Norton, Andre - Night of masks

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ANDRE NORTON-NIGHT OF MASKS (1964)
(Scanned by: Kislany)
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OUTSIDE, THE DAY was as gray as the wall behind Nik Kolherne, where he hunched under the
arch of roof well above his head. The steady drizzle of rain was as depressing as those thoughts
he could not push out of his mind, even by the most determined effort. His thin-fingered hands
moved restlessly, smoothing the front of the worn and colorless jump coat that hung in folds about
his thin chest and shoulders. The damp had him shivering, but he made no move to seek shelter
through the door immediately behind him.
There was shelter inside but nothing else in the big barracks of the Dipple. Those without
family ties held no more rights than the tentative possession of a bunk, and that only as long as
they could defend it, should one of their fellows in misfortune take a liking to it.
Nik's right hand came up in a gesture now so much a part of him that he was no longer
aware when he made it. Without actually touching his face, his palm covered chin and nose, masking
all that lay below his large, penetratingly brilliant blue-green eyes. He hugged the wall of the
entranceway, giving good room to two men splashing in from the yard. Neither noticed him as they
pushed into the barracks.
Moke Yarn and Brin Peake. In the world of the Dipple, they were solid citizens of a sort.
Or should one correct that? Nik, his hand mask still upheld, searched for a proper term to cover
the activities and standing of Moke Yarn and Brin Peake.
Maybe not solid citizens in the sense used by the free world beyond the Dipple gates. But
at least they had power, and their standing within these walls was firmly based. And since it was
undoubtedly true that the Dipple would continue to be Nik's complete world, its terms of reference
must be the ones used in evaluating his fellow unfortunates-not that either Moke or Brin
considered himself unfortunate.
Once there had been no Dipple; once there had been no war. Once-once a little boy had been
someone different, very different. His blue-green eyes held a shadow as Nik stared dully into the
slanting lines of rain. But there had been the war, and all the dispossessed flotsam had been
swept up and thrown into the refuse heaps of the Dipples on many planets-to rot forgotten, as if
they were not people at all but statistics and footnotes in some, little-read history book of a
time the free worlds were now working hard to forget. The war had ended in an exhausted tie, but
hate lingered, smoldering under the surface of the here and now, a hate that-
This time Nik's fingers closed tight against his face. His stomach heaved in a retching
spasm. The furrows of scarred skin were harsh under his touch. He had a mask all right, one out of
nightmares and one he could never put aside. Ten years ago a freighter spacer had been temporarily
turned into an escape ship for a small colony on a frontier world lying within enemy-patrolled
territory. That freighter had been pursued by the enemy and had crashed on a barren moon.
How in the name of the Spirit had Nik survived that disaster anyway? Why had a child with
a torn and burned face continued to live when all those about him had mercifully died? Then-out of
nowhere-had come rescue, men in space armor tramping into the small area of the ship where Nik had
cowered almost witless. After their coming, there was a jumble of impressions cloaked with
delirium and pain, the terror of the unknown. Finally, there had been the hospital here at the
Dipple on Korwar. Then-just the Dipple in which he was always alone.
He dreamed-yes, sometimes he dreamed of a country under another sky with a different tint
and a warmer sun. But was that a real memory or just a dream? He could remember only such small
bits after the crash. His sole link with that other world was the identity disk they had found on
him-Nik Kolherne, a name combined with symbols that had not made sense to any authority here. At
first, he had asked questions of his fellow internees until their reaction to his gargoyle face
had driven him into a solitary life and to the reading tapes.
To a tape, it did not matter that Nik was only human-seeming from eye level to the top of
his head with its tight curls of wiry hair the color of burnished jet. So he had fled into the
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world of the mind, soaking up materials upon which his imagination fed, so that he was able to
lead another life-one he could summon up at need, perhaps as vivid as that a haluce drinker knew.
Sometimes nowadays Nik was more aware of that other life than he was of the Dipple, though
a ripple of disquiet came like a half-heard warning now and then to disturb his dreaming. But he
pressed that down, strove to rout it utterly. He had his dream world, and in it he was free! He
clung to it passionately.
