Gardens of the Moon

CHAPTER TWELVE

Ing his brow, kruppe sat reading in mammot's study-

: and in the Calling Down to earth the God was Crippled, and so Chained in its place. In the Calling Down many lands were sundered by the God's Fists, and things were born and things were released.

Chained and Crippled was this God Kruppe glanced up from the ancient tome and rolled his eyes. «Brevity, Kruppe prays for brevity!» He returned to the faded handwritten script.

and it bred caution in the unveiling of its powers. The Crippled God bred caution but not well enough, for the powers of the earth came to it in the end. Chained was the Crippled God, and so Chained was it destroyed. And upon this barren plain that imprisoned the Crippled God many gathered to the deed. Hood, grey wanderer of Death, was among the gathering, as was Dessembrae, then Hood's Warrior-

though it was here and in this time that Dessembrae shattered the bonds Hood held upon him. Also among the gathering were IR-

Kruppe groaned and flipped pages. The list seemed interminable, absurdly long. From this account he half expected to see his grandmother's name among those listed. Finally, after three pages, he found the names he sought.

and among those that came from the vaulted heavens of silver, the Tiste And? dwellers of Darkness in the Place before Light, Black Dragons numbering five, and in their league sailed red-winged Silanah, said to dwell among the Tiste And? in their Fang of Darkness descending from the vaulted heavens of silver Kruppe nodded, muttering to himself. A descending Fang of Darkness-Moon's Spawn? Home to five Black Dragons and one Red Dragon? He shivered. How had Coll come upon this? True, the man hadn't always been a drunken lout, but even his past station, lofty as it was, hadn't been the scholarly kind.

Who, then, had spoken through the old man's wine-stained mouth?

«That,» Kruppe sighed to himself, «shall have to wait its answer. The significance, however, of Coll's bellowed claim lies in its evident truth, and as to how it pertains to the present situation.» He closed the book and rose to his feet. Behind him he heard footsteps.

«I've brought you herbal tea,» the old man said, as he entered the closet-sized room. «Has Alladart's Realm Compendium been beneficial, Kruppe?»

«Beneficial indeed,» Kruppe said, gratefully accepting the earthenware mug. «Kruppe has learned the value of modern language. Such long-lipped dribbles common to those ancient scholars are a curse Kruppe is thankful to find extinct in our time.»

«Ah, ha,» the old man said, coughing slightly and looking away. «Well, do you mind if I ask what you were seeking?»

Kruppe glanced up, the corners of his eyes crinkling slightly. «Not at all, Mammot. I thought to find mention of my grandmother's name.»

Mammot frowned, then nodded. «I see. Well, I'll not inquire as to your luck, then.»

«Please, do not,» Kruppe said, eyes widening. «Luck is such a dreadful companion these days, with all awry as all happens to be. But thank you for understanding Kruppe's need for circumspection.»

«Not at all,» Mammot said, waving one hand. «I didn't mean to-well, yes, I did. Curiosity, you understand. The intellectual kind.»

Kruppe smiled beatifically and sipped tea.

«Well,» Mammot said, «shall we return to the common room, then, and find respite before the hearth?»

They strode into the other chamber. Once seated, Kruppe stretched out his legs and leaned back. «How has your writing been coming along?» he asked.

«Slow,» Mammot answered, «as one would expect, of course.»

It seemed Mammot was working up to something, and so Kruppe waited, idly wiggling his toes. A minute passed, then the old man clear his throat and spoke. «Kruppe, have you seen much of my dear nephew lately?»

Kruppe raised his eyebrows. «Long ago,» he said, «Kruppe made promise to a man, the man being a concerned uncle to a young boy who found the streets an exciting playground. Aye, the lad dreamed of sword fights and dark deeds committed in alleys on behalf of princesses in disguise, or some such thing-»

Mammot was nodding, his eyes closed.

«— and to such promises Kruppe has availed of himself thoroughly, he, too, loved the boy. And as with any endeavour, survival is measured in ability, and so did Kruppe take the lad under his silken wing, with some success, yes.» Mammot smiled, still nodding.

«And so, to answer the uncle's question. Indeed Kruppe has seen the lad.» Mammot leaned forward and fixed Kruppe with an intense gaze. «Have you seen anything odd in his actions? I mean, has he asked you any strange questions, made any requests?»

