Orb Sceptre Throne, page 70
‘Yes. Quite. Twins favour you, then.’
Barathol nodded and shook the reins.
Humble Measure watched the man go. Yes, he agreed: let us hope there will be no further call. Yet in the meantime one must remain vigilant. He had his cause now. He’d been misguided before. Sought answers in the wrong directions. But now he understood. And he would apply all his resources just as ruthlessly as before. He knew where the true threats lay now and he would keep watch.
He would await the slips of paper inscribed with the broken circle.
For Torvald the farewells had been swift and without ceremony. The quorls arrived to pick up the survivors of the Moranth assault group and they had flown off, swooping to the east around the city. Galene left last. As if in salute she offered the slightest tilt of her engraved helm. He answered with his best awkward effort at a formal bow.
He stood for a time watching them disappear into the sun’s glare. A mannered cough brought him round to see a young Darujhistani aristocrat in much-damaged finery. ‘Yes?’
The lad bowed. ‘I understand you are the new Councillor Nom.’
‘I am.’
‘Permit me to introduce myself – my name is Corien. Corien Lim.’
Torvald could not keep his brows from rising. ‘Ah … I see. Well … I am sorry for your loss.’
The lad bowed again. He rubbed at his grimed nose, grimacing. ‘You are most courteous, sir. I take this liberty because given the circumstances I believe we may be seeing much more of each other.’
Torvald had no idea what to say to that so he nodded sagely. ‘Really. That is … most interesting.’
The Lim scion bowed again, taking his leave. ‘Until then, sir.’
Torvald turned on to a path down the hill. He walked in silence, deep in puzzled thought. Had he just received his first overture of recognition from an aristocrat – a possible future councillor? If so, things were looking up for Torvald Nom. Then he recalled what lay ahead and he lost even that thin shred of optimism: homecoming awaited.
What should it be this time? Pirates? Invasions? Slavers? Stomach troubles?
As he walked the district he passed patches of fire damage. A few city blocks had burned but overall the harm was not nearly so terrible as he had feared. And everywhere, on every corner, lay pots in heaps, abandoned or broken. Some still held water – no doubt drawn from wells, troughs, and even the lake itself.
He frowned, eyeing them: something familiar about those pots.
He paused before the door to his own house. Once more wiped his hands on the thighs of his trousers. As he reached for the handle the door was yanked inward. Tiserra stood in the threshold. She cocked an eye.
‘Greetings, fair wife!’ He moved to step in but she blocked the way.
‘And what was it this time?’ she demanded.
‘Ah! Well …’ Torvald pulled a hand down his unshaven cheek.
‘You may not believe this good wife … but I was sent on a secret diplomatic mission to the north only to be kidnapped by Moranth. And, in negotiation with them, I managed to save the city!’
‘Oh, really? You saved the city, did you?’
He pressed a hand to his heart. ‘Gods’ own truth! That’s exactly what happened. If I may come in I’ll tell you all about it.’
‘Indeed?’ She edged slightly to one side. ‘I can’t wait to hear. Does it bear upon this non-paying job of yours?’
He slid in around her. ‘Ah … odd you should mention that. In fact it does.’
She shut the door and brushed drying clay from her hands. ‘Well then. It’s a good thing that I’m owed for a great many pots.’
Councillor Coll walked the empty rooms of his manor house. Reaching the wide base of the ornate curved staircase he paused to rest a hand on the balustrade. After a time he set a booted foot on the first stair. Jaws tight, he leaned forward until he had to raise his rear foot to place it upon the second. He eased a breath out between clenched teeth, then continued on.
The bedroom door was open. He entered to stand by the low dresser. Thick curtains hung closed before the terrace doors holding the room in gloom. The air smelled of dust and stale perfume. He crossed to the curtains and drew them apart. A shaft of light played across the room: dust motes spun and danced.
He yanked the thick cloths to the sides and then pulled the double doors open. A gust of wind sent the dust swirling from the bedcovers. Taking a deep breath of the air, he turned to the door. Passing the dresser cluttered with its tiny glass bottles he ran a finger through the thick grey layer upon it. He examined his finger, then dusted his hands together and left.
Outside, his carriage-driver asked, ‘Destination, Councillor?’
