Calot withdrew a handkerchief from his sleeve and tossed it to Dujek.
The High Mage snagged it. «Again? Damn that barber,» he growled, wiping the soap from his jaw and ears. «I swear he does it on purpose.»
He balled the handkerchief and flung it on to Calot's lap. «Now, we're all here. Good. Regular business first. Hairlock, you finished jawing with the boys below?»
Hairlock stifled a yawn. «Some sapper named Fiddler took me in, showed me around.» He paused to pluck lint from his brocaded sleeve, then met Dujek's eyes. «Give them six or seven years and they might have reached the city walls by then.»
«It's pointless,» Tattersail said, «which is what I put in my report.» She squinted up at Dujek. «Assuming it ever made it to the Imperial Court.»
«Camel's still swimming,» Calot said.
Dujek grunted-as close as he ever got to laughing. «All right, cadre, listen carefully. Two things.» A faint scowl crossed his scarred features.
«One, the Empress has sent a Claw. They're in the city, hunting down Pale's wizards.»
A chill danced up Tattersail's spine. No one liked having the Claws around. Those Imperial assassins-Laseen's favoured weapon-kept their poisoned daggers sharp for anyone and everyone, Malazans included.
It seemed Calot was thinking the same thing, for he sat up sharply. «If they're here for any other reason:»
«They'll have to come through me first,» Dujek said, his lone hand reaching down to rest on the pommel of his longsword.
He has an audience, there in the other room. He's telling the man commanding the Claw how things stand. Shedunul bless him.
Hairlock spoke. «They'll go to ground. They're wizards, not idiots.»
It was a moment before Tattersail understood the man's comment. Oh, right. Pale's wizards.
Dujek glanced down at Hairlock, gauging, then he nodded. «Two, we're attacking Moon's Spawn today.»
In the other compartment, High Mage Tayschrenn turned at these words and approached slowly. Within his hood a broad smile creased his dark face, a momentary cracking of seamless features. The smile passed quickly, the ageless skin becoming smooth once again. «Hello, my colleagues,» he said, droll and menacing all at once.
Hairlock snorted. «Keep the melodrama to a minimum, Tayschrenn, and we'll all be happier.»
Ignoring Hairlock's comment, the High Mage continued, «The Empress has lost her patience with Moon's Spawn-»
Dujek cocked his head and interrupted, his voice softly grating. «The Empress is scared enough to hit first and hit hard. Tell it plain, Magicker. This is your front line you're talking to here. Show some respect, dammit.»
The High Mage shrugged. «Of course, High Fist.» He faced the cadre.
«Your group, myself and three other High Mages will strike Moon's Spawn within the hour. The North Campaign has drawn most of the edifice's inhabitants away. We believe that the Moon's lord is alone. For almost three years his mere presence has been enough to hold us in check. This morning, my colleagues, we will test this lord's mettle.»
«And hope to hell he's been bluffing all this time,» Dujek added, a scowl deepening the lines on his forehead. «Any questions?»
«How soon can I get a transfer?» Calot asked.
Tattersail cleared her throat. «What do we know about the Lord of Moon's Spawn?»
«Scant little, I'm afraid,» Tayschrenn said, his eyes veiled. «A Tiste And? for certain. An archmage.»
Hairlock leaned forward and deliberately spat at the floor in front of Tayschrenn. «Tiste And? High Mage? I think we can be a little more specific than that, don't you?»
Tattersail's migraine worsened. She realized she was holding her breath, slowly forced it out as she gauged Tayschrenn's reaction-to the man's words and to the traditional Seven Cities challenge.
«An archmage,» Tayschrenn repeated. «Perhaps the Archmage of the Tiste And?. Dear Hairlock,» he added, his voice lowering a notch, «your primitive tribal gestures remain quaint, if somewhat tasteless.»
Hairlock bared his teeth. «The Tiste And? are Mother Dark's first children. You've felt the tremors through the Warrens of Sorcery, Tayschrenn. So have I. Ask Dujek about the reports coming down from the North Campaign. Elder magic-Kurald Galain. The Lord of Moon's Spawn is the Master Archmage-you know his name as well as I do.»
«I know nothing of the sort,» the High Mage snapped, losing his calm at last. «Perhaps you'd care to enlighten us, Hairlock, and then I can begin inquiries as to your sources.»
«Ahh!» Hairlock bolted forward in his chair, an eager malice in his taut face. «A threat from the High Mage. Now we're getting somewhere. Answer me this, then. Why only three other High Mages? We've hardly been thinned out that badly. More, why didn't we do this two years ago?»
Whatever was building between Hairlock and Tayschrenn was interrupted by Dujek, who growled wordlessly, then said, «We're desperate, mage. The North Campaign has gone sour. The Fifth is damn near gone, and won't be getting any reinforcements until next spring. The point is, the Moon's lord could have his army back any day now. I don't want to have to send you up against an army of Tiste And? and I sure as hell don't want the Second having to show two fronts with a relieving force coming down on them. Bad tactics, and whoever this Caladan Brood is, he's shown himself adept at making us pay for our mistakes.»
«Caladan Brood,» Calot murmured. «I swear I've heard that name somewhere before. Odd that I've never given it much thought.»
Tattersail's eyes narrowed on Tayschrenn. Calot was right: the name of the man commanding the Tiste And? alongside the Crimson Guard did sound familiar-but in an old way, echoing ancient legends, perhaps, or some epic poem.
The High Mage met her gaze, flat and,calculating. «The need,» he said, turning to the others, «for justifications has passed. The Empress has commanded, and we must obey.»
Hairlock snorted a second time. «Speaking of twisting arms,» he sat back, still smiling contemptuously at Tayschrenn, «remember how we played cat and mouse at Aren? This plan has your stink on it. You've been itching for a chance like this for a long time.» His grin turned savage. «Who, then, are the other three High Mages? Let me guess.»
«Enough!» Tayschrenn stepped close to Hairlock, who went very still, eyes glittering.
The lanterns had dimmed. Calot used the handkerchief in his lap to wipe tears from his cheeks.
Power, oh, damn, my bead feels ready to crack wide open.
«Very well,» Hairlock whispered, «let's lay it out on the table. I'm sure the High Fist will appreciate you putting all his suspicions in the proper order. Make it plain, old friend.»
Tattersail glanced at Dujek. The commander's face had closed up, his sharp eyes narrow and fixed on Tayschrenn. He was doing some hard thinking.
Calot leaned against her. «What the hell's going on, «Sail?»
«No idea,» she whispered, «but it's heating up nicely.» Though she'd made her comment light, her mind was whirling around a cold knot of fear. Hairlock had been with the Empire longer than she had-or Calot.
He'd been among the sorcerers who'd fought against the Malazans in Seven Cities, before Aren fell and the Holy Falah'd were scattered, before he'd been given the choice of death or service to the new masters. He'd joined the 2nd's cadre at Pan'potsun-like Dujek himself he'd been there, with the Emperor's old guard, when the first vipers of usurpation had stirred, the day the Empire's First Sword was betrayed and brutally murdered. Hairlock knew something. But what?
«All right,» Dujek drawled, «we've got work to do. Let's get at it.»