Kruppe's eyes narrowed. He paused to drink. «Bluntly, yes. For one, he sought the return of a fine cache of jewellery he acquired recently, personal reasons-as he said. Personal reasons. Kruppe wondered then and wonders now, but the lad's seeming sincerity, nay, focused intensity struck Kruppe as laudable.»

«Agreed! Would you believe Crokus has now expressed an interest in formal education? I can't understand it. The boy's positively obsessed about something.»

«Perhaps, then, Kruppe should piece this together.»

«Thank you,» Mammot said, relieved. «I would know where all this coming from. So much ambition all at once, I fear it may soon burn it out. If we can nourish it, however:»

«By all means,» Kruppe said. «There is more to life than petty thievery after all.»

Mammot grinned. «Why, Kruppe, I'm surprised to hear that coming from you.»

«Such comments are better left between you and Kruppe. In any case, I believe Murillio, knows something of all this. He intimated as much this evening while we dined at the Phoenix Inn.»

Mammot asked, «Is Murillio well?»

Kruppe smiled. «The net about the lad remains intact,» he said. «For one, Rallick Nom has taken the responsibility seriously indeed. Mayhap he sees something of his own lost youth in Crokus. In truth, Rallick is a man whose true nature escapes Kruppe. Fiercely loyal for certain, and one who, as you well know, honours his debts with such vigour as to humble those around him. Excepting Kruppe, naturally. Yet is it blood that travels his veins? One must wonder, at times.»

A distant look had entered Mammot's face.

Kruppe tensed. The air smelled of magic. He leaned forward and studied the old man seated across from him. Someone was communicating with Mammot, and the Warren that now pulsed in the room was familiar to Kruppe.

He sat back and waited.

Eventually, Mammot got swiftly to his feet. «I have some research to do,» he said distractedly. «As for you, Kruppe, Master Baruk wishes to speak with you immediately.»

«I thought I sensed the alchemist's presence,» Kruppe said, rising with a soft grunt. «Ah, the rigours of these fated nights ever urge us on. Until later, then, Mammot.»

«Goodbye,» the scholar said, a frown on his face as he crossed the room. He entered the small chamber where Kruppe had spent the past hour.

Kruppe adjusted the sleeves of his cloak. Whatever had happened, it had been enough to jar Mammot's etiquette, and that alone hinted at dire events. «Well,» he murmured, «best not keep Baruk waiting, then. «At least,» he amended, as he headed for the door, «not for too long. Decorum demands that Kruppe retain his sense of dignity. He shall walk fast, yes.

But walk he shall, for Kruppe needs time to think, to plan, to scheme, to anticipate, to backtrack with some thoughts, to leap ahead with others, to do all the things necessary. First and foremost, Kruppe must discern the nature of the woman who followed him, and who killed Chert, and who noted that Crokus saw the blood on her weapon, and who marked Rallick Nom as an assassin with his very arrival. She might well provide the key to everything, and more, for the Coin did indeed turn its face upon her, if only for a moment. And that, thinks Kruppe, shall return to us all, for good or ill.» He stopped and looked around, blinking rapidly.

«At the very least,» he muttered, «Kruppe should leave Mammot's room.»

He glanced back at the chamber Mammot had entered. From within came the sounds of brittle pages being rapidly turned. Kruppe sighed in relief, then left.

Crone ruffled her singed feathers and hopped about in agitation. Where was that alchemist? She had a thousand things to attend to before the night was done, though in truth she couldn't think of any of them.

Nevertheless, she disliked being kept waiting.

The door to the study opened and Baruk strode through, gathering a robe about his considerable bulk. «My apologies, Crone, I was otherwise indisposed.»

Crone grunted. Sorcery trailed from the man in thick, pungent streams. «My master, Lord Anomander Rake,» she said, without preamble, «has commanded that I tell you what I told him of my adventures on the Rhivi Plain.»

Baruk came up to where the Great Raven paced on the map table. The alchemist frowned. «You've been injured.»

«Pride, no more. Hearken then to my story.»

Baruk raised an eyebrow. The old witch's mood was dark. He fell silent and she began.