‘Destination?’ Coll answered, outraged. ‘Why, Majesty Hall of course!’
The carriage-driver rolled his eyes to the sky as he gave the reins a tug.
Far outside Darujhistan, on the western edge of Maiten town, an old woman staggered from her straw-roofed shack. She held her head, groaning and blinking in the light. She wrenched at her great mane of matted frizzy hair to examine a handful. She let out a great yelp of horror and batted at the curled mass, raising a cloud of dust and dirt.
Then she worked her mouth as if having tasted something vile. She spat in the street, wiping her mouth and grimacing her disgust. She caught sight now of her mud-caked tatters of skirts and grabbed fists of them, twisting them back and forth. ‘May the gods die of crotch-rot! What’s happened to my dress?’
‘Watch yer mouth, y’ damned drunken witch,’ a passers-by growled.
‘How would you like—’ She held her head and groaned anew. ‘Oh gods! Wait till I get my hands on that slimy toad!’ She reached for the wall of her shack. ‘Oh, my head. My poor head. Where’s Derudan’s hookah off to?’ She stumbled inside and began searching amid the rubbish.
West of the Maiten River the Malazan army broke camp to march. Fist K’ess was packing his travel panniers of orders and records when Ambassador Aragan entered. The Fist saluted, then motioned an invitation to a stool where a tray of tea waited.
Aragan waved a negative. ‘I’m off for the city.’
K’ess paused in his packing. ‘With respect, Ambassador. Perhaps you should wait …
The big man tucked his hands into his tight weapon belt. ‘No, no. I’ll have my honour guard, of course.’
‘Come to Pale with the Fifth.’
The Ambassador tilted his balding head. ‘Generous offer, Fist, but the embassy hasn’t been formally closed. We’ll see what the final decision is from whoever ends up in control there.’
‘Very well.’ K’ess saluted once more. ‘A pleasure, Ambassador.’
Aragan seemed almost embarrassed as he turned away, clearing his throat. ‘You’re too kind, Fist.’ He walked off with his splay-legged rolling gait.
K’ess watched him go. A soldier who just wanted to be a soldier but ended up a politician.
Captain Fal-ej paused at the open tent flaps to salute.
‘Yes?’
‘Outriders ready.’
‘Send them off.’
‘At once.’ She turned to go.
‘Captain,’ K’ess called quickly.
She turned back, blinking, ‘Yes?’
‘We’ll stay close to the lake shore, Captain.’
‘Very good, Fist.’
K’ess pulled a hand down his unshaven chin. ‘And perhaps – as we ride – you might tell me all about Seven Cities. I never did make it there.’
Captain Fal-ej’s thick dark brows rose very high and she smiled broadly. ‘That would please me a great deal, Fist.’
That evening Kruppe sat once more at his usual table near the back of the Phoenix Inn. Jess was on duty that night and when she caught sight of him she marched right over. ‘You again! You’ve some nerve showing your oily self here. I’ve half a mind to call Scurvey to toss you out right now.’
Kruppe threw up his hands. ‘Good Jess! What ire! What passion! I am overcome. Indeed, I am overcome with famishment. A bottle of red if you would be so kind. With two glasses, for Kruppe is in a bountiful munificent mood. And a touch of that gorgeous mutton I smell. And the pear tart for afters.’
Jess set her fists on her wide hips. ‘And how are you going to pay for all this?’
Kruppe pointed past her. ‘Oh, look! ’Tis Meese herself there at the bar. She’ll speak for me, I’m certain.’
‘Oh, I’ll have a word with her about you all right, you can be sure of that.’
Jess crossed to the bar and spoke to Meese. Kruppe watched, eyes narrowed, nervously tapping his fingertips together. The older woman waved Jess close and whispered something in her ear. Jess’s eyes widened in surprise and she appeared to mouth Really?
The older woman gave a serious nod.
Jess straightened. Her wondering frown seemed to say: who would have thought it?
She returned to Kruppe’s table. Here she bent down to him with a wide smile, and pushed back her hair. ‘Was that two glasses you asked for, sir?’
Kruppe’s gaze darted left and right. His fingertips halted their tapping. ‘Why … yes, good Jess. If you would be amenable?’