The need to return to his fantasy now drove him forth into the rain, and he scuttled from
the barracks to the next building, the supply warehouse. The bored guard at the door did not see
Nik flit by-he was an expert at finding hiding places. Seconds later he reached his latest one, a
tiny opening through which he could squeeze, to wriggle up on some crates and lie on a ragged bit
of blanket.
Nik stretched out. The layer of stuff beneath his sharp shoulder blades was not thick, but
he was oblivious to the discomfort. The drum of rain on the roof not too far above him was
soothing, and he closed his eyes, ready to plunge into his dream.
"-has to be right-all a one-time blast-off-"
Those words had no part in the fantasy Nik was creating In themselves, they were only a
minor disturbance, but something in the voice brought Nik's eyes open, made him listen.
"No move until we are sure-"
"And while we're sittin' on our fins waitin' for a take-off, the whole deal can turn sour-
into a real bad burn-off-"
Nik hitched around on his pad and began a worm's progress to the end of the box from which
he should be able to view the speakers. There was no light in the gloom below. The meeting had all
the aspects of a private one. Of course, there were a good many undercurrents in the Dipple. This
was not the first time Nik had been on the fringe of secrets or learned what could prove dangerous
should his knowledge be discovered by others. ,
"I repeat-in this there can be no chances-not in the groundwork. It's too big to allow any
off-course work. Do you understand that?"
Stowar! Nik could see the two figures below only as shadows among other shadows, but that
one voice he knew. Stowar was big here in the Dipple-a king shark to such small predators as Moke
and Brin. If a man could raise the price to buy into the Thieves' Guild and so open a door out of
this rat hole, Stowar was the negotiator who carried out the deal. Stowar had things to sell, too-
haluce and other drugs. He had contacts, they said clear up the Veeps of the half world on Korwar
and even off-world, too.
Nik shivered. To eavesdrop on one of Stowar's little deals could be very dangerous. He dug
his nails into the surface of the box on which he lay and tried to still his breathing, not daring
to withdraw for fear they could hear his movements.
"All right-so no chances." The other sounded impatient and not a bit overawed by Stowar.
"But that course's been plotted twice-an' each time it cost us a fistful. If we have to go to
Margan again, he'll up the price on us. He's no fool, and he'll do a little thinking on his own."
"There are ways of dealing with Margan-"
"Yeah, and those wouldn't be healthy either. Meddle with Margan and you'll have the
Brethren down with blasters out, ready to do some cookin'! Don't you planet crawlers ever forget
that Margan is our man, and we'll cut in for him. We need Margan; he's the best course man in the
business. This trick of yours is just one trip as far as the Brethren see it."
The Brethren! Nik's mind was wholly freed of the mist of fantasy now. Stowar could well
have contacts with the Brethren-the space-borne section of the Thieves' Guild who sought their
prey on loosely held frontier worlds. That meant this deal could be very big. Though Stowar might
head the lawless element in the Dipple, to the Guild itself he was a small operator to whom the
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real Veeps threw the small crumbs.
"Commendable comment. But our friend here is right on one point. This is no time to come
in for a two-fin landing, Bouvay-"
A third man down there! Nik tried to pick out his shadow, but he must be standing, out of
sight, in the crack between the crate on which Nik himself perched and its fellow.
Stowar had been easy for Nik to identify because, seemingly indifferent to Nik's
disfigurement, he had, from time to time, given the boy small tasks, Nik's only means of earning a
credit or two to finance the purchase of new tapes.
"All right. But a third run with Morgan will be suspicious -maybe make real trouble."
"We are duly warned," agreed the unknown in the crack. "You say we have five more days?"
"Five more days for this course. Then you wait three planet months before you can try
again."
"So be it. Well just have to wait it out."
"But-" Stowar began an instant protest.
"Five days-to find our man, to set up the whole plan? It can't be done. I've tried some so-
called impossible things in my time, orbited in on one or two of them, too. But short of going
into stass and taking all of Korwar with us, we're going to have to pass on this run and wait out
those three months."
