Everyone in the room stared for a time, silent. He answered their stares with a pinched brow.
‘So…’ Dancer finally said into the silence. ‘You held them off.’ The swordsman gave a curt assent. ‘I, ah, apologize for not being there. I was on my way. But I was … sidetracked.’
Dassem looked him up and down. ‘So I see.’
The door opened again and in walked their old enemy, Lee, and a huge street-tough.
Urko lurched to his feet, bellowing, ‘What’s this?’
Dassem raised his hands for calm. ‘They’re here to join.’
Urko fell back into his chair with a massive sigh. ‘Thank the gods.’
The young woman, his opponent from prior encounters, looked Dancer up and down. With a sort of sideways smile she said, ‘I see you met Cowl.’ Dancer nodded. ‘And I guess you won.’
‘I guess so,’ Dancer agreed. ‘You are here to join, then?’ Lee nodded. He pointed her to Surly. ‘Talk to her.’
Dassem peered round the room, then asked, ‘Where’s the mage – Kellanved?’
Dancer felt his face stiffen and he looked away. ‘Still … missing.’
A soft curse sounded from Surly at the bar. She poured herself a shot from the expensive foreign decanter and tossed it back. ‘Why am I not surprised?’
‘We need to organize,’ Dassem answered. ‘Mock may choose to strike against us now to gain favour—’
‘Mock no longer,’ Lee interjected.
Dassem looked at her. ‘Oh?’
‘One of the lasses let me know last night. He had an accident in the Hold. Fell off a parapet and over the cliff. A troika of captains rules now.’
‘Ah. None the less. They may strike.’
‘Let them,’ Urko growled, leaning forward. ‘We can take them!’
‘Not if they can unite all the crews,’ Surly warned.
Urko sank back into his chair. ‘Dammit.’
Surly waved Lee to her and the two spoke for a time. Two-ton thumped down at a table and poured himself a flagon of beer.
Then Dassem spoke to the room, addressing everyone. ‘My strength is tactics, and I am new, so it is not for me to say. But what is our position?’
Everyone eyed Surly. She pointed Lee aside, murmuring something to her, then sent a hard look to Dancer. Up to me, I guess, he decided, and he rose, wincing and hissing as multiple cuts stretched and reopened. ‘We rest up,’ he announced. ‘Keep a wary watch, of course. In a couple of days we’ll have a council to decide.’
Everyone nodded.
Dancer answered the nods. ‘Good. If anyone needs me I’ll be getting cleaned up.’ He walked stiff-legged out of the door, making for old lady Carragan’s.
* * *
The swampy delta of a salt marsh extends out into the harbour where the main channel of the Malaz river empties into the bay. Here, at dawn, the seabirds erupted into the air, cawing their complaints as something moved within the muck and slime.
The tall reeds and cattails shook as a mud-caked shape pulled itself out of the silts and up the side of a sandbar. The man had one hand pressed to his neck where the mud glistened a deep red. His chest was shaking as if spasming and finally, reluctantly, a gurgling laugh burst forth from his smeared lips as he chuckled uncontrollably. Crimson bubbles foamed at the fingers pressed to his neck. Yet he laughed on, wheezing.
After a time, he gestured with his other hand in a sweeping motion and darkness swirled up about him. When it dispersed he was gone, and the spiralling seabirds descended to roost among the reeds once again.
Chapter 19
The next thing Tayschrenn was aware of he was outside in sunlight leaning up against the gritty stone wall of the house while the short mock-elderly Kellanved had a hand on his shoulder and was peering up at him, looking quite concerned.
‘You are all right?’ he asked, frowning.
He blinked, thinking rather panickily, Am I? Am I all right? ‘What … what happened?’
‘You passed out immediately,’ the wizened fellow said. ‘Exhaustion, mental and physical, obviously.’
He straightened to eye the mage of Meanas just as narrowly. ‘Obviously,’ he echoed drily.
The Dal Hon mage brushed his hands together. ‘Good. Well, that’s that. They saw you enter the Azath House and so they think you entombed for ever. And so they have abandoned the chase, hmm? Just don’t raise your Warren any time soon, yes?’
‘Of course.’
The mage took a deep breath and his walking stick appeared in his hand. ‘Well, then. Let us see how things have shaken out, yes?’ and he started down the path.
Ahead, two figures roused themselves to stand barring the way: one short and wiry, the other massive and holding a tall halberd across the gate.
Leading the way, Kellanved paused. ‘What is this?’
The short wiry one pointed a recriminating finger. ‘You are abusing your position,’ he accused. ‘How much more of this coming and going must we endure?’
The mage of Meanas tapped his walking stick to his mouth, striking an exaggerated thinking pose. ‘Well … that depends entirely upon you, don’t you think?’
The short elderly fellow flinched as if struck; clearly he was not used to being spoken to in this manner. ‘Why, you little rat,’ he spluttered. ‘If you think we will tolerate these insults—’
Kellanved pushed ahead between the pair. ‘You’ll just have to, won’t you? The House chooses, not you. So you’ll just have to make the best of it.’ He urged Tayschrenn onward. ‘Come, come.’
Tayschrenn slid forward, uneasily, between the scowling short fellow and the big one whose hands gripped and regripped the long haft of his halberd.
They left them behind, staring after them, glowering pure anger.
‘Who are they?’ Tayschrenn asked.
Kellanved gave a dismissive wave of a hand. ‘Oh, guardians set by Burn to watch over the House. Penance, no doubt, for some ancient crime. Or,’ and he set the silver hound’s head of the walking stick to his mouth, ‘devotional acts, perhaps.’
Tayschrenn arched a brow as he regarded the diminutive mage scuttling along next to him. Clearly, this one had spent a great deal of time poking about into the hidden workings of the powers active in the world. Something he had sorely neglected.
The mage used his walking stick to push open the door to a bar whose hanging tile announced its name to be Smiley’s.
Everyone within swore and jumped to their feet as they entered.
Kellanved bobbed his head. ‘Nice to be appreciated. How long has it been?’
A lean Napan woman at the bar answered, ‘Three days.’
‘Dancer?’ he asked.
‘Recuperating.’
‘Very good.’ He motioned Tayschrenn forward. ‘This way.’ He paused. ‘Ah! Surly, Tayschrenn.’ He pointed about the broad room, picking people out. ‘Urko, Choss, Tocaras, and, ah, others.’
Tayschrenn nodded a greeting, then Kellanved urged him up a stairway. ‘My office,’ he explained. Within, he gestured to a side table. ‘Drink?’
Tayschrenn found a decanter of white wine and poured himself a touch. He crossed to the one window and peered out at grey slate roofs, a cloudy sky, and the iron-grey waters of the bay beyond. He sighed his … discouragement. ‘So – I’m working for a petty criminal.’
Kellanved had eased himself down in a chair behind the expanse of a broad empty desk. His chin barely cleared it and he frowned, studying the bulky piece as if it had unaccountably risen. He raised a finger. ‘Soon to be far less petty.’
A knock, and the door opened to reveal a tall lean fellow who moved stiffly as if feeling recent wounds. Kellanved stood. ‘Ah, Dancer. This is Tayschrenn.’ Dancer nodded and Tayschrenn studied him in turn. Deadly, he decided.
Another knock and in came a broad-shouldered curly-haired man who nodded to Dancer and Kellanved in turn. Kellanved made the introductions.
‘So they were chasing you,’ Dancer said. Tayschrenn inclined his head.
A third knock heralded the Napan woman, Surly. She studied everyone, then shut the door behind her. ‘Thank you for helping,’ she said.