‘Certainly, sir. Right away.’ She turned to go but paused for a moment to adjust the lie of her skirt over one broad hip. Then she walked off, swinging those hips like two great warships.
Kruppe’s brows climbed very high indeed and his gaze shifted to Meese at the bar. An evil smirk raised the corners of her mouth and she winked.
Great anxious gods! Whatever did the evil Meese tell the poor woman!
Later that night Kruppe sat back to wipe his enormous handkerchief across his mouth and survey the conquered plates, crusts and bones scattered before him. Most restorative struggle to the death! Kruppe is … satisfied.
Yet the second glass remained untouched opposite and he regarded it for a moment, then poured himself more of the – slightly disappointing – red.
Two cloaked and hooded figures pulled up chairs to either side of him and leaned close.
Kruppe set his glass back down. ‘Gentlemen … Kruppe was expecting company this night, but not you two.’ He gestured to the empty glass. ‘Alas, perhaps my friend’s days of bachelor conviviality are done. The chains of domesticity have closed upon him and gone are the times of carefree bonhomie … Out of the window, as it were.’
‘Whatever in the Abyss are you going on about, ya fat fool?’ Leff growled. ‘We’re in real trouble here and we need your help!’
‘My help? How can poor Kruppe be of any service to you?’
‘We need to get out of town,’ Scorch added urgently from the other side.
Kruppe’s expressive thick brows climbed again; he clamped his handkerchief to his mouth and coughed behind it for a time. Fit over, he stuffed the cloth back into a frilly sleeve and thoughtfully stroked the tiny rat’s tail braided beard at his chin. ‘Really?’ he managed after a time. ‘Kruppe hardly dares ask what for … ?’
‘It was an accident—’ Scorch began.
‘It was your fault!’ Leff cut in. ‘You fired!’
‘You grabbed it!’ Scorch yelled, nearly choking.
Nearby conversations stopped as people glanced over.
Kruppe raised his hands for quiet. ‘Decorum in the bar, please, gentlemen. Now, what, exactly, are you two staggering blindly around?’
The two exchanged stricken looks. ‘We killed the Legate,’ they said together in a fierce whisper.
Kruppe slapped a hand to his mouth, choking once more. Once the coughing fit had passed he took a quick sip of wine to clear his throat. ‘Oh dear,’ he murmured. ‘Most serious. I daresay you are in a great deal of trouble.’
Leff pulled his hood lower and glared about. ‘You have to help! The whole city’s after us!’
Kruppe stroked the slim beard once more, shaking his head. He sighed heavily. ‘Kruppe is only one man … This may lie beyond even his astounding abilities.’
‘You have to get us out of the city,’ Scorch pleaded. ‘We’ll do anything! ’
Kruppe’s hand paused upon the beard. His eyes darted once more. ‘Anything … ?’
The two shared a glance of utter desperation and together they jerked a nod.
The little man picked up a last crust and gave it an experimental nibble. ‘It just so happens that Kruppe does know of a job outside of the city that may be admirably suited to your, ah, unique, talents …’
The two sagged in relief. Leff cuffed Kruppe on the back. ‘You’re a true friend, Kruppe. Got no idea where we’d be without ya.’
Kruppe took a dainty sip of his wine. ‘You have no idea,’ he murmured.
EPILOGUE
THE NEXT MORNING ANTSY SAT LOOKING OUT OF THE STILL GAPING doorway of K’rul’s Temple and Bar and sipped his tea. Sadly, once more they were all out of liquor as last night the three gigantic friends of Fisher, the Heel brothers, had been up drinking and singing until every bottle and keg was bone dry. After the not-so-discreet glowers from Blend and Picker the bard was out now seeing them off.
Antsy sipped the tea again and grimaced his disgust: damned cheap southern leaf.
Duiker came down and sat with him. The old historian rubbed his face and sighed blearily. ‘Didn’t sleep a wink.’
‘You’d think with Fisher with ’em they’d at least be able to carry a tune.’
‘See the sigil on one’s shield? Black mountain on a blue field? Know it?’
Antsy shook his head. He poured Duiker some tea. ‘Do you think he’s still down there?’ And he inclined his head to the rear.