"And in the meantime"-Stowar's voice soared-"we can see i'Inad made some change to spoil
everything. I say-much better make it a straight snatch-"
"Which is completely impossible," came a chill retort. "They have the ultimate in
security. The pattern can't be broken by us except by the setup Heriharz has worked out. You
yourself were urging caution just a moment ago, friend."
"Caution, reasonable caution, certainly. But every delay gives i'Inad a chance to counter
us-"
There was a soft laugh from the dark alley. "Seems an impasse, doesn't it? But I have
faith in the stars, Stowar. We'll either turn up our key or-"
"Or have to write it all off. Some tricks you can't pull ever. This is a dead rocket if I
ever saw one."
"Your commander doesn't agree with you, Bouvay, but it's your privilege to cry off if you
want."
Only a mutter replied to that. Nik tensed. That voice out of the dark carried a note of
confidence rarely heard here. The diction was smooth, the tone authoritative. This was no Dipple
dweller. Everyone knew that the Guild had their undercover men in the Planet Guard, among the port
authorities, with the spacer crews. This man could well be one of them.
"Three months-" That was Stowar, but this time there was a resigned note in his voice.
"And at the end of three months- if we have not found the right man?"
"Then we make some other decision. But FC says we will." Some one of his listeners
snorted. "Then why'n green blazes don't that tame machine tell us where to find him? Maybe he
ain't on Korwar. Ever think of that?"
"The probabilities, according to FC, are that he is. Look about you, man-what's in a
Dipple?"
"A bunch of dim beats as has had it!" returned Bouvay promptly.
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"According to your estimation, yes. But on the other hand, right between these walls we
have a big cross section of galactic races and types. When they swept up refugees and deportees
and dropped them down here, there wasn't any sorting. We have inhabitants from forty worlds,
survivors of ship disasters, a mixture such as you won't find anyplace else."
"Except in another Dipple," cut in Stowar. "Just so. And where is the nearest other
Dipple? On Kali, a good six-month flight from here. How long have we been sifting the stock right
in front of us? About one month. FC says the probabilities are he is here; we just have to find
him. And because you haven't turned up the proper combination yet, Stowar, is no reason that such
a person does not exist."
"I know." The Dipple man sounded more confident. "You're right. If there's such a man, we
ought to have him here. There's a mix as will turn up about anything. The only thing they've in
common is that they all look human."
"That's the only factor he has to have," commented the unknown. "Our man has to register
human or he can't get by the spy line. So, we practice patience and-"
Nik was startled. The speaker had stopped, almost in mid word. All Nik caught thereafter
was a sharp hiss. The shadows that were Stowar and Bouvay had frozen. Nik listened. His mouth was
dry, his heart beginning to sharpen its beat. Somehow he could sense a wariness, an alerting. Had
they discovered him? But how could they-?
He cried out, tried to jerk free, kicking out with one foot, but the hold on his right
ankle remained firm. It was as if his whole right leg was glued to the top of the crate. Then the
power in the left suddenly failed. That leg lay beside the right, both now immovable. Thoroughly
frightened, Nik tried to lever his half-dead body up by using his arms, only to have them fail him
in turn. He was pinned to the surface under him as if he had never had any power to move.
Then he did move, but not by his own will. Stiff in his invisible bonds, his whole body
rose from the crate and slid out over the open space where the men he had spied upon stood waiting
for him. Shaking with a fear he could only control to the point of not screaming his terror aloud,
Nik sank down, helpless to defend himself against any action they chose to take.
"Stack rat!"
Nik was still descending when that fist snapped out of the general gloom and connected
against his cheekbone with force enough to scramble his senses. He was aware dazedly of another
blow. And then there was only darkness until light beat into him, and he tried to raise his hands
to shield his eyes, blinded by the full glare of a torch.
"-you're away off orbit-"
"I don't think so. Look, man; just use your eyes for once!"
A painful grip on Nik's hair jerked his head closer to the light. He closed his eyes.