«A small wooden puppet approaches from the north, a creation of soul-shifting and sourced from a Warren of Chaos. Its power is immense, twisted, malign even to Great Ravens. It killed many of my kin as it slipped in and out of its Warren. It evidently took pleasure in such acts.»

Crone snapped her beak in anger, then continued, «It pursues a power I could not approach, and whatever this power, it strikes directly for the Gadrobi Hills-my lord and I are agreed in this. The power seeks something within those hills, yet we are not native to this land. Hence we bring this news to you, Alchemist. Two forces are converging on the Gadrobi Hills. My lord asks you why.»

Baruk's face had lost all its colour. He turned slowly and walked to a chair. Sitting down, he steepled his hands before his face and closed his eyes. «The Malazan Empire seeks something it cannot hope to control, something buried within the Gadrobi Hills. Whether or not either force is capable of freeing that thing is another matter. Seeking is not the same as finding, and finding is not the same as succeeding.»

Crone hissed impatiently. «Who is buried there, Alchemist?»

«A Jaghut Tyrant, imprisoned by the Jaghut themselves. Generations of scholars and sorcerers have sought to find this barrow. None managed to discover even so much as a clue.» Baruk looked up, his expression lined with worry. «I know of one man, here in Darujhistan, who has gathered all the available knowledge concerning this burial place. I must confer with him. I can give your lord this, however. There lies a standing stone in the Gadrobi Hills-I know its location precisely. It is almost invisible only its weathered top breaks the ground nealy a hand's span in height. The remaining twenty feet are beneath the earth. You will see the remnants of many pits and trenches that have been excavated around it-all fruitless. For while the stone marks the beginning point-it is not the entrance to the barrow.»

«Where, then, is this entrance?»

«That I will not tell you. Once I speak with my colleague, perhaps I can give you more details. Perhaps not. But the means by which the barrow is entered must remain a secret.»

«This avails us nothing! My lord-»

«Is extremely powerful,» Baruk cut in. «His intentions are anything but clear, Crone, no matter that we are allied. What lies within that barrow can destroy a city-this city. That I will not allow to enter Rake's hands.

«You shall have the location of the standing stone, for it is there that the hunters must first go. I have one question to ask, Crone. This puppet, are you certain it pursues this other power?»

Crone bobbed her head. «It tracks. It hides when necessary. You assume both powers are Malazan. Why?»

Baruk grunted. «First, they want Darujhistan. They'll do anything to win it. They've had access to vast libraries among the lands they've conquered. The Jaghut barrow is no secret in and of itself. Second, you said both powers came down from the north. They can only be Malazan.

«Why one hides from the other is beyond me, though I wouldn't doubt that there are competing factions within the Empire-any political entity as large as that one is bound to be rife with discord. In any case, they pose a direct threat to Darujhistan and, by extension, to your lord's desires to prevent the Malazan Empire from conquering us. Assuming that the powers are Malazan seems warranted.»

Crone's displeasure was obvious. «You will be kept informed of the activities on the Rhivi Plain. My lord must decide whether to intercept these powers before they reach the Gadrobi Hills.» She turned an angry eye on Baruk. «He has received little assistance from his allies. I trust when we next speak that situation will be remedied.»

The alchemist shrugged. «My first meeting with Anomander Rake has proved my only meeting with him. Assistance demands communication.»

His tone hardened. «Inform your lord that the present dissatisfaction exists with us as much as it does with him.»

«My lord has been busy with his side of things,» Crone muttered, flapping to the window-sill.

Baruk stared at the bird as she prepared to leave. «Busy?» he asked darkly. «In what way?»

«In due time, Alchemist,» Crone purred. A moment later she was gone.

Baruk cursed, and with an angry gesture returned the window to its place and slammed the shutters. Doing this through magic and from a distance was not as satisfying as it would have been had he done it physically. Grumbling, he rose and walked to the mantelpiece. As he poured himself some wine, he paused. Less than half an hour ago he'd conjured a demon. It was not an ambitious conjuring: he'd needed a spy, not a killer. Something told him he'd be calling upon far deadlier creatures in the near future. He scowled, then took a mouthful of wine.

«Mammot,» he whispered, as he opened his Warren, «I need you.»

