the officer to look back up at him.  The young Cormyrian's expression was hard as flint, daring him to question further.
       He cleared his throat and returned to his study of the parchment he held.  "Saer Tantelar--"
       "Lord."
       Now the officer's eyes slid up to meet his without any of the rest of him moving.  "Your older brother holds the family title," he informed him.  Cade merely glared at the impertinent but unfortunately correct commoner.  "Saer Tantelar, your account matches what other witnesses have said.  One in particular claims to have been right beside you, talking with you, at the time the murder took place two storeys above, and several others marked your reappearance in the ballroom as well.  As much as I enjoy your gracious company, I'm afraid I'll have to send you home.  I'm sure you'd like some sleep after a long night."
       After the hungover nobleman had dragged himself out of the room, the officer returned to his contemplation of the report.  Vanth Corlarres had born no marks from a struggle, and no one in the courtyard had heard a scream when he fell.  His lips and the inside of his mouth had been bloody, the flesh looking as if it had been through a meat grinder.  And a black domino mask had been stuffed into it.  But Cade Tantelar had been elsewhere when the man had fallen, and nothing in the room was amiss to indicate any kind of timed device for shoving a dead body from a window...
       Late the following evening, a better-rested Cade climbed the broad steps to the Purple Lady, arguably the best festhall in Westgate.  He passed a couple hours there eating and chatting and dancing, as the group onstage was one he particularly liked, and last night's party really had been terribly dull.
       When he'd had enough fun for the moment, he made his way toward the extensive bar, one arm around the waist of one of the establishment's purple-clad namesakes.  As he went, he continued acknowledging the passing greetings of people who recognized him.
       "Cade!" one woman hailed him over the music, breaking away from her dance partner.  "I heard you're a Night Mask now, and you killed someone from a hundred yards away in another room entirely!"
       He made a little bow.  "I suppose I couldn't keep my incredible, godlike powers a secret forever," he noted grandly.  "Did you hear about the three horses and the marble bust of Sune I also simultaneously molested as I was doing it?  How about the goat I transformed into my brother?  I thought that was the master stroke, myself; it turned out to be a better conversationalist than Derul, and it smelled considerably better as well."
       The woman laughed lightly and returned to her dance partner.  The feather-trimmed lady at Cade's side chuckled, probably having a solid suspicion about his true affiliations.
       He squeezed between two patrons, pulling his lady of the moment with him, and plopped down on a barstool.  Chin in hand and elbow on counter, he waited for the bartender to turn from his current patrons a couple yards away and notice him.
       Sorenth Gorender, generally known as Happy, glanced toward him, probably sensing his presence in some thoroughly unnatural way.  Cade grinned.  A reflexive smile tugged at the handsome face in response, and Happy placed the drinks on the counter and moved over to Cade.
       "Why are you here?" the vampire murmured, barely audible above the music and general clamor of nearby conversation.  The slight smile never wavered.
       "Because I hate dark tunnels, Handsome," Cade replied, adding a facetious touch of lisp to his speech.  "And because I was so hoping you'd be in blue today."  He reached out to brush a finger against the lapel of Happy's dark blue silk jacket.
       Happy caught his hand and, with utmost grace that belied his overpowering strength, moved it back down to the countertop.  Still the smile remained.
       Cade rolled his eyes exaggeratedly.  "I fell for someone last night who ended up dead.  I'd like a little fun tonight to help me forget.  Is that all right with you?"  He pulled the purple lady close again.
       "That's what we're here for.  Kynda, go make sure the room's ready," he told the lady.  She broke away, running a hand along Cade's cheek as she left.
       After watching her hungrily for a moment, Cade turned back to the bar to find Happy regarding him with one golden eyebrow faintly quirked in sardonic inquiry.
       Cade shrugged.  "Have to keep up appearances," he muttered, and flashed a rather wicked grin.  "Besides, there's still fun to be had."
       Happy continued to regard the lifelong eunuch with amusement for a moment.  "You know, I've always wanted to ask how that works.  But I don't think I'd really want to know."        "I'd tell you."
       "I'm well aware of that."  He turned away, poured a glass of the cider Cade liked, and plunked it down in front of him.  "Care to tell something else?"
       "That depends entirely on what it is."
       "Method."