"Who is he, Stowar?"
"Just what Bouvay called him-a stack rat. Gives most of the people horrors, so he keeps
out of sight."
"Sure-look at his face! Enough to turn your insides straight out of you! What do you mean
about his being any good to us? Give him a blast and let it go at that. Put him outta his misery.
He can't enjoy life lookin' like that."
"His face-" The voice from behind the torch sounded speculative. "That doesn't matter too
much. What is important is that he's about the right size and age-or looks it anyway. It's just
possible we have what we want. If he goes, there'll be no one to ask questions-he won't be
missed."
"I don't believe you can use him!" Bouvay was emphatic.
"You don't have to. But I believe in luck, Bouvay, and it may be that Lady Luck is pushing
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comets across the board to us right now! Gyna can do wonders with raw material."
"Anyway, we'll have to do something with him." That was Stowar once more. "Stow him in the
box there, and I'll send a couple of the boys to take him to my place. How long does this tie of
yours last?"
"Not much longer, unless I want to burn out the unit."
"Fair enough. I'll just take care of that problem."
The last words Nik heard were those from Bouvay. For the second time he was struck and
sagged back into the dark from which the torchlight had momentarily dragged him.
He was lying on a hard surface-the blanket must have been dragged from under him on the
crate. And this was the first time he had come out of a dream with a badly aching head. Dream? But
this had not been one of his visits to his secret world at all! Nik found thinking a shaky
process, and the feeling of nausea, which, oddly enough, seemed located more in his painful head
than his middle, swooped down into the proper section of his anatomy as he tried to move.
The patchwork of recent memories began to fit into a real pattern. He lay with closed eyes
and forced himself to make those memories whole. The warehouse-and the three who met there-Stowar!
Nik's suddenly tensing muscles hurt. He had been caught listening to some private plan of
Stowar's!
Now he tried to make his ears serve to inform him on his present surroundings. He was
lying on a hard surface-that much he already knew-but before he opened his eyes and so perhaps
gave away his return to consciousness, he wanted to learn everything else he could.
There was a sound-a murmur that might be the rise and fall of voices from a distance. Now
that he had himself in hand, Nik could use his nose, too. The faintly sweet smell-that was only
one thing, Canbia wine. Just one inhabitant of the Dipple could afford Canbia-Stowar-so he was now
in Stowar's quarters.
Nik dared to open his eyes and looked up into complete darkness. With great effort, he
lifted a limp hand. A fraction of an inch from his side, it struck against a solid surface. The
left hand discovered a similar obstruction on the other side.
He could see light now-a faint outline over him, enough to tell him he was in a box. In a
moment of raw panic, he struggled to sit up, only to discover the effort beyond his powers. Then
all the patience and self-control he had so painfully learned went into action. So-he was in a
box. But he was still alive, and if they had wanted to erase him, they would not have gone to the
trouble of carting him here. Stowar wanted no trouble in his own quarters.
Nik puzzled over his fragmentary memories of those last moments when he had been so
strangely lifted out of hiding and delivered, helpless, into the hands of the enemy. The method of
attack did not concern him now; the reason for his being here did. What had the stranger said-that
he was the right age and size and that his face was not important. Not important.
The sound of boot heels on the floor outside his prison made Nik strive once more to move.
His hands-he could pull them up a little. The rest of him seemed frozen still.
Then the cover over him banged back, and he was looking up into the face of a stranger.
The skin was browned in the deep coloring of a spaceman, so that the single topknot of hair above
the almost totally shaven skull looked like a white plume in contrasting fairness. The regular
features were handsome, though the eyes were so heavily droop-lidded that Nik had no idea of their
coloring.
And now there was a quirk of a smile about the stranger's lips, giving a certain
relaxation to his expression. Nik found himself losing the first sharp edge of his apprehension.
A bronze hand swooped down and caught at the front of Nik's jacket. He was drawn up in
that hold as if his own weight were feather-light as far as the other was concerned. Then an arm
about his shoulders steadied him on his feet, and he was standing.