He smiled as a scene appeared in his head, of a small room and a stone hearth. Seated in the chair opposite his point of view was Kruppe. «Good. I need you both.»

The Hound that approached Quick Ben was wide and heavy, its fur a pasty white. As it trotted up to the wizard, he saw that its eyes were also white The creature possessed no pupils. It stopped a short distance away and sat. Quick Ben bowed. «You are the Hound called Blind,» he said, «mate to Baran and mother of Gear. I come seeking no harm. I would speak with your master.»

He heard a growl beside him and froze. Slowly, he turned his head an looked down. Less than a foot from his right leg lay another Hound mottled brown and tan, lean and scarred. Its eyes were fixed on Blind «Baran.» He nodded. Another growl answered Baran's, this one behind the wizard. He turned further to see, ten feet away, a third Hound, this one long, black and sleek. Its eyes, fixed on him, glowed red. «And Shan he said quietly. He faced Blind again. «Have you found your quarry, or are you my escort?»

Baran rose silently beside him, its shoulders level with his chest. Blind stood, then trotted off to the left. She stopped and looked back. Twin growls spurred Quick Ben after them.

The land around them changed slowly, details slipping into sourceles shadows and re-emerging subtly altered. On what the wizard thought of as the north horizon, a grey forest climbed a slope to what might have been a wall. This wall was in place of sky-maybe it was sky-but to Quick Ben it looked strangely close, even though the forest was leagues away. Glancing overhead did not help him confirm or refute his feeling that this realm was bordered by a magical wall, for it, too, seemed close, almost within reach. Yet black clouds rode winds above him, skewing his perceptions and making him dizzy.

Another Hound had joined their company. This one, a male, was dark grey, one of its eyes blue, the other yellow. Though it didn't come close Quick Ben judged that it was the largest of those around him, and its movement hinted at deadly speed. He knew it as Doan, first born to the pack's leader, Rood, and its first mate, Pallick.

Doan trotted alongside Blind for a time, then, when they came to the crest of a low rise, he bolted forward. Reaching the crest, Quick Ben saw their destination. He sighed. Just as the image carved upon the altar within the temples dedicated to Shadowthrone, Shadowkeep rose from the plain like an enormous lump of black glass, fractured with curving planes, rippled in places, with some corners glistening white as if crushed. The largest surface facing them-a wall, he supposed-was mottled and dull, as if it was a cortex, the weathered surface of obsidian.

There were no windows as such, but many of the slick surfaces looked semi-translucent and seemed to glow with an inner light. As far as Quick Ben could see, there was no door, no gate, no drawbridge.

They arrived, and the wizard exclaimed in surprise as Blind strode into the stone and disappeared. He hesitated, and Boran came as close to nudging him as Quick Ben allowed. He walked up to the mottled stone and held out his hands as he stepped into it. He felt nothing, passing through effortlessly to find himself in a hallway that could have been found in any mundane estate.

Barren of trappings, the corridor led straight forward for, perhaps, thirty feet and ended at double doors. Blind and Doan sat to either side of these doors, which now opened of their own accord.

Quick Ben entered the room beyond. The chamber was domed. Opposite him stood a simple obsidian throne on a slightly raised dais. The dull, cobbled floor bore no rugs, and the walls were bare except for torches spaced every ten feet. Quick Ben counted forty, but the light was fitful, seeming to struggle against encroaching shadows.

At first he thought the throne unoccupied, but as he approached he saw the figure seated there. It seemed composed of almost translucent shadows, vaguely human in form, but hooded, preventing even the glint of eyes. Still, Quick Ben could feel the god's attention fixed solely on him, and he barely repressed a shiver.

Shadowthrone spoke, his voice calm and clear. «Shan tells me you know the names of my Hounds.»

Quick Ben stopped before the dais. He bowed. «I was once an acolyte within your temple, Lord.»

The god was silent for a time, then he said, «Is it wise to admit such a thing, Wizard? Do I look kindly upon those who once served me but then abandoned my ways? Tell me. I would hear from you what my priests teach.»

«To begin upon the Path of Shadow and then to leave it is rewarded by the Rope.»

«Meaning?»

«I am marked for assassination by all who follow your ways, Lord.»

«Yet here you stand, Wizard.»

