So Arthur thought so too. That made it ever so more likely, for it was not very common for two people who had not been in much together to ignore the same vital thing proving the contrary if there was one to ignore. But it was at the mention of the Master's name that the constable nearest to them perked up to full attention and glared more intently than ever before at the man who had spoken the name out loud. Well, that couldn't be a good thing, could it...? Monica had to admit that she was nervous about this. They had just figured who the Master was, but what good would it do to them-

The hooded figure beckoned them closer. Had her eyes just lied to her? Had there been one too many glass of Greyfields? In the one glass she had had? Yeah, right. She hadn't ingested honey yet either, so... there was no other case than her having seen just that. Surely it would be foolish to refuse a direct invitation from a Master of the Bazaar of all things, and with the glare of the constable smoothing away a bit... no, that had been her imagination. Still just as fierce as ever.

"Well Arthur, we were on the same mark. And I dare say that we hit it", she smiled and tapped the man on the shoulder with her parasol. "Let us accept the invitation. Mayhaps it is the key to finding why this party was called together? Why a group of people, all wearing masks, were called to share a space with not only one, but two of the Masters of the Bazaar? Exciting times for all!" she gushed and began a careful approach.

The poet could not help but note that the scruffy looking sailor gentleman had taken position nearby just as well. Would they be invited as well? Or would the constables see to moving the man away? Perhaps he would simply stand there? Whatever the case, it was not her issue. As she made it to one of the pillows laid on the floor, an orange one, she sat down with two seats between her and the Master. Sitting in this dress was not the easiest thing she had ever done, but she could manage to find a position that did not risk being quite risque. Her ankles were safe.

Who they presumed to be Mr. Spices waited for Arthur to make his decision on approaching or not and if he did choose to sit down among them, wait for that to be done before taking a long huff from the pipe. A long exhale later, a high pitched voice typical of Masters rang out from below the cloak: "Welcome to the masquerade." That was it. Well if that didn't just raise more questions than give answers. Was it expecting the guests to go first?