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"Don't worry. You'll be able to blast in a minute."
Under the stranger's guidance, Nik regained enough power to step out of the box and take a
stumbling step or two. He was lowered onto a stool, his back against the wall of the room. The
other sat down, facing him.
The stranger wore space leather and ship boots. The triple star of a captain winked from
the throat latch of his tunic. He leaned forward, his fists on his knees, to survey Nik. For the
first time in years, Nik Kolherne made no attempt to mask his ruined face with his hand. There was
a kind of defiance in his desire for the other to see every scar.
"I was right!" The white-hair plume rippled as the stranger nodded briskly. "You are our
probability."
II
NIK'S HEAD and shoulders were propped against the wall, and as the stranger leaned
forward, their eyes were much on a level. He matched the searching stare. And now he said, "I
don't know what you mean."
"Not needful that you do-yet. How long have you had that face?
"Ten years, more or less. I was fished out of a wreck during the war."
"Nobody tried to patch it up for you?"
Nik willed his hand to remain on his knee, willed himself to face that frank appraisal
without an outward tremor. There was no disgust, no shrinking, only real bewilderment in the
other's expression. And seeing that, Nik replied with the truth.
"Why didn't they fix my face? Well, they tried. But it seemed I couldn't adapt to growth
flesh-it sloughed off after some months. And other experiments, they cost too much. No one had the
credits to spend on Dipple trash."
That had been the worst of his burden in the years behind him, knowing that right here in
Korwar were cosmetic surgeons who might have been able to give him a human face again. Yet the
costly experimentation needed by a patient who could not provide natural rooting for growth flesh
was far out of his reach.
"Something could be done even now." Nik refused to rise to the bait. "I'm not the son of a
First Circle family," he replied evenly. "And if growth flesh fails, there's little they can do,
anyway."
"Don't be so sure." The stranger got to his feet. "Don't discount luck."
"Luck?" queried Nik.
"Yes, luck! Listen, boy. I'm on a winning streak now. The comets are all hitting stars on
my table! And you're a part of it. What would you do for a new face-the face you should have had?"
Nik's stare was set. Plainly this was meant in all seriousness. Well, what"would he give,
do, for a face-a real face again? He didn't have to hesitate over that answer.
"Anything!" It would be worth it, any pain or sacrifice on his part, any effort, no matter
how severe or prolonged.
"All right. Well see. Stowar-!" At the space officer's call, the Dipple man came to the
door of the room. "I'm standing for Kolherne."
Stowar's flat, emotionless eyes slid over the boy. He was frowning a little. "The choice
is yours-now," he returned, but not as if he agreed. "When do you take him, Leeds?"
"Right away. Now, Kolherne"-the other swung to face Nik once more-"it's up to you. If you
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want that face, you have to be prepared to earn it, understand?"
Nik nodded. Sure he understood. Anything you wanted you had to earn, or take-if you were
strong enough and well armed enough to make the grab practical. He did not doubt that Leeds was
either one of the Guild or the Brethren, operating well on the cold side of any planetary or space
law. But that did not bother him. Within the Dipple, one learned that the warmth of the law was
for the free, not for the dispossessed and helpless. He was willing to walk the outlaw's road;
that was no choice at all with the promised award ahead.
"This is the story- you're the son of a spaceman, my former first officer. I found you
here, will sign bond for you. That will release you from the Dipple. The guard won't do much
checking. They're glad to get anyone off the roster legally. Got anything you want to collect from
a lock box, Nik?
What did he have to call his own? A tape reader and a packet of tapes. Nothing he really
needed. And those belonged to the Kolherne who had no hope at all- save through their temporary
means of escape. Now something as wild as anger or fear was boiling inside Nik; he could hardly
keep it bottled down. He did not recognize it as hope.
"No - " His voice seemed so little under his control that he did not say more than that
one word.
