of removing the mask never entered his mind. The masks were necessary to
disguise those in his employment who were wanted by the law; to complete the
camouflage, all must wear them. To exempt himself from his own rule would be
unthinkable.
In an effort to distract himself from his discomfort, Jubal began to peer
cautiously at the people about him as they approached the bazaar. Since they had
crossed the bridge and placed the hovels of the Downwinders behind them, there
was a marked improvement in the quality of clothes and manners of the citizenry.
His eye fell on a magician, and he wondered about the star tattooed on the man’s
forehead. Then, too, he noted that the mage was engaged in a heated argument
with a brightly garbed young bravo who displayed numerous knives, their hilts
protruding from arm-sheath, sash, and boot top in ominous warning.
‘That’s Lythande,’ Mungo informed him, noting his interest. ‘He’s a fraud. If
you’re looking for a magician, there are better to be had … cheaper.’
‘You’re sure he’s a fraud?’ Jubal asked, amused at the boy’s analysis.
‘If he were a true magician, he wouldn’t have to carry a sword,’ Mungo
countered, pointing to the weapon slung at the magician’s side.
‘A point well taken,’ Jubal acknowledged. ‘And the man he’s arguing with?’
‘Shadowspawn,’ the boy announced loftily. ‘A thief. Used to work with Cudget
Swearoath before the old fool got himself hung.’
‘A magician and a thief,’ Jubal murmured thoughtfully, glancing at the two
again. ‘An interesting combination of talents.’