Among the silks the man recognized the dyed lavender twists and bolts of Illem, the pale yellows of Setta and Lest-two cities to the south-east he knew had been annexed by the Pannion Seer in the last month-and the heavy bold twists of Sarrokalle. A dwindled sampling: all trade from the north had ended under Malazan dominion.
He turned from the lake at the entry to the Scented Wood and headed into the city. Four streets ahead his single room waited on the second floor of a decaying tenement, grey and silent with the coming dawn, its thin, warped door latched and locked. In that room he allowed no place for memories; nothing to mark him in a wizard's eye or tell the sharpwitted spy-hunter details of his life. In that room, he remained anonymous even to himself.
The Lady Sinital paced. These last few days too much of her hard-won gold had been spent smoothing the waters. That damn bitch of Lim's had not let grief get in the way of her greed. Barely two days shrouded in black and then out on the courts hanging on that fop Murillio's arm, smug as a tart at a ball.
Sinital's pencilled brows knitted slightly. Murillio: that young man had a way of being seen. He might be worth cultivation, all things considered.
She stopped pacing and faced the man sprawled on her bed. «So, you've learned nothing.» A hint of contempt had slipped into her tone and she wondered if he'd caught it.
Councilman Turban Orr, his heavily scarred forearm covering his eyes, did not move as he replied, «I've told you all this. There's no knowing where that poisoned quarrel came from, Sinital. Hell, poisoned! What assassin uses poison these days? Vorcan's got them so studded with magic everything else is obsolete.»
«You're digressing,» she said, satisfied that he'd missed the careless unveiling of her sentiments.
«It's like I said,» Orr continued. «Lim was involved in more than one, uh, delicate venture. The assassination's probably unconnected with you. It could have been anyone's balcony, it just happened to be yours.»
Lady Sinital crossed her arms. «I don't believe in coincidence, Turban. Tell me, was it coincidence that his death broke your majority-the night before the vote?» She saw the man's cheek twitch and knew she'd stung him. She smiled and moved to the bed. She sat and ran a hand along his bared thigh. «In any case, have you checked on him lately?»
«Him?»
Sinital scowled, withdrawing her hand and standing. «My beloved dispossessed, you idiot.»
Turban Orr's mouth curved into a smug smile. «I always keep a check on him for you, my dear. Nothing's changed in that area. He hasn't sobered up since you threw him out on his arse.» The man sat up and reached to the bedpost where his clothes hung. He began dressing.
Sinital whirled to him. «What are you doing?» she demanded, her voice strident.
«What's it look like?» Turban pulled on his breeches. «The debate rages on at Majesty Hall. My influence is required.»
«To do what? Bend yet another councilman to your will?»
He slipped on his silk shirt, still smiling. «That, and other things.»
Sinital rolled her eyes. «Oh, of course-the spy. I'd forgotten about him.»
«Personally,» Orr resumed, «I believe the proclamation of neutrality to the Malazans will go through-perhaps tomorrow or the next day.»
She laughed harshly. «Neutrality! You're beginning to believe your own propaganda. What you want, Turban Orr, is power, the naked absolute power that comes with being a Malazan High Fist. You think this the first step to paving your road into the Empress's arms. At the jo,» city's expense, but you don't give a damn about that.»
Turban sneered up at Sinital. «Stay out of politics, woman. Darujhistan's fall to the Empire is inevitable. Better a peaceful occupation than a violent one.»
«Peaceful? Are you blind to what happened to Pale's nobility? Oh, the ravens feasted on delicate flesh for days. This Empire devours noble blood.»
«What happened at Pale isn't as simple as you make it,» Turban said. «There was a Moranth reckoning involved, a clause in the alliance writ. Such culling will not occur here-and what if it does? We could use it as far as I'm concerned.» His grin returned. «So much for your hear bleeding to the city's woes. All that interests you is you. Save the righteous citizen offal for your fawns, Sinital.» He adjusted his leggings. Sinital stepped to the bedpost, reaching down to touch the silve pommel of Orr's duelling sword. «You should kill him and be done with it,» she said.
«Back to him again?» The councilman laughed as he rose. «Your brain works with all the subtlety of a malicious child.» He collected his sword and strapped it on. «It's a wonder you wrested anything from that idiot husband of yours-you were so evenly matched in matters of cunning.»
«The easiest thing to break is a man's heart,» Sinital said, with a private smile. She lay down on the bed. Stretching her arms and arching he back, she said, «What about Moon's Spawn? It's still just hanging there.» Gazing down at her his eyes travelling along her body, the councilman replied distractedly, «We've yet to work out a way to get a message up there. We've set up a tent in its shadow and stationed representatives in it but that mysterious lord just ignores us.»
«Maybe he's dead,» Sinital said, relaxing with a sigh. «Maybe the Moon's just sitting there because there's nobody left alive inside. Have you thought of that, dear Councilman?»
Turban Orr turned to the door. «We have. I'll see you tonight?»
«I want him killed,» Sinital said.
The councilman reached for the latch. «Maybe. I'll see you tonight?» he asked again.
«Maybe.»
Turban Orr's hand rested on the latch, then he opened the door an left the room.
Lying on her bed, Lady Sinital sighed. Her thoughts shifted to a certain dandy, whose loss to a certain widow would be a most delicious coup.
Murillio sipped spiced wine. «The details are sketchy,» he said, making a face as the fiery alcohol stung his lips.
In the street below a brilliantly painted carriage clattered past, draw by three white horses in black bridles. The man gripping the reins was robed in black and hooded. The horses tossed their heads, ears pinned back and eyes rolling, but the driver's broad, veined hands held them in check. On either side of the carriage walked middle-aged women. Bronz cups sat on their shaved heads from which unfurled wavering streams of scented smoke.
Murillio leaned against the railing and looked down upon the troupe.
«The bitch Fander's being carted out,» he said. «Bloody grim rituals, if you ask me.» He sat back in the plush chair and smiled at his companion, raising the goblet. «The Wolf Goddess of Winter dies her seasonal death, on a carpet of white, no less. And in a week's time the Gedderone F?te fills the streets with flowers, soon to clog gutters and block drains throughout the city.»
The young woman across from him smiled, her eyes on her own goblet of wine, which she held in both hands like an offering. «Which details were you referring to?» she asked, glancing up at him briefly.
«Details?»
She smiled faintly. «The sketchy ones.»
«Oh.» Murillio waved one gloved hand dismissively. «Lady Sinital's version held that Councilman Lim had come in person to acknowledge her formal invitation.»
«Invitation? Do you mean to the festive she's throwing on Gedderone's Eve?»
Murillio blinked. «Of course. Surely your house has been invited?»
«Oh, yes. And you?»
«Alas, no,» Murillio said, smiling.
Tfw- xxTnmnn 11 silent her eyelids lowering in thought. Murillio glanced back to the street below. He waited. Such things, after all, moved of their own accord, and even he could not guess the pace or track of a woman's thoughts, especially when it had to do with sex. And this was most assuredly a play for favours-Murillio's best game, and he always played it through. Never disappoint them, that was the key. The closest-held secret is the one that never sours with age.