And so they had. Kruppe leaned forward once again. ‘Ho, the Straight Road reveals itself, and see how these six Mercenaries march on to the field! Slaying left and right! One cast of the knuckles, and the universe changes! Behold this grim lesson, dear companions of Kruppe. When the Coin is revealed, how long before a hand reaches for it?’
Virtually no cast in the Riposte Round could save the two hapless Kings and their equally hapless players, Scorch and Leff. Snarling, Leff swept an arm through the field, scattering pieces everywhere. As he did so he palmed the Coin and would have slipped it into his waistband if not for a wag of Kruppe’s head and the pudgy hand reaching out palm up.
Cursing under his breath, Leff dropped the Coin into that hand.
‘To the spoiler, the victory,’ Kruppe said, smiling. ‘Alas for poor Scorch and Leff, this single coin is but a fraction of riches now belonging to triumphant Kruppe. Two councils each, yes?’
‘That’s a week’s wages for a week that ain’t come yet,’ Leff said. ‘We’ll have to owe you, friend.’
‘Egregious precedent! Kruppe, however, understands I how such reversals can catch one unawares, which makes perfect sense, since they are reversals.
Accordingly, given the necessity for a week’s noble labour, Kruppe is happy to extend deadline for said payment to one week from today.’
Groaning, Scorch sat hack, ‘The list, Leff. We’re back to that damned list.’
‘Many are the defaulters,’ Kruppe said, sighing. ‘And eager those demanding recompense, so much so that they assemble a dread list, and upon diminishment of names therein remit handsomely to those who would enforce collection, yes?’
The two men stared. Scorch’s expression suggested that he had just taken a sharp blow to the head and was yet to find his wits. Leff simply scowled. ‘Aye, that list, Kruppe. We took the job on since we didn’t have nothing else to do since Hoe’s sudden… demise. And now it looks like our names might end up on it!’
‘Nonsense! Or, rather, Kruppe elaborates, not if such a threat looms as a result of some future defaultment on monies owed Kruppe. Lists of that nature are indeed pernicious and probably counterproductive and Kruppe finds their very existence reprehensible. Wise advice is to relax somewhat on that matter. Unless, of course, one finds the deadline fast approaching with naught but lint in one’s pouch. Further advice, achieve a victory on the list, receive due reward, repair immediately to Kruppe and clear the modest debt. The alternative, alas, is that we proceed with an entirely different solution.’
Leff licked his lips. ‘What solution would that be?’
‘Why, Kruppe’s modest assistance regarding said list, of course. For a minuscule percentage.’
‘For a cut you’d help us hunt down them that’s on the list?’
‘To do so would be in Kruppe’s best interests, given this debt between him and you two.’
‘What’s the percentage?’
‘Why, thirty-three, of course.’
‘And you call that modest?’
‘No, I called it minuscule. Dearest partners, have you found any of the people on that list?’
Miserable silence answered him, although Scorch was still looking rather confused.
‘There is,’ Kruppe said with an expansive swell of his chest that threatened the two stalwart buttons of his vest, ‘no one in Darujhistan that Kruppe cannot find.’ He settled back, and the brave buttons gleamed with victory.
Shouting, a commotion at the door, then Meese crying out Kruppe’s name.
Startled, Kruppe rose, but could not see over the heads of all these peculiarly tall patrons-how annoying-and so he edged round his table and pushed his grunting, gasping way through to the bar, where Irilta was half dragging a blood-drenched Murillio on to the counter, knocking aside tankards and goblets.
Oh my. Kruppe met Meese’s eyes, noted the fear and alarm. ‘Meese, go to Coll at once.’
Pale, she nodded.
The crowd parted before her. Because, as the Gadrobi are wont to say, even a drunk known a fool, and, drunk or not, no one was fool enough to gct in that woman’s way.
Picker’s sword lay on the table, its tip smeared in drying blood. Antsy had added his short sword, its blade far messier. Together, mute testaments to this im¬promptu meeting’s agenda.
Bluepearl sat at one end of the long table, nursing his headache with a tankard of ale; Blend was by the door, arms folded as she leaned against the frame. Mallet sat in a chair to Bluepearl’s left, with all his nerves pushed into one jumpy leg, the thigh and knee jittering, while his face remained closed as he refused to meet anyone’s eyes. Near the ratty tapestry dating back from the time when this place was still a temple stood Duiker, once Imperial Historian, now a broken old man.
In fact, Picker was mildly surprised that he’d accepted the invitation to join them. Perhaps some remnant of curiosity flickered still in the ashes of Duiker’s soul, although he seemed more interested in the faded scene on the tapestry with its aerial flotilla of dragons approaching a temple much like the one they were in.
Nobody seemed ready to start talking. Typical. The task always fell at her feet, like some wounded dove. ‘Assassins’ Guild’s taken on a contract,’ she said, deliberately harsh. ‘Target? At the very least, me, Antsy and Bluepearl. More likely, all us partners.’ She paused, waiting to hear some objection. Nothing. ‘Antsy, we turn down any offers on this place?’
‘Picker,’ the Falari said in an identical tone, ‘ain’t nobody’s ever made an offer on this place.’
‘Fine,’ she replied. ‘So, anyone catch a rumour that the old K’rul cult has been resurrected? Some High Priest somewhere in the city wanting the old temple back?’
Bluepearl snorted.
‘What’s that supposed to tell us?’ Picker demanded, glaring at him.
‘Nothing,’ the Napan mage muttered. ‘I ain’t heard nothing like that, Pick. Now if Ganoes Paran ever comes back from wherever he’s gone, we could get ourselves a sure answer. Still, I don’t think there’s any cult trying to move back in.’
‘How do you know?’ Antsy demanded. ‘Can you smell ’em or something?’
‘Oh, not now,’ Bluepearl complained. ‘No more questions tonight. That Mockra’s chewed everything in my skull to pulp. I hate Mockra.’
‘It’s the ghosts,’ said Mallet in that odd, gentle voice of his. He glanced across at Bluepearl. ‘Right? They’re not whispering anything they haven’t been whispering since we moved in. fust the usual moans and begging for blood.’ His gaze shifted to the swords on the table before him. ‘Blood spilled here, that is. Stuff brought in from outside doesn’t count. Luckily.’
Blend said, ‘So try not cutting yourself shaving, Antsy.’
‘There’s been the odd scrap downstairs,’ Picker said, frowning at Mallet. ‘Are you saying that’s been feeding the damned ghosts?’
The healer shrugged. ‘Never enough to make a difference.’
‘We need us a necromancer,’ Bluepearl announced.
We’re getting off track,’ Pieker said. ‘It’s the damned contract we got to worry about, Ws need to find out who’s behind It. We find out who, we throw a cusser through his bedroom window and that’s that. So,’ she continued, looking at the others, ‘we need to conic up with a plan of attack. Information to start. Let’s hear some ideas on that.’
More silence.
Blend stepped away from the door. ‘Someone’s coming/ she said.
Now they could all hear the boots thumping up the stairs, hissed protestations in their wake.
Antsy collected his sword and Bluepearl slowly rose and Picker could smell the sudden awakening of sorcery. She held up a hand. ‘Wait, for Hood’s sake.’
The door was flung open.
In strode a large, well-dressed man, out of breath, his light blue eyes scanning laces until they alighted on Mallet, who rose.
‘Councillor Coll. What is wrong?’
‘I need your help/ the Daru noble said, and Picker could hear the distress in t he man’s voice. ‘High Denul. I need you, now.’ •
Before Mallet could reply, Picker stepped forward. ‘Councillor Coll, did you come here alone?’
