//------------------------------//
// Master of the Masquerade 
// Story: A Cavalcade of Cards 
// by QueenMoriarty 
//------------------------------//

Perhaps the most important question that Twilight Sparkle never asked was why there was a tunnel in the catacombs that led directly into the basement of Canterlot Castle.

Everypony in Canterlot knew about the catacombs, in the same sense that everypony in Manehattan knew about the sewer system; it existed, it was probably underneath you, and if you ever found yourself staring into a deep dark hole and something stared back, you were best just moving on and pretending that it never happened. But beyond that, nothing else was known about the catacombs. Those who thought about them for any length of time would probably only think of them as a single hollow space underneath the city, never considering that all an enterprising spelunker would need would be a pickaxe and a keen sense of direction to gain access to any basement in the city.

But the catacombs were not merely a tunnel network that connected the entire city in ways it had never thought about. Tucked away around dark corners and hidden behind rocks that looked much heavier than they really were, there were secret doors that connected to no buildings at all. These doors led into small rooms that bordered on the claustrophobic, but fulfilled their purpose better than any tiny apartment.

One of these doors bore a most foreboding symbol upon it, a simplistic spider with a single eye set in its body that stared out at any who came across it. There was a certain quality about both the symbol and the door that enticed you to look beyond it, to turn the knob and enter that room, to behold whatever dark secrets had been hidden away underneath Canterlot.

And if you did, what was waiting there was a spring-loaded crossbow mounted to the wall and enchanted to aim directly for the trachea of whoever opened it. Pinned to the wall above this crossbow, and helpfully illuminated by glittering ink so that one could not help but look at it in their final moments, was a notice that simply read "Well done, you're very clever" in big letters.

Quite a further way down an entirely different tunnel, behind an entirely unremarkable door with no incriminating marks on it, was where the real secret headquarters of the Royal Assassinorum lay.





Octavia Melody scrutinized her reflection carefully. She had the kind of carefully cultivated Canterlot smile that anypony worth a damn would recognize as being fake, but the very special kind of fake that said she was only smiling because she wanted to save her enormous political influence for conversations, and not having to fight an uphill battle as she frowned her way through personal introductions to potentially important ponies.

The dress she wore was quite a bit more genuine, being a humble jet-black off-the-shoulders Rarity Belle original. After Fancy Pants' little project had successfully dominated the high society scene for several days at once, the sensational seamstress had become the hottest thing in Canterlot, but her delightfully provincial lifestyle was enough of a deterrent to most aristocrats that a pony who wore Rarity was silently sending the message that she could break your face just by kissing you too hard. As an earth pony who spent a lot of time in the unicorn capital, it was formal wear like this that was Octavia's principle weapon against prejudice.

"You look absolutely ravishing, Madam Melody."

Octavia turned, her fake smile cracking under the pressure of genuine teasing fondness. "And you still look like you've crawled through a mile of dung after getting lost in a second-hoof carpet shop. If we're going on this op together, you'll need to be presentable."

Vassal grinned a yellow-toothed grin that looked more like broken glass, then began to slowly shrug off his cumbersome robes and jacket. "Pardon me if I adapt to my environment, I'm sure."

"The sewers may connect to the catacombs, but the walkways certainly don't detour through sludge." Octavia turned back to the mirror, giving her smile a final rehearsal before stepping back from it, as though Vassal would need to check his reflection.

"You wouldn't know it by how musty the air is down here," he countered perfectly, his clothes folding away from his chest and into his back as they became wings and a blue coat. "The atmosphere of this place just screams hooded figures marinated in their own doings."

"Celestia save us all, a spy with dramatic flair."

"Says the assassin who uses her own leitmotif over a knife."

"You wound me, Vassal." Octavia's brain did an odd double-take as the spy's transformation completed. "Or should I say, Commander Hurricane?"

Vassal shrugged and bowed, and the ripple of his historically accurate muscles was accented by the growing of a perfectly tailored tuxedo out of whole coat (and very definitely not whole cloth, Octavia reminded herself). "What better face to wear to a masquerade ball, then that of the hero so popularly misconstrued as a villain?"

"Well, you could wear someone more current."

"No can do," Vassal assured her, fluffing his new feathers and grinning at her in a way that part of her said she was supposed to be finding attractive. "I only wear dead faces."

Octavia raised an interested eyebrow. "Really? Surely it would make more sense in your line of work to wear the faces of those who are already part of high society."

"In theory, yes. In practice, the changelings spent months scouring Cadenza's brain in the hopes that Chrysalis could mimic her perfectly, and they were still completely banking on rendering the captain brain-dead and nopony else actually knowing what she was normally like. And besides, you'd be surprised how quickly a dead pony just becomes a name on a list."

"I recognize the commander's face," Octavia pointed out. "I won't be the only one."

"Yes, but you're clever. Most of them aren't. And I'll be wearing a mask over this handsome mug for most of the night anyway."

"We still have to use public streets for part of our approach. You might get recognized."

"In Cloudsdale, maybe. Half of Canterlot prides itself on barely knowing any pegasus history. I've worn this exact face as a butler in the same room as three so-called pre-Unification scholars and they scarcely batted an eye. I kid you not, one of them didn't even notice I was a pegasus for hours on end."

Octavia stared, not sure whether to laugh or cry. "It's almost enough to make you want to go mercenary."

"Not really," Vassal sneered. "I tried that gig once. Civilians have no idea what sort of rates a Royal Spymaster is used to, much less one of Celestia's top three assassins."

"I'm in the top three?" Octavia didn't even try to stop her jaw from dropping.

Vassal laughed, and wandered over to the door. "Alas, too much is said, and too little done to earn the words. That's all the gossip you're getting out of me tonight."

Octavia smiled and swept after him into the catacombs. "Even if I ask about the yak situation?"

"Well, that's work-related. Hardly gossip by any definition. Ask away."

The door closed behind them as soon as they were out of earshot. Neither of them thought anything of it, since the door was enchanted to close on its own anyway.

That was how it started.