‘Well, the Grey Swords as you know marched south, down to Elingarth,’ Crone said, circling the plate in short hops. ‘And there they purchased ships.’ A pause and cock of the head. ‘Could they see the wake before them? Did they know to follow? Or is there perhaps a great hole in the world’s ocean, drawing every ship into its deadly maw?’
‘The White Face took to the seas? Extraordinary. And the Grey Swords followed them.’
‘None of this is relevant, High Alchemist.’
‘Relevant to what?’
‘Your unease, of course. You fling queries at your poor bedraggled guest in order to distract yourself.’
It had been months since Crone’s previous visit, and Baruk had come to believe, with some regret, that his cordial relations with the Son of Darkness were drawing to a close, not out of any dispute, simply the chronic ennui of the Tiste Andii. It was said the permanent gloom that was Black Coral well suited the city’s denizens, both Andii and human.
‘Crone, please extend to your master my sincerest thanks for this gift. It was most unexpected and generous. But I would ask him, if it is not too forward of me, if he is reconsidering the Council’s official request to open diplomatic relations between our two cities. Delegates but await your master’s invitation, and a suitable site has been set aside for the construction of an embassy-not far from here, in fact.’
‘The estate crushed by a Soletaken demon’s inglorious descent,’ Crone said, pausing to laugh before spearing another chunk of food, ‘Aagh, this is vegetable! Disgusting!’
‘Indeed, Crone, the very same estate. As I said, not far from here.’
‘Master is considering said request, and will continue considering it, I suspect’
‘For how much longer?’
‘I have no idea.’
‘Does he have concerns?’
The Great Raven, leaning over the plate, tilted her head and regarded Baruk for a long moment.
Baruk felt vaguely sickened and he looked away. ‘So, I have reason to be…
troubled.’
‘Master asks: when will it begin?’
The High Alchemist eyed the stack of loosely bound parchment that was Anomander’s gift, and nodded. But he did not answer.
‘Master asks: do you wish for assistance?’
Baruk winced.
‘Master asks,’ Crone went on, relentless, ‘would said assistance better serve you if it was covert, rather than official?’
Gods below.
‘Master asks: should sweet Crone stay the night as Barak’s guest, awaiting answers to these queries?’
Clattering at the window. Barak swiftly rose and approached it.
‘A demon!’ cried Crone, half spreading her enormous wings.
‘One of mine,’ said Baruk, unlatching the iron frame and then stepping back as Chillbais clambered awkwardly into view, grunting as he squeezed through. ‘Master Barak!’ he squealed. ‘Out! Out! Out!’
Barak had felt ill a moment earlier. Now he was suddenly chilled in his very bones. He slowly shut the window, then faced the Great Raven. ‘Crone, it has be¬gun.’
The demon saw her and bared needle fangs as he hissed, ‘Grotesque monstrosiy!’
Crone made stabbing motions with her beak. ‘Bloated toad!’
‘Be quiet, both of you!’ Barak snapped. ‘Crone, you will indeed stay the night as my guest. Chillbais, find somewhere to be. I have more work for you and I will collect you when it’s time.’
Flickering a forked tongue out at Crone, the squat demon waddled towards the fireplace. It clambered on to the glowing coals, then disappeared up the chimney. Black clouds of soot rained down, billowing out from the hearth.
Crone coughed. ‘Ill-mannered servants you have, High Alchemist.’
But Baruk was not listening. Out.
Out!
That lone word rang through his mind, loud as a temple bell, drowning out everything else, although he caught a fast-fading echo…
‘… stalwart ally, broken and with blood on his face…’
Chapter Two
Anomander would tell no lie, nor live one, and would that deafness could bless him in the days and nights beyond the black rains of Black Coral. Alas, this was not to be.
And so we choose to hear nothing ‘
Of the dreaded creak, the slip and snap
Of wooden wheels, the shudder on stone
And the chiding rattle of chains, as if
Upon some other world is where darkness
Beats out from a cursedly ethereal forge
And no sun rises above horizon’s rippled
Cant-some other world not ours indeed-
Yes bless us so, Anomander, with this
Sanctimony, this lie and soft comfort,
And the slaves are not us, this weight
But an illusion, these shackles could break
With a thought, and all these cries and
Moans are less than the murmurs
Of a quiescent heart-it’s all but a tale,
My friends, this tall denier of worship
And the sword he carries holds nothing,
No memory at all, and if there be a place
In the cosy scheme for lost souls
Pulling onward an uprooted temple
It but resides in an imagination flawed
And unaligned with sober intricacy-
Nothing is as messy as that messy world
And that comfort leaves us abiding
Deaf and blind and senseless in peace
Within our imagined place, this precious order…
–
Dragon Tower stood like a torch above Black Coral. The spire, rising from the northwest corner of the New Andiian Palace, was solid black basalt, dressed in fractured,faceted obsidian that glistened in the eter-tlrtl gloom enshrouding the eily. Atop its flat roof crouched a crimson-scaled dragon, wings folded, its wedge bead banging over one side so that it seemed to stare down on the crazed shadowy patchwork of buildings, alleys and streets far below,
There were citizens still in Black Coral-among the humans-who believed thai the ferocious sentinel was the stone creation of some master artisan among the ruling Tiste Andii, and this notion left Endest Silann sourly amused. True, he understood how wilful such ignorance could be. The thought of a real, live dragon cast ing its baleful regard down on the city and its multitude of scurrying lives was to most truly terrifying, and indeed, had they