The historian shrugged. ‘Don’t know. Probably not.’ He looked to where the Claw sat at her own table staring out of an open window. She appeared pensive, somehow lost. He glanced around at the empty common room. ‘So, Spindle’s off?’
‘Aye. We can breathe easily now,’ Antsy laughed. The laugh died away as he squinted at something outside. ‘Look there,’ he murmured, and he lifted his chin to the open door. ‘He’s got some nerve showin’ his face here.’ Duiker turned in his chair. Across the street a man loitered; but not just any man. Duiker recognized him. In fact, he suspected that every Malazan in the building would’ve recognized him: Topper, Clawmaster to the Empire.
The woman appeared to have seen him now as well, as a hissed breath escaped her and she stood up. Antsy sent her a questioning look, which she answered with a sign: stand down. She picked up her stave and went to the door. On her way she paused at their table. ‘Thanks for the room,’ she told Antsy. She inclined her head to Duiker. ‘Historian.’ She crossed the road and the two appeared to talk for a time. Then they walked off more or less side by side.
Antsy sighed his regret. She’d been a fine place to rest his eyes, what with her long legs sheathed in those tall leather boots, and that challenging dark gaze she had – almost made him think maybe he wasn’t as old as he knew he was. Now she walks off with the Clawmaster like they was old acquaintances, which, he supposed, they must be. Which made him glad he didn’t try sittin’ down next to her after all.
The streets were crowded that morning as all Darujhistan was out inspecting the aftermath of fallen Moranth munitions and the fires that followed. The damage not nearly as severe as it might have been thanks to the neighbourhood fire-fighting volunteers and no shortage of pots.
As they walked the streets Topper told Kiska: ‘I was surprised to sense your presence.’
‘And I yours.’
His gaze slide sideways to her. ‘What, may I ask, drew you here – of all places?’
‘A job. All finished now. You?’
‘The same.’
‘What is it you wish to talk about, then?’
The man studied his nails, then straightened the rings on all eight fingers. ‘We’re short personnel. Could always use an experienced hand. What say you? Ever considered teaching? The Academy at Unta perhaps?’
She pushed the too-long fringe from her eyes while she considered. Need a damned haircut before I do anything – and a good scrubbing. ‘I’ll admit I’m interested. Have to think about it, though. Got one last errand to see to. Then I’ll give you my answer.’
Topper bowed, his smile sardonic as ever. ‘Very good. Welcome back to the fold, Kiska.’ And he cut away suddenly to walk off down a side alley. She continued on alone. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves …
The tall iron-studded doors to the Varada estate hung open. Rallick entered to find that the two usual colourfully dressed guards had been joined by a third. All three now tossed dice together, arguing and grabbing at the bouncing pieces. Seeing him, one offered a faintly disturbing grin of gold and silver capped teeth. The second gave a broad lewd wink, while the third actually blushed and bowed deeply to hide his reaction.
Studlock met him at the door. ‘The Mistress awaits upstairs. Perhaps you wish to freshen up before ascending? Scented oils to disguise unwelcome bodily odours? Honey for offending breath?’
Rallick paused to study the man in his gauze wrappings. ‘Ah … no … thank you.’ He moved to go but paused again. ‘Is my …’
Studlock hovered close, hands raised, ‘Yes?’
Rallick backed away. ‘Never mind. Thank you.’
The bedroom was empty, the terrace doors open. He went out and leaned against the rail to look about, but saw nothing. Then his gaze rose to the lattices and climbing vines that rose to the tiled roof. He took hold of one and gave it a strong pull. It held.
He found her sitting on the peak looking out across the estate district to Majesty Hall atop its hill. She wore a loose armless shirt and trousers, and was barefoot. Her hair blew brushed by the wind. He sat at her side. In the distance Majesty Hall appeared no different from before. From here only the smoke rising from the ragged woods gave any sign of last night’s assault.
‘I’m glad you stayed away,’ she said. ‘Glad you weren’t taken.’
‘You could have told me more.’
She tilted her head, thinking, her gaze still on Majesty Hall. ‘No. If I’d told you more you would have been tempted to try some sort of work-around and would have failed. This way all that uncertainty forced you to keep your distance.’