"Then, let's go!" Again that strong grasp bringing him up to his feet, steadying him. He
stumbled across the room, out into Stowar's business quarters, hardly noting Moke Varn there. Moke
was of no importance any more. This was one of Nik's dreams taking on the solid reality of flesh
in the hand guiding him ahead, in the surprised expression on Moke's flat face, in the bubbling
and churning in Nik's middle. He was drunk with hope and the excitement Leeds had fired in him.
"Now pay attention." Leeds' tone sharpened as they emerged into a mist that had followed
the rain. "My name is Strode Leeds. I'm master of the Free Trader Serpent. Got that?"
Nik nodded.
"Your father was my first officer in the Day Star when the war broke out. He was killed
when we were jumped by the Afradies on Jigoku. I've been searching the Dipples for you for the
past three years. Luck, O Luck, are you riding my fins today! I couldn't have set this up better
if I'd known you were going to come down out of the roof back in that warehouse. You stick with
me, boy, and that luck has just naturally got to rub off a little on you!"
Leeds was smiling, the wide satisfied smile of a gambler ready to scoop up from the table
more than his hoped-for share of the counters.
Nik, still a little wobbly on his legs, tried to match his stride to the captain's,
willing to go where Leeds wished, holding to him the promise the other had made, the promise that
still seemed part of a dream. He listened to Leeds' glib explanation at the Dipple Registration
and nodded when the supervisor perfunctorily congratulated him on his luck. There it was-luck
again. He who had never remembered seeing the fair face of fortune was beginning to believe in it
with some of the fervor Leeds exhibited.
Then they were out of the Dipple. Nik dragged a little behind his companion, savoring that
small wonder that was part of the larger. In all his existence on Korwar, he had been out of the
Dipple's gray hush no more times than he could reckon on the fingers of one hand. Once to the
hospital in a vain attempt to have them try skin growth on him again, to return defeated and
aching with the pain of the medical verdict that it was useless. And the rest on hurried trips to
the nearest tape shop to buy the third-hand, scratchy records that had been all the life he cared
for. But now he was out-really out!
Leeds punched the code of a flitter at the nearest call box. It was beginning to rain
again, and the captain jerked the shoulder hood of his tunic up over his head. Nik licked the
moisture from that scar tissue that should have been lips.
Even rain was different beyond the Dipple walls; it tasted sweet and clean here.
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As they seated themselves in the cab and Leeds set the controls, he glanced at the boy.
The captain was no longer smiling. There was a sharp set to his mouth and jaw.
"This is only the first step," he said. "Gyna and Iskhag, they have the final decision."
Nik snapped back into tense rigidity. One part of him was apprehensive. So-there was a
flaw in this "luck" after all? This was only what all his life had led him to expect.
"But," Leeds was continuing, "since the main play is mine, I've the right to say who's
going to lift into this orbit-"
Nik's first seething glow had faded; his old-time control was back. All right, so Leeds
had talked him out of the Dipple. He'd have to go right back if the captain's plan failed. Nowhere
on Korwar could he show this face and hope for a chance for freedom-unless it was freedom to
starve.
Korwar was a pleasure planet. Its whole economy was based on providing luxury and
entertainment for the great ones of half the galaxy. There was no place in any of its
establishments for Nik Kolherne. On another world, he might have tried heavy labor. But here they
would not even accept him for the off-world labor draft once they took a good look at him.
The flitter broke away from the traffic lanes of the city and slanted out on a course that
would take it to the outer circle of villas and mansions. Nik gazed down at a portion of the life
he had never seen, the wealth of vegetation culled from half a hundred different worlds and re-
rooted here in a mingled tapestry of growing and glowing color to delight the eyes. They lifted
over a barrier of gray thorn, where the pointed branches and twigs were beaded with crystalline
droplets-or were those flowers or leaflets? Then the craft came down on the flat roof of a gray-
green house, part of its structure seeming to run back into the rise of a small hill behind it.
The rain splashed about them and poured off in runlets to vanish at the eaves of the
building. Nik followed Leeds out of the flier, saw it rise and return to the city. Then he
shivered and wiped his sleeve across his face.