Quick Ben bowed again. «I would strike a deal, Lord.»

The god giggled, then raised a hand. «No, dear Shan. Strike naught.»

Quick Ben stiffened. The black Hound stepped around him, and ascended the dais. She lay down before her god and eyed the wizard blankly.

«Do you know why I just saved your life, Wizard?»

«I do, Lord.»

Shadowthrone leaned forward. «Shan wants you to tell me.»

Quick Ben met the Hound's red stare. «Shadowthrone loves deals.»

The god sighed and sank back. «Acolyte, indeed. Well, then, Wizard, speak on, while you can.»

«I must begin with a question, Lord., «Ask it.»

«Does Gear still live?»

Shan's eyes flared and she half rose before the god's hand touched her head.

«Now that,» Shadowthrone said, «is quite a question. You've managed something few, alas, have been able to do. Wizard, my curiosity is piqued. So, I answer you: yes, Gear survives. By all means, continue.»

«Lord, I would deliver into your hands the one who offended your Hound.»

«How? He belongs to Oponn.»

«Not him, Lord. But the one who led Gear to that chamber. The one who sought to take Gear's soul, and would have succeeded if not for Oponn's mortal tool.»

«In exchange for what?»

Quick Ben cursed inwardly. He could read nothing from the god's tone, and that made things even trickier than he'd expected. «My life, Lord. I wish the Rope's reward lifted from me.»

«Anything else?»

«Yes.» He hesitated, then continued, «I wish to choose the time and place, Lord. Otherwise, this one of which I speak will escape your Hounds through its Warren of Chaos. Only I can prevent that.

«Thus, it must be part of the deal. All that you need do is have your Hounds ready. I will call upon you at the proper moment, providing you with the creature's precise location. The rest-is up to your Hounds.»

«You've planned this well, Wizard,» Shadowthrone said. «As of yet, I can think of no way to kill both the creature and you. I commend you. How then, do you intend to call upon me? Surely, you'll not once again enter my realm.»

«Lord, you will be contacted. I guarantee this, but I can say no more about it.»

«And if I were to lay my powers upon you now, Wizard? If I were to wring whatever lies hidden in that frail brain of yours, how would you prevent me?»

«To answer that, Lord, you must answer my proposal first.»

Shan growled and this time the god made no motion to still her.

Quick Ben went on hastily, «Given that you will seek to betray me at every opportunity, given that you'll hunt for the weaknesses in my plan, given all this, I would have your word that you will complete your part of the deal if all else fails you, Lord. Give me that, and I will answer your last question.»

Shadowthrone was silent for a long minute. «Ah well,» he muttered. «Your cunning is admirable, Wizard. I am astonished and, I must admit, delighted by this duel. My only regret is that you departed the Paths of Shadow-you would have risen far. Very well. You have my word. The Hounds will be ready. Now, why shouldn't I shred your brain here and now, Wizard?»

«Your answer, Lord, is in your very words.» Quick Ben raised his arms.

«I did indeed rise far, Shadowthrone, in service to you.» He opened his Warren. «You'll not have me, Lord, because you can't.» Quick Ben whispered his word of recall, a word born of Chaos. Power burst around him, and he felt as if a giant hand had closed around him. As it pulled him back into his Warren, he heard Shadowthrone's scream of recognition.

«It is you! Delad! You shape-shifting bastard!»

Quick Ben smiled. He'd done it. He was out of reach. He'd done it-again.

Kruppe was ushered into Baruk's study with none of the delays he was so fond of confounding. Slightly disappointed, he took his seat and wiped his forehead with his handkerchief.

Baruk entered. «You took your time getting here,» he growled. «Well, never mind. Have you any news?»

Kruppe laid his handkerchief on his lap and began carefully to fold it.

«We continue to protect the Coin Bearer, as instructed. As for the presence of Malazan infiltrators, no luck.» It was a major lie, but necessary. «I am to convey a message to you,» he continued, «most unusual in its source. Indeed, strange in fact was its delivery to Kruppe.»

«Get on with it.»

Kruppe winced. Baruk was in a terrible mood. He sighed. «A message to you personally, Master.» He completed folding his handkerchief and looked up. «From the Eel.»