       Cade glanced over his shoulder in the direction Kinda had gone.  "Method?" he repeated incredulously.  "Surely you know how to--"
       "I mean last night.  She'll be interested to hear."  His voice would be inaudible to someone sitting right beside Cade, but he used no name just in case.
       "Oh, that!" Cade said just as softly with a big smile as comprehension apparently hit.  He sipped at the cider.  "I have a few tricks.  Let's just say things don't always happen when people think they do."
       "I'm sure she'll just love to hear that."
       Reveling in his own genius, Cade ticked items off on his fingers, careful to keep his voice down.  "A friend had an upstairs key.  If he hadn't, I knew who to ask for one without a fuss.  Signature kiss, good old eldritch energy.  He made a few noises, but they were easily passed off as part of the, ah...meeting.  Onyx in the mouth, wrapped in the blood-soaked mask to hide the char left behind.  Minor spell to produce his voice arguing with me, for the benefit of a witness in the hall.  I waited at that door for a quarter of an hour before someone came along for the purpose.  Then I called the corpse to me so the witness had something to see.  When it returned to the room, it had its instructions.  It closed the door, waited until the candle burned down and went out, and then threw itself from the window into a courtyard full of people.  Meanwhile, I was downstairs basking in sympathy for an affair gone awry and crying on a friend's shoulder.  I just kept an eye on the candles in sconces on the walls, and dismissed the animating magic after the body had fallen, before anyone could think to check for dweomers.  By the way, could your cooks throw together a sugared cheese torte?  I only had a little-bitty slice and I couldn't even enjoy it properly, making such a gruesome show of bitter despair..."
       "Are you sure that isn't the entirety of your reason for coming here instead of going straight to her?"
       "Of course it isn't!  The cook at home could make one.  I just wanted to see that cute little ponytail again."
       For the second time, Happy caught his hand in the act of reaching to poke at something on him while their heads were so close for sharing sensitive information.  And again, his smile never faltered, but this time a burning pain lanced through Cade's index finger as his hand was "gently" returned to the countertop.
       "I'll pass along your request to one of the cooks," Happy said at a more normal volume, and walked away behind the bar.
       Cade carefully restrained the wince that tried to take over his face, and mastered the impulse to grab his fractured finger and attempt to pinch off the pain.  He was nothing if not accustomed to playing a part.  He casually pulled a small silver flask from a pouch at his belt and poured a dash of its contents into his cider as if adding harder liquor to the drink.  The weak healing potion had aided his work any number of times by removing bumps and scratches acquired in different guises on the same mission.  Now it wiped away the aftereffects of his conversation with the owner of the Purple Lady.
       A soft chuckle escaped him as he drank.  He'd always rather enjoyed Happy.  He'd certainly prefer the cheerful, gracious man's company to that of the vicious Sharran priestess in her underground lair any day.  It really was too bad Cade's skills were more often needed as an assassin than as an information gatherer.  He might have reported to Happy this time, but before long he'd need to go down through those familiar tunnels to the temple and check in.  And the Darklady would probably be slightly put-out over his evasion.
       Oh, well.  Coping with pain was good practice for maintaining disguises, and there was a certain thrill to be found in it under the right circumstances.  May as well give Dhalia an excuse for further training.



~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


And here's another (much shorter) scenario, at a completely different time and unrelated to the last.  It shows a bit of Cade's philosophy.


Narred sighed deeply and rubbed at his nose, which had begun to run.  The two fine black horses behind him seemed unbothered by the cold drizzle of rain, but for his own sake, the young stablehand wished the stablemaster wasn't quite so thorough in seeing to the temporary care of each of the nobles' horses as it entered the stable.  He'd been standing in line, in the rain, to get these two inside for what seemed like a year.
       At last his charges were safely stabled, groomed, and fed.  Narred slouched back outside and went around to the back of the stable, carrying a manure shovel with a splitting handle to the tool shed where it would await repair.  When he reached the shed, he stepped inside, closed the door to within a few inches of the jam, pulled a coiled rope from the wall and uncoiled it on the floor, and settled in to wait and watch.
       The first person to round the stable building into sight was only another worker, hired for a single tenday like Narred to handle the influx of horses during the meeting of nobles and wealthy merchants.  Narred turned and started coiling the rope, moving just fast enough that it wouldn't be too obvious he was making busywork so he wouldn't have to return to the stable.
       The other worker was even younger than Narred.  "He's looking for you," he muttered to Narred as he picked up a shovel.
