Orb Sceptre Throne

‘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 again. 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 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 was 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 slid 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 lifted 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.’

‘If you say so.’

She turned a smile on him. ‘I do.’

‘And … the girl?’

The smile overturned into a tight scowl. ‘Sent to her room to think things over.’

‘Some things are the same everywhere, it seems.’