Baruk stiffened, then a scowl darkened his features. «Why not?» he muttered. «The man even knows who my agents are.» His gaze cleared and he watched Kruppe. «I'm waiting,» he growled.

«Of course.» Kruppe shook loose his handkerchief and mopped his brow. "'Look to the streets to find those you seek." That, and no more. Delivered to Kruppe by the smallest child he'd ever seen-» He stopped and shook his head. No, such exaggeration would never do, not with Baruk's mood as foul as it appeared to be. «A small child, in any case.»

Baruk stood glowering at the dying embers in the fireplace, his hands clasped behind his back, fingers twisting a large silver ring. «Tell me, Kruppe,» he asked slowly, «what do you know of this Eel?»

«Little, Kruppe admits. Man, woman? Unknown. Origins? A mystery. Designs? Perpetuating a status quo defined by aversion to tyranny. Or so it's said. Influence? Far-reaching, even if one discounts nine out of ten rumours associated with the Eel, his or her agents must number in the hundreds. All devoted to protecting Darujhistan. «Tis said that Councilman Turban Orr is even now hunting them down, convinced they've ruined all his schemes. Mayhap they have, and for that we can all be relieved.»

Baruk seemed anything but relieved. Kruppe thought he could almost hear the man's teeth grinding. However, he turned to Kruppe and nodded. «I have an assignment. For it, you will need to round up Murillio, Rallick and Coll. And take the Coin Bearer with you, just to keep him safe.»

Kruppe raised an eyebrow. «Out of the city?»

«Yes. Paramount is the Coin Bearer-keep him beyond anyone's reach. As for your mission, you will observe. Nothing more. Do you understand me, Kruppe? Observe. To do anything else will be to risk the Coin Bearer falling into the wrong hands. While he is Oponn's tool, he also is the means by which another Ascendant can reach Oponn. The last thing we need is gods battling on the mortal plain.»

Kruppe cleared his throat. «What are we to observe, Master?»

«I'm not sure, possibly a foreign work party, digging here and there.»

Kruppe started. «As in: road repairs?»

The alchemist frowned. «I will be sending you to the Gadrobi Hills. Remain there until either someone comes or I contact you with further instructions. If someone comes, Kruppe, you're to remain hidden. Avoid detection at all costs-use your Warren, if need be.»

«None shall find Kruppe and his worthy, loyal comrades,» Kruppe said, smiling and waggling his fingers.

«Good. That will be all, then.»

Surprised, Kruppe climbed to his feet. «When are we to leave, Master?»

«Soon. I'll let you know at least a day beforehand. Is that sufficient time?»

«Yes, friend Baruk. Kruppe deems that more than enough time. Rallick appears temporarily indisposed, but with luck he shall be available.»

«Get him if you can. If the Coin Bearer's influence turns against us, the assassin is charged with killing the boy. Does he understand this?»

«We've discussed it,» Kruppe said.

Baruk inclined his head and fell silent.

Kruppe waited a moment, then quietly left.

Less than an hour after Quick Ben's soul had left the body seated on the hut's floor and journeyed into the Shadow Realm, it creaked back into life. Red-eyed with an exhaustion born of unrelenting tension, Kalam pushed himself to his feet and waited for his friend to come round.

The assassin laid his hands on his long-knives, just to be on the safe side. If Quick Ben had been taken, whatever controlled him might well announce its arrival by attacking anyone within range. Kalam held his breath.

The wizard's eyes opened, the glaze slipping away as awareness returned. He saw Kalam, and smiled.

The assassin released his breath. «Done? Success?»

«Yes, on both counts. Hard to believe, isn't it?»

Kalam found he was grinning uncontrollably. He stepped forward and helped Quick Ben to stand. The wizard leaned heavily against him, also grinning.

«He realized who I was just as I left.» Quick Ben's grin broadened. «You should have heard him scream.»

«Well, are you surprised? How many High Priests burn the robes of their vestment?»

«Not enough, if you ask me. Without temples and priests the gods» bloody meddling couldn't touch the mortal realm. Now, that would be paradise, right, friend?»

«Perhaps,» said a voice at the doorway. Both men turned to see Sorry standing within the entrance, her half-cloak drawn about her slim body.