Barathol nodded and shook the reins.
Humble Measure watched the man go. Yes, he agreed: let us hope there will be no further call. Yet in the meantime one must remain vigilant. He had his cause now. He’d been misguided before. Sought answers in the wrong directions. But now he understood. And he would apply all his resources just as ruthlessly as before. He knew where the true threats lay now and he would keep watch.
He would await the slips of paper inscribed with the broken circle.
For Torvald the farewells had been swift and without ceremony. The quorls arrived to pick up the survivors of the Moranth assault group and they had flown off, swooping to the east around the city. Galene left last. As if in salute she offered the slightest tilt of her engraved helm. He answered with his best awkward effort at a formal bow.
He stood for a time watching them disappear into the sun’s glare. A mannered cough brought him round to see a young Darujhistani aristocrat in much-damaged finery. ‘Yes?’
The lad bowed. ‘I understand you are the new Councillor Nom.’
‘I am.’
‘Permit me to introduce myself – my name is Corien. Corien Lim.’
Torvald could not keep his brows from rising. ‘Ah … I see. Well … I am sorry for your loss.’
The lad bowed again. He rubbed at his grimed nose, grimacing. ‘You are most courteous, sir. I take this liberty because given the circumstances I believe we may be seeing much more of each other.’
Torvald had no idea what to say to that so he nodded sagely. ‘Really. That is … most interesting.’
The Lim scion bowed again, taking his leave. ‘Until then, sir.’
Torvald turned on to a path down the hill. He walked in silence, deep in puzzled thought. Had he just received his first overture of recognition from an aristocrat – a possible future councillor? If so, things were looking up for Torvald Nom. Then he recalled what lay ahead and he lost even that thin shred of optimism: homecoming awaited.
What should it be this time? Pirates? Invasions? Slavers? Stomach troubles?
As he walked the district he passed patches of fire damage. A few city blocks had burned but overall the harm was not nearly so terrible as he had feared. And everywhere, on every corner, lay pots in heaps, abandoned or broken. Some still held water – no doubt drawn from wells, troughs, and even the lake itself.
He frowned, eyeing them: something familiar about those pots.
He paused before the door to his own house. Once more wiped his hands on the thighs of his trousers. As he reached for the handle the door was yanked inward. Tiserra stood in the threshold. She cocked an eye.
‘Greetings, fair wife!’ He moved to step in but she blocked the way.
‘And what was it this time?’ she demanded.
‘Ah! Well …’ Torvald pulled a hand down his unshaven cheek.
‘You may not believe this good wife … but I was sent on a secret diplomatic mission to the north only to be kidnapped by Moranth. And, in negotiation with them, I managed to save the city!’
‘Oh, really? You saved the city, did you?’
He pressed a hand to his heart. ‘Gods’ own truth! That’s exactly what happened. If I may come in I’ll tell you all about it.’
‘Indeed?’ She edged slightly to one side. ‘I can’t wait to hear. Does it bear upon this non-paying job of yours?’
He slid in around her. ‘Ah … odd you should mention that. In fact it does.’
She shut the door and brushed drying clay from her hands. ‘Well then. It’s a good thing that I’m owed for a great many pots.’
Councillor Coll walked the empty rooms of his manor house. Reaching the wide base of the ornate curved staircase he paused to rest a hand on the balustrade. After a time he set a booted foot on the first stair. Jaws tight, he leaned forward until he had to raise his rear foot to place it upon the second. He eased a breath out between clenched teeth, then continued on.
The bedroom door was open. He entered to stand by the low dresser. Thick curtains hung closed before the terrace doors holding the room in gloom. The air smelled of dust and stale perfume. He crossed to the curtains and drew them apart. A shaft of light played across the room: dust motes spun and danced.
He yanked the thick cloths to the sides and then pulled the double doors open. A gust of wind sent the dust swirling from the bedcovers. Taking a deep breath of the air, he turned to the door. Passing the dresser cluttered with its tiny glass bottles he ran a finger through the thick grey layer upon it. He examined his finger, then dusted his hands together and left.
Outside, his carriage-driver asked, ‘Destination, Councillor?’