"Move!" That was Leeds, giving his charge little or no time to look about him. The captain
had his boots planted on a square block in the roof. He reached out a long arm and. caught at Nik,
pulling him close. There was a shimmer about the edges of the block on which they stood. Abruptly
the rain ceased to drive against them. Then the shimmer became solid, a silver wall, and Nik was
conscious of a whine that was half vibration.
The silver became a shimmer again, vanished. They were no longer on the roof under the
dull gray of the sky but in a small alcove with a corridor running from right to left before them.
"This way." Leeds' pace was faster; Nik stumbled in his wake.
The walls about them were sleekly smooth and the same cool gray-green as the outer part of
the house. But Nik had the feeling that they were not in that structure but beneath it, somewhere
in the soil and rock upon which it stood.
Just before the captain reached what appeared to be a solid wall at the end of the
corridor, that surface rolled smoothly back to the left, allowing them to enter a room.
The carpet under Nik's worn shoepacs was springy, a dark red in color. He blinked, trying
to take in the room and its inhabitants as quickly as possible, with all the wariness he could
summon.
There were two eazi-rests, their adaptable contours providing seating for a man and a
woman. Nik's hand flashed up to his face, and then he wondered. She must have seen him clearly;
yet there was none of that distaste, the growing horror he had expected to see mirrored in her
eyes. She had regarded him for a long moment as if he were no different from other men.
She was older than he had first judged, and she wore none of the fashionable gold or
silver cheek leaf. Her hair was very fair and hung in a simple, unjeweled net bag. Nor did her
robe have any of the highly decorative patterns now preferred. It was a blue-green, in contrast to
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the red cushions supporting her angular body, restful to the eye. Between the fingers of her right
hand rested a flat plate of milky semiprecious stone, and from that she licked, with small, neat
movements of her tongue, portions of pink paste, never ceasing to regard Nik the while.
In the other eazi-rest was a man whose ornate clothing was in direct contrast to the
simplicity of the woman's. His gem-embroidered, full-sleeved shirt was open to the belt about his
paunch, showing chest and belly skin of a bluish shade. His craggy features were as alien in their
way to the ancestral Terran stock of the others as that blue-tinted skin. His face was narrow,
seeming to ridge on the nose and chin line, with both those features oversized and jutting
sharply. And there were two points of teeth showing against the darker blue of his lips even when
his mouth was closed, points that glistened in the light with small jewel winks. His head was
covered with a close-fitting metal helmet boasting whirled circles where human ears would be set.
There were non-Terran, even non-humanoid, intelligent species in the galaxy, and Korwar
pulled many of their ruling castes into tasting its amusements, but Nik had never faced a true
alien before.
Both woman and alien made no move to greet Leeds, nor did they speak for a long moment.
Then the woman put down her plate and arose, coming straight across the room to stand facing Nik.
She was as tall as he, and when suddenly her hand struck out, catching his wrist, she bore down
his masking hand with a strength he could not have countered without an actual struggle.
Grave-eyed, she continued to study his wrecked face with a penetrating concentration as if
he presented an absorbing problem that was not a matter of blood, bones, and flesh but something
removed from the human factor entirely. "Well?" Leeds spoke first. "There are possibilities-" she
replied.
"To what degree?" That was the alien. His voice was high-pitched, without noticeable tone
changes, and it had an unpleasant grating quality as far as Nik was concerned.
"To the seventieth degree, perhaps more," the woman replied. "Wait-"
She left Nik and went to the table by the eazi-rests. She spun a black box around to face
a blank wall. And the alien pressed a button on his seat so that it swung about to face the wall
also. There was a click from the box, and a picture appeared on the blank surface.
A life-size figure stood there, real enough to step forward into the room-a man, a very
young man, of Nik's height. But Nik's attention was for the unmarred, sun-browned face whose eyes
were now level with his own. The features were regular. He was a good-looking boy; yet there was
an oddly mature strength and determination in his expression, the set of his mouth, and the angle
of jaw.
The woman had stepped to one side. Now she glanced from the tri-dee cast to Nik and back
again.