She was wet with rain, and only now did Kalam notice the water dripping through cracks all around them. The assassin stepped away from Quick Ben to free his hands. «What are you doing here?» he demanded.

«You dream of paradise, Wizard? I wish I'd heard the entire conversation.»

«How did you find us?» Quick Ben asked.

Sorry stepped inside and pushed back her hood. «I've found an assassin,» she said. «I've marked him. He is in a place called the Phoenix Inn, in the Daru District. Are you interested?» she asked, dully eyeing both men.

«I want answers,» Kalam said, in a low voice.

Quick Ben backed to the far wall, to give the assassin room and to prepare his spells if need be-though he was in no real shape to manage his Warren at the moment. Nor, he noticed, did Kalam look up to a scrap, not that the assassin would allow that to stop him. Right now, he was at his most dangerous-that low tone had said it all.

Sorry held her dead eyes on Kalam. «The sergeant has sent me to you-»

«A lie,» Kalain interjected softly. «Whiskeyjack doesn't know where we are.»

«Very well. I sensed your power, Wizard. It has a notable signature.»

Quick Ben was stunned. «But I established a shield around this place,» he said.

«Yes. I, too, was surprised, Wizard. Usually I cannot find you. It seems cracks appeared.»

Quick Ben thought about that. «Cracks', he decided, wasn't the right word-but Sorry didn't know that. She'd sensed his whereabouts because she was what they'd suspected, a pawn of the Rope. The Shadow Realm had been linked, however briefly and however tenuously, to his flesh and blood. Yet none but a servant of Shadow possessed the necessary sensitivity to detect that link. The wizard moved to stand beside Kalam and laid a hand on the burly man's shoulder.

Kalam threw him a startled glare.

«She's right. Cracks appeared, Kalam. She's obviously a natural Talent in the ways of sorcery. Come on, friend, the girl's found what we've been looking for. Let's move on it.»

Sorry pulled up the hood around her head. «I am not accompanying you,» she said. «You'll know the man when you see him. I suspect it is his task to make his profession obvious. Perhaps the Guild is anticipating you. In any case, find the Phoenix Inn.»

«What the hell are you up to?» Kalam demanded.

«I will be completing an assignment for the sergeant.» She turned and left the hut.

Kalam's shoulders slumped and he let out a long breath.

«She's the one we thought her to be,» Quick Ben said quietly. «So far, so good.»

«In other words,» the assassin growled, «if I'd attacked her I'd be a dead man right now.»

«Exactly. We'll take her out, when the time's right. But for now we need her.»

Kalain nodded.

«Phoenix Inn?»

«Damn right. And when we get there the first thing I'm doing is buying a drink.»

Quick Ben smiled. «Agreed.»

Rallick looked up as the heavy-set man entered the bar. His black skin marked him a southerner, which in itself was not unusual. What caught Rallick's attention, however, was the horn-handled, silver-pommelled long-knives tucked into the man's narrow belt. Those weapons were anything but southern, and stamped on the pornmels was a cross-hatched pattern, recognizable to all within the trade as the mark of an assassin.

The man swaggered into the room as if he owned it, and none of the locals he shouldered aside seemed inclined to disagree with him. He reached the bar and ordered an ale.

Rallick studied the dregs in his own tankard. Obviously the man wanted to be marked, precisely by someone like Rallick Nom, a Guild assassin. So, who was the bait, then? This didn't fit.

Ocelot, his Clan Leader, was convinced, along with everyone else in the Guild, that Empire Claws had come into the city and now waged war against them. Rallick wasn't so sure. The man standing at the bar could as easily be Seven Cities as a traveller from Callows. He had the look of Malazan Empire about him. Was he Claw? If so, why show himself? Up until now the enemy hadn't left a single clue, or a single eye-witness, as to their identity. The brazenness he now observed either didn't fit, or marked a reversal of tactics. Had Vorcan's order to go to ground triggered it?

Alarm bells rang in Rallick's head. None of this felt right.

Murillio leaned close to him. «Something wrong, friend?»

«Guild business,» Rallick replied. «You thirsty?»

Murillio grinned. «An offer I can't refuse.»

After a single, bemused glance at Coll's unconscious form, slumped in the chair, the assassin left the table. What had all that been about five black dragons? He made his way to the bar. As he pushed through the crowd, he gave one youth a hard elbow to the back. The boy gasped, then surreptitiously slipped towards the kitchen.