‘Destination?’ Coll answered, outraged. ‘Why, Majesty Hall of course!’
The carriage-driver rolled his eyes to the sky as he gave the reins a tug.
Far outside Darujhistan, on the western edge of Maiten town, an old woman staggered from her straw-roofed shack. She held her head, groaning and blinking in the light. She wrenched at her great mane of matted frizzy hair to examine a handful. She let out a great yelp of horror and batted at the curled mass, raising a cloud of dust and dirt.
Then she worked her mouth as if having tasted something vile. She spat in the street, wiping her mouth and grimacing her disgust. She caught sight now of her mud-caked tatters of skirts and grabbed fists of them, twisting them back and forth. ‘May the gods die of crotch-rot! What’s happened to my dress?’
‘Watch yer mouth, y’ damned drunken witch,’ a passers-by growled.
‘How would you like—’ She held her head and groaned anew. ‘Oh gods! Wait till I get my hands on that slimy toad!’ She reached for the wall of her shack. ‘Oh, my head. My poor head. Where’s Derudan’s hookah off to?’ She stumbled inside and began searching amid the rubbish.
West of the Maiten River the Malazan army broke camp to march. Fist K’ess was packing his travel panniers of orders and records when Ambassador Aragan entered. The Fist saluted, then motioned an invitation to a stool where a tray of tea waited.
Aragan waved a negative. ‘I’m off for the city.’
K’ess paused in his packing. ‘With respect, Ambassador. Perhaps you should wait …
The big man tucked his hands into his tight weapon belt. ‘No, no. I’ll have my honour guard, of course.’
‘Come to Pale with the Fifth.’
The Ambassador tilted his balding head. ‘Generous offer, Fist, but the embassy hasn’t been formally closed. We’ll see what the final decision is from whoever ends up in control there.’
‘Very well.’ K’ess saluted once more. ‘A pleasure, Ambassador.’
Aragan seemed almost embarrassed as he turned away, clearing his throat. ‘You’re too kind, Fist.’ He walked off with his splay-legged rolling gait.
K’ess watched him go. A soldier who just wanted to be a soldier but ended up a politician.
Captain Fal-ej paused at the open tent flaps to salute.
‘Yes?’
‘Outriders ready.’
‘Send them off.’
‘At once.’ She turned to go.
‘Captain,’ K’ess called quickly.
She turned back, blinking, ‘Yes?’
‘We’ll stay close to the lake shore, Captain.’
‘Very good, Fist.’
K’ess pulled a hand down his unshaven chin. ‘And perhaps – as we ride – you might tell me all about Seven Cities. I never did make it there.’
Captain Fal-ej’s thick dark brows rose very high and she smiled broadly. ‘That would please me a great deal, Fist.’
That evening Kruppe sat once more at his usual table near the back of the Phoenix Inn. Jess was on duty that night and when she caught sight of him she marched right over. ‘You again! You’ve some nerve showing your oily self here. I’ve half a mind to call Scurvey to toss you out right now.’
Kruppe threw up his hands. ‘Good Jess! What ire! What passion! I am overcome. Indeed, I am overcome with famishment. A bottle of red if you would be so kind. With two glasses, for Kruppe is in a bountiful munificent mood. And a touch of that gorgeous mutton I smell. And the pear tart for afters.’
Jess set her fists on her wide hips. ‘And how are you going to pay for all this?’
Kruppe pointed past her. ‘Oh, look! ’Tis Meese herself there at the bar. She’ll speak for me, I’m certain.’
‘Oh, I’ll have a word with her about you all right, you can be sure of that.’
Jess crossed to the bar and spoke to Meese. Kruppe watched, eyes narrowed, nervously tapping his fingertips together. The older woman waved Jess close and whispered something in her ear. Jess’s eyes widened in surprise and she appeared to mouth Really?
The older woman gave a serious nod.
Jess straightened. Her wondering frown seemed to say: who would have thought it?
She returned to Kruppe’s table. Here she bent down to him with a wide smile, and pushed back her hair. ‘Was that two glasses you asked for, sir?’
Kruppe’s gaze darted left and right. His fingertips halted their tapping. ‘Why … yes, good Jess. If you would be amenable?’
