‘Er, no, that won’t be necessary, Raest.’
The Jaghut stepped back.
Picker edged round him and halted a few steps in. Antsy pushed in behind her. They stood in a vaulted entryway, raw black stone underfoot. Opposite the front door there were twin doors and a narrow corridor off to the right and left. The air was dry and warm, smelling of freshly turned earth-reminding Antsy of the cel-lar beneath K’rul’s Bar.
‘Been digging graves?’ he asked, and then cursed himself, trying to ignore Picker’s wild stare.
Raest shut the door and faced them. ‘What manner of refreshments were you expecting, Sergeant Antsy? I am afraid I have nothing buried within the house. If you like, however-’
‘No that’s fine,’ Picker said hastily.
Ant»y could only nod agreement. His mouth had dried up, tongue like a piece of leather gummed against the palate. And he needed to empty his bladder, but the thought of asking directions to the water closet was suddenly akin to de-manding that the Jaghut hand over all his money or else.
Raest studied them in silence for a moment longer, and then said, ‘Follow me, if you must.’
The lich’s moccasin-wrapped feet made rasping sounds. Cloth rustled, the mail of the coat crackling, as Raest walked to the double doors and pushed them open.
Within was a main room bearing a stone fireplace directly opposite, wherein flames flickered cosily, and two deep, high-backed chairs to either side, sitting on a thick woven rug bearing arcane, geometric patterns barely visible in the general gloom. Large tapestries covered the walls to either side, one clearly Malazan in origin-probably Untan given the subject matter (some antiquated court event, significance long lost but no doubt relevant to House Paran); the other was local and depicted a scene from the Night of the Moon, when Moon’s Spawn had de-scended to brush the highest buildings in the city; when dragons warred in the night sky, and Raest himself had attempted his assault upon Darujhistan. The im-age focused on the dragons, one black and silver-maned, the other muted bronze or brown. Jaws and talons were locked upon one another as they fought in midair, with the backdrop the base of Moon’s Spawn and the silhouettes of rooftops and spires, all bordered in an intricate pattern of Great Ravens in flight.
‘That’s not bad,’ Picker muttered, eyeing the work.
Antsy grunted, not one to ponder too much on artwork beyond identifying whatever scene it happened to be recording. Personally, he could not imagine a more useless talent, and thanked the gods he’d never been cursed with such cre-ative misery. Most of his own memories of great events he had witnessed em-ployed stick figures, and that was good enough for him. It did not occur to him that this was at all unusual.
Raest gestured to the two chairs. ‘Sit down,’ he said, the tone only vaguely re-lated to an invitation. When they had done so, both angling their chairs to face the Jaghut, he said, ‘Explain to me, if you will, how precisely you intend to send Ganoes Paran a message.’
‘We have no idea,’ Picker said, with a queasy smile. ‘We were hoping you might have some suggestions.’
‘I have many suggestions,’ Raest replied, ‘none of which are relevant to your request.’
Antsy slowly narrowed his eyes, but said nothing.
Picker opened her mouth a few times, breaking off a succession of possible re-sponses, the repeated gaping reminding Antsy of netted fish on the deck of his da’s fisher boat.
‘One possibility occurs to me,’ Raest said. ‘It would, I suspect, require that one of you be an adept with the Deck of Dragons. Or possessing the potential thereof.’
‘I see,’ said Picker. ‘Well, I’ve had a few brushes with the Deck.’
‘You are an illustrator of Decks?’
‘What? Oh, not that kind of brush. I mean, I’ve had my hands on ’em a few times.’
‘Did such contact leave you damaged, Sergeant Picker?’
‘Damaged how?’
‘Arc you, perhaps, now insane?’
She sat upright. ‘Hang on, how in Hood’s name would I even know if I was in-sane or not?’
‘Precisely,’ said Raest, and waited.
Antsy’s gaze fixed once more on the Jaghut. ‘Pick,’ he finally growled.