"He says growth flesh did not take on transplant," Leeds commented.
"So?" Well, there are ways-" Her reply was almost absent. "But look, Iskhag-the hair!
Almost, Strode, I can believe in this luck fetish you swear by. That hair-"
Nik looked from those features to the hair above them. The wiry curls on the pictured head
were as tight as his and just as black.
"It would seem," shrilled Iskhag, "that the FC was right. The probabilities of success at
this point outweigh those of failure. If, Gyna, you think you have a chance of performing your own
magic-?"
She shrugged and snapped off the tri-dee cast. "I will do what I can. The results I cannot
insure. And-it may be only temporary if the growth fails again"
"You know the newest techniques, Gentle Fern," Leeds interrupted, "and those are far more
successful than the older methods. We can promise you unlimited resources for this." He looked to
Iskhag, and the blue alien nodded.
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"Does he understand?" The high chitter of Iskhag's speech came as he looked at Nik.
Leeds took out a small box and flipped a pellet he took from it into his mouth. "He
understands we promise him a face again, but that it has to be earned. Also, I signed him out of
the Dipple and will guarantee his Guild fee-"
The woman came back to Nik, her long skirt rustling across the carpet. "So you will earn
your face, boy?"
Before he could avoid it, her hand made another of those quick moves, and her fingers
closed on his misshapen chin, holding it firmly.
"You are entirely right," she continued as if the two of them were alone in the room.
"Everything must be earned. Even those to whom birth gives much make payment in return, in one
form or another. Yes, I shall strive to give you a face, for our price."
For the first time, Nik summoned up enough courage to take a part in this conversation
about him and his affairs.
"What's the price?"
The woman loosened her hold on him. "Fair enough." She nodded as if that question had, in
some obscure way, pleased her. "Tell him, Leeds." That was no request but an order.
"So"-Iskhag swung his eazi-rest back to its former position-"take him to his quarters,
tell him-make all ready. We have been too long about this matter now!"
Leeds smiled. "In a matter of this kind, haste makes for mistakes. Do you wish for
mistakes, Gentle Homo?"
"I wish for nothing but to set a good plan to work, Captain." Was there a shadow of
withdrawal in Iskhag's reply?
The woman had picked up her plate of pink paste. Once more her tongue licked, in small,
tip-touch movements, at its contents, but she watched Nik as Leeds caught him by the shoulder and
gave him an encouraging shove toward the door.
Down the corridor, past the alcove where they had entered, then through a second sliding
doorway they went, and they were in another luxurious room. Leeds motioned Nik to a seat on a wide
divan.
"Hungry?" the captain asked. Without waiting for an answer, he went to a dial server on
the wall and spun a combination. A table slid out, drawer fashion, the closed dishes on its
surface numbering at least six. Nik watched as it moved into place before the divan, and Leeds sat
down beside him to snap up the heat covers.
"Tuck in!" the captain urged, sampling the contents of the nearest dish himself.
Nik ate. The food was so different from the mess-hall fare of the Dipple that he could
hardly believe it could be called by the same name. He did not know, could not even guess, at the
basic contents of some of those heated platters, but it was a banquet out of his dreams.
When an unaccustomed sense of fullness put an end to his explorations, Nik came to himself
again, to the uneasy realization that in accepting this bounty he had taken one more step along a
trail that would lead him into very unfamiliar territory and that had its own dangers, perhaps the
more formidable because they were unknown.
"Now-Leeds pressed the return button and ,the table rolled away from them-"now, Nik, we
talk."
III
BUT THE CAPTAIN did not begin. He was watching Nik with that same searching scrutiny the
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file:///F|/rah/Andre%20Norton/Norton,%20Andre%20-%20Night%20Of%20Masks.txtANDRENORTON-NIGHTOFMASKS(1964)(Scannedby:Kislany)------------------------------------------OUTSIDE,THEDAYwasasgrayasthewallbehindNikKolherne,wherehehunchedunderthearchofroofwellabovehishead.Thesteadydrizzleofrainwasasdepres...

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