‘Certainly, sir. Right away.’ She turned to go but paused for a moment to adjust the lie of her skirt over one broad hip. Then she walked off, swinging those hips like two great warships.
Kruppe’s brows climbed very high indeed and his gaze shifted to Meese at the bar. An evil smirk raised the corners of her mouth and she winked.
Great anxious gods! Whatever did the evil Meese tell the poor woman!
Later that night Kruppe sat back to wipe his enormous handkerchief across his mouth and survey the conquered plates, crusts and bones scattered before him. Most restorative struggle to the death! Kruppe is … satisfied.
Yet the second glass remained untouched opposite and he regarded it for a moment, then poured himself more of the – slightly disappointing – red.
Two cloaked and hooded figures pulled up chairs to either side of him and leaned close.
Kruppe set his glass back down. ‘Gentlemen … Kruppe was expecting company this night, but not you two.’ He gestured to the empty glass. ‘Alas, perhaps my friend’s days of bachelor conviviality are done. The chains of domesticity have closed upon him and gone are the times of carefree bonhomie … Out of the window, as it were.’
‘Whatever in the Abyss are you going on about, ya fat fool?’ Leff growled. ‘We’re in real trouble here and we need your help!’
‘My help? How can poor Kruppe be of any service to you?’
‘We need to get out of town,’ Scorch added urgently from the other side.
Kruppe’s expressive thick brows climbed again; he clamped his handkerchief to his mouth and coughed behind it for a time. Fit over, he stuffed the cloth back into a frilly sleeve and thoughtfully stroked the tiny rat’s tail braided beard at his chin. ‘Really?’ he managed after a time. ‘Kruppe hardly dares ask what for … ?’
‘It was an accident—’ Scorch began.
‘It was your fault!’ Leff cut in. ‘You fired!’
‘You grabbed it!’ Scorch yelled, nearly choking.
Nearby conversations stopped as people glanced over.
Kruppe raised his hands for quiet. ‘Decorum in the bar, please, gentlemen. Now, what, exactly, are you two staggering blindly around?’
The two exchanged stricken looks. ‘We killed the Legate,’ they said together in a fierce whisper.
Kruppe slapped a hand to his mouth, choking once more. Once the coughing fit had passed he took a quick sip of wine to clear his throat. ‘Oh dear,’ he murmured. ‘Most serious. I daresay you are in a great deal of trouble.’
Leff pulled his hood lower and glared about. ‘You have to help! The whole city’s after us!’
Kruppe stroked the slim beard once more, shaking his head. He sighed heavily. ‘Kruppe is only one man … This may lie beyond even his astounding abilities.’
‘You have to get us out of the city,’ Scorch pleaded. ‘We’ll do anything! ’
Kruppe’s hand paused upon the beard. His eyes darted once more. ‘Anything … ?’
The two shared a glance of utter desperation and together they jerked a nod.
The little man picked up a last crust and gave it an experimental nibble. ‘It just so happens that Kruppe does know of a job outside of the city that may be admirably suited to your, ah, unique, talents …’
The two sagged in relief. Leff cuffed Kruppe on the back. ‘You’re a true friend, Kruppe. Got no idea where we’d be without ya.’
Kruppe took a dainty sip of his wine. ‘You have no idea,’ he murmured.
EPILOGUE
THE NEXT MORNING ANTSY SAT LOOKING OUT OF THE STILL GAPING doorway of K’rul’s Temple and Bar and sipped his tea. Sadly, once more they were all out of liquor as last night the three gigantic friends of Fisher, the Heel brothers, had been up drinking and singing until every bottle and keg was bone dry. After the not-so-discreet glowers from Blend and Picker the bard was out now seeing them off.
Antsy sipped the tea again and grimaced his disgust: damned cheap southern leaf.
Duiker came down and sat with him. The old historian rubbed his face and sighed blearily. ‘Didn’t sleep a wink.’
‘You’d think with Fisher with ’em they’d at least be able to carry a tune.’
‘See the sigil on one’s shield? Black mountain on a blue field? Know it?’
Antsy shook his head. He poured Duiker some tea. ‘Do you think he’s still down there?’ And he inclined his head to the rear.