She twisted to face him in exasperation. ‘What is it now, Antsy?’
‘This bastard’s having us on.’
Her eyes bulged momentarily, and then she looked once more at the Jaghut.
Who shrugged. ‘One needs to amuse oneself on occasion. Company is so very rare these days.’
‘So when it arrives,’ Antsy snapped, ‘you treat it like dirt? Do you think maybe there’s a connection atwixt the two, you hoary lich?’
‘Like dirt? I think not. More like… with amiable contempt.’
‘You got a few things to learn about people, Jaghut.’
‘Undoubtedly, Sergeant Antsy. Alas, I find myself disinclined to make any ef-fort in that direction.’
‘Oh? And what direction do you make your efforts in?’
‘When I discover one I will let you know, if it proves of any interest-to either me or, of course, you. In the meantime, I have no idea if communication is pos-sible with Ganoes Paran. Perhaps if you informed me of your present crisis, I might be able to assist you in some way that does not involve precipitous, desperate acts that might ultimately inconvenience me.’
‘Hood forbid we do that,’ snarled Antsy.
‘Hood is not one to forbid much of anything,’ Raest observed.
‘Can’t think he much likes these Azath Houses,’ Picker said, having recovered from her shock and irritation and, perhaps, indignation. ‘All this trapping of souls and things like you, Raest.’
‘I doubt I rate highly on Hood’s wish list,’ the undead Jaghut replied.
Antsy grunted a laugh. ‘All right, I’m finally working out your sense of hu-mour. And I thought Malazan marines were dry, Abyss below! Fine, Raest, let’s play this game for real. If you can help us with our problem, we’ll do something for you in return. If it’s within our abilities, that is, so nothing like “get me outa here” or anything like that. But, you know, other stuff.’
‘I do have a modest request. Very well, I accept the reciprocal engagement.’
Antsy grinned across at Picker, and then said to Raest, ‘It’s this. Someone’s taken out a contract on us. We don’t know why. We’re thinking maybe Paran can work out who and what’s got ’em so aggravated.’
The Jaghut stared.
Picker cleared her throat. ‘Possible causes. One, we’re Malazans. Veterans. We’ve made more than a few enemies on this continent. Two, we own K’rul’s Bar, which used to be K’rul’s Belfry, which used to be K’rul’s Temple. In the cel-
larr we just found thirteen pickled Seguleh, maybe centuries old, but looking fresh, Since they’re, er, pickled.’ She paused, drew a breath, and then continued, ‘Three, well, I ain’t got to three yet. The way I figure it, it’s all got to do with K’rul-maybe some cultists want the temple back. Maybe someone put in an order for pickled Seg-uleh and wants ’em delivered.’
Antsy stared at her. ‘Someone did what? Pick, that’s the stupidest idea I’ve ever heard.’
‘I wouldn’t argue with that,’ she said, ‘only I’m desperate, and besides, I got a hunch those Seguleh are part of the problem.’
Antsy looked to Raest. ‘So there it is. Got any suggestions or are you just going to stand there for ever?’
‘Yes I am,’ Raest replied, ‘but that detail is not relevant. As for suggestions, I suggest you kill every assassin in the city.’
‘Then whoever wants us dead just starts hiring thugs,’ Picker said.
‘Kill all thugs.’
Antsy tugged at his moustache. ‘Ain’t practical. There’s only three of us left-it’d take years.’
‘Kidnap the Guild Master and torture him or her to reveal the client. Then kill the client.’
‘Killing the client makes sense to us,’ Picker said, nodding. ‘The kidnapping thing doesn’t sound very feasible- we’d have to carve through a few hundred as-sassins to do it. Besides, we don’t know where the Guild Master’s hideout is. We could capture and torture an assassin to find that out, but they probably operate in cells which means whoever we get might not know a thing. The point is, we don’t know who the client is. We need to find