       "Well, he ain't here yet," Narred replied, carefully coiling the rope between hand and elbow.
       "He will be before long.  And he won't be happy."
       Narred ignored him.  He hung the rope on the wall and pulled another down.  "Someone left these just about tangled," he grumbled, wiping his nose on his sleeve.
       The boy shrugged.  "It's your hide."  He left with the shovel.
       Still holding the second coil of rope, Narred quickly resumed his watch through the partially-closed door.
       It wasn't long before Stablemaster Krendel appeared, striding angrily toward the tool shed.  Narred waited by the hook on the wall.  When the dim light in the shed suddenly increased as the door was opened, he reached up to hang the rope coil as if he'd been in the process of doing so.
       "What are you doing still back here?" Krendel demanded, dealing the errant youth's back a stinging blow with the riding crop he carried.
       Narred jumped and whirled around, looking guilty and frightened.  "I was just--The ropes were tangled--"
       The stablemaster called him several nasty names for lazy.  "Get back out there!"  He pointed with the crop, and smacked the cringing stablehand with it again as Narred passed him.
       Just before reaching the open door, Narred stepped sideways and back beside Krendel so quickly the stablemaster had no time to react.  His bumbling, gawky frame moved with impossible grace as he swayed his upper body behind Krendel with the speed of a striking snake.  A length of twine looped around the stablemaster's neck and twisted tight.
       There was little noise.  Krendel's windpipe was closed off.  The man tried to struggle, but his agile assailant shrugged off what few pitiful slaps he managed to land as he flailed behind him.
       In moments, Narred let the black-faced corpse fall.  He glanced out into the narrow courtyard to check for imminent visitors.  No one was in sight.  That might change at any time, but he'd just have to deal with it as it came.  He pulled the door almost closed once again.
       His shirt was essentially the same as the stablemaster's, needing only the black vest, pants, and boots.  He'd deliberately worn a shirt that was slightly too big, one that could fit Krendel.  Every bit of reusable costume was helpful for the sake of time.
       After five days of working with Krendel, he hardly needed further familiarity, but he made himself stare at the man's face up close as he shifted his features.  The cocky laziness for which he was infamous had no place on a mission.  No one could be allowed to grow suspicious.
       Keeping an eye outside, he changed into his new stablemaster costume and persona.  Then Krendel dragged the body outside, wincing at the exposure of this part of the operation.  If anyone came around the end of the stable into sight right now, he might not be able to kill him before he could cry out.
       No one showed up to interrupt.  He laboriously manhandled the body up and into the manure wagon that sat in the courtyard, rolling it into the shallow depression he'd excavated last time he'd hauled a load out.  Then he snatched up the shovel he'd left under the wagon and used it to pull piles of manure into place over the evidence.
       As he started walking away from the wagon to return the shovel to the shed and complete the coverup, someone finally came around the end of the bigger building ahead.  Raetha, the farrier.
       "One of 'em strained a tendon on the way here," she noted, giving Krendel hardly a glance and heading for the toolshed, which also held her healing supplies.  "Probably slipped on the wet streets."
       "One of my occasionals seems to've run off to escape work," Krendel growled, ducking into the shed long enough to hang the shovel on a wall hook.  "If you see a skinny youth in stablehand clothes who looks like he's trying to hide, you have my permission to lay him flat with whatever heavy object seems appropriate."
       "I like it when you get violent," Raetha said in blatantly teasing manner.  She slapped him on the backside as he turned to go.
       Well, that was new information.  It was always surprising, how much people managed to conceal even from someone they didn't know was watching and taking notes.  Part of the challenge of the job, he supposed.
       The farrier was busy with gathering supplies, apparently not expecting an immediate reciprocation.  And with his two targets still alive in the heavily-guarded mansion that he'd yet to enter, he had no time for involvement.  Especially with someone who knew the original Krendel so personally.  As he wasn't a particularly playful man, the stablemaster simply left without reply.
       He wondered how many people had no idea what was really inside the friends and lovers they thought they knew so well, when a changeling could move among them utterly unnoticed with only minor preparatory study.  The vast majority, he'd wager.  Raetha would be horrified when she learned of her supposed loss, but if she couldn't even tell that the man beside her wasn't actually her lover, then the loss was a mere illusion.  She'd never had Krendel to begin with.



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