The historian shrugged. ‘Don’t know. Probably not.’ He looked to where the Claw sat at her own table staring out of an open window. She appeared pensive, somehow lost. He glanced around at the empty common room. ‘So, Spindle’s off?’
‘Aye. We can breathe easily now,’ Antsy laughed. The laugh died away as he squinted at something outside. ‘Look there,’ he murmured, and he lifted his chin to the open door. ‘He’s got some nerve showin’ his face here.’ Duiker turned in his chair. Across the street a man loitered; but not just any man. Duiker recognized him. In fact, he suspected that every Malazan in the building would’ve recognized him: Topper, Clawmaster to the Empire.
The woman appeared to have seen him now as well, as a hissed breath escaped her and she stood up. Antsy sent her a questioning look, which she answered with a sign: stand down. She picked up her stave and went to the door. On her way she paused at their table. ‘Thanks for the room,’ she told Antsy. She inclined her head to Duiker. ‘Historian.’ She crossed the road and the two appeared to talk for a time. Then they walked off more or less side by side.
Antsy sighed his regret. She’d been a fine place to rest his eyes, what with her long legs sheathed in those tall leather boots, and that challenging dark gaze she had – almost made him think maybe he wasn’t as old as he knew he was. Now she walks off with the Clawmaster like they was old acquaintances, which, he supposed, they must be. Which made him glad he didn’t try sittin’ down next to her after all.
The streets were crowded that morning as all Darujhistan was out inspecting the aftermath of fallen Moranth munitions and the fires that followed. The damage not nearly as severe as it might have been thanks to the neighbourhood fire-fighting volunteers and no shortage of pots.
As they walked the streets Topper told Kiska: ‘I was surprised to sense your presence.’
‘And I yours.’
His gaze slide sideways to her. ‘What, may I ask, drew you here – of all places?’
‘A job. All finished now. You?’
‘The same.’
‘What is it you wish to talk about, then?’
The man studied his nails, then straightened the rings on all eight fingers. ‘We’re short personnel. Could always use an experienced hand. What say you? Ever considered teaching? The Academy at Unta perhaps?’
She pushed the too-long fringe from her eyes while she considered. Need a damned haircut before I do anything – and a good scrubbing. ‘I’ll admit I’m interested. Have to think about it, though. Got one last errand to see to. Then I’ll give you my answer.’
Topper bowed, his smile sardonic as ever. ‘Very good. Welcome back to the fold, Kiska.’ And he cut away suddenly to walk off down a side alley. She continued on alone. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves …
The tall iron-studded doors to the Varada estate hung open. Rallick entered to find that the two usual colourfully dressed guards had been joined by a third. All three now tossed dice together, arguing and grabbing at the bouncing pieces. Seeing him, one offered a faintly disturbing grin of gold and silver capped teeth. The second gave a broad lewd wink, while the third actually blushed and bowed deeply to hide his reaction.
Studlock met him at the door. ‘The Mistress awaits upstairs. Perhaps you wish to freshen up before ascending? Scented oils to disguise unwelcome bodily odours? Honey for offending breath?’
Rallick paused to study the man in his gauze wrappings. ‘Ah … no … thank you.’ He moved to go but paused again. ‘Is my …’
Studlock hovered close, hands raised, ‘Yes?’
Rallick backed away. ‘Never mind. Thank you.’
The bedroom was empty, the terrace doors open. He went out and leaned against the rail to look about, but saw nothing. Then his gaze rose to the lattices and climbing vines that rose to the tiled roof. He took hold of one and gave it a strong pull. It held.
He found her sitting on the peak looking out across the estate district to Majesty Hall atop its hill. She wore a loose armless shirt and trousers, and was barefoot. Her hair blew brushed by the wind. He sat at her side. In the distance Majesty Hall appeared no different from before. From here only the smoke rising from the ragged woods gave any sign of last night’s assault.
‘I’m glad you stayed away,’ she said. ‘Glad you weren’t taken.’
‘You could have told me more.’
She tilted her head, thinking, her gaze still on Majesty Hall. ‘No. If I’d told you more you would have been tempted to try some sort of work-around and would have failed. This way all that uncertainty forced you to keep your distance.’