Rallick arrived, called Scurve over, then ordered another pitcher.

Though he did not look the man's way, he knew he'd been marked by him. It was no more than a feeling, but one he'd learned to trust. He sighed as Scurve delivered the foaming pitcher. Well, he'd done what Ocelot had demanded of him, though he suspected his Clan Leader would be asking for more.

He returned to the table and conversed with Murillio for a time, plying his friend with the majority of the ale. Murillio sensed a growing tension around Rallick and took his cue. He drained the last of his drink and rose. «Well,» he said, «Kruppe's scurried off, Crokus too. And Coll's once again dead to the world. Rallick, I thank you for the ale. Time to find a warm bed. Until the morrow, then.»

Rallick remained seated for another five minutes, only once brushing gazes with the black man leaning against the bar. Then he rose and strode into the kitchen. The two cooks rolled their eyes at each other as he strode past. Rallick. ignored them. He came to the door, which had been left ajar in hopes of a cooling draught. The alley beyond was wet, though the rain had passed. From a shadowed recess on the wall opposite the inn stepped a familiar figure.

Rallick walked up to Ocelot. «It's done. Your man is the big black one nursing an ale. Two daggers, hatch-marked. He looks mean and not one I'd like to tussle with. He's all yours, Ocelot.»

The man's pocked face twisted. «He's still inside? Good. Head back in. Make sure you've been noticed-damn sure, Nom.»

Rallick crossed his arms. «I'm sure already,» he drawled.

«You're to draw him out, lead him into Tarlow's warehouse-into the loading grounds.» Ocelot sneered. «Vorcan's orders, Nom. And when you head out, do it by the front door No mistakes, nothing subtle.»

«The man's an assassin,» Rallick grated. «If I'm not subtle he'll know it's a trap and crawl all over me in seconds flat.»

«You do as Vorcan wills, Nom. Now get back inside!»

Rallick stared at his commander, to make his disgust plain, then returned to the kitchen. The cooks grinned at him, but only for moment. One look at Rallick's face was enough to kill any humour in the room. They bent to their tasks as if prodded by a landmaster.

Rallick entered the main room, then stopped dead in his tracks «Damn,» he muttered. The black man was gone. Now what? He shrugged. «Front door it is.» He made his way through the crowd.

In an alley, on one side of which ran a high stone wall, Crokus leaned against the damp bricks of a merchant's house and gazed steadily at a window. It was on the third floor, beyond the wall, and behind it shuttered face was a room he knew intimately.

There'd been a light on inside for most of the two hours he'd stood below, but for the last fifteen minutes the room within had been dark.

Numb with exhaustion and plagued with doubts, Crokus pulled his cloak tighter around him. He wondered what he was doing here, and not for the first time. All his resolve seemed to have drained into the gutters along with the rain.

Had it been the dark-haired woman in the Phoenix Inn? Had she rattled him that much? The blood on her dagger made it obvious that she wouldn't hesitate to kill him just to keep her secret intact. Maybe it was the spinning coin that had him so confused. Nothing about that incident had been natural.

What was so wrong with his dream of being introduced to the D'Arle maiden? It had nothing to do with that killer woman in the bar.

«Nothing,» he mumbled, then scowled. Now he was talking aloud to himself.

A thought came to him that deepened his scowl. Everything had begun its mad unravelling the night he'd robbed the maiden. If only he hadn't paused, if only he hadn't looked upon her soft, round, lovely face.

A groan escaped him, and he shifted his feet. A high-born. That was the real problem, wasn't it?

It all seemed so stupid now, so absurd. How could he have convinced himself that such a thing as meeting her was possible? He shook himself.

It didn't matter, he'd planned this, now it was time to do it.

«I don't believe this,» he muttered as he pushed himself from the wall and headed down the alley. His hand brushed the pouch tied to his waist.

«I'm about to put a maiden's ransom back.»

He came to the stone wall he'd been looking for, and began to climb.

He drew a deep breath. All right, let's get it done.

The stone was wet, but he had enough determination in him to scale a mountain. He climbed on, and did not slip even so much as a single foothold.