Gruntle's scowl as he guided his horse onto the causeway deepened upon seeing Saltoan's low, thick walls ahead. Brown stains ran in streaks down their sloped sides. The caravan captain could already smell the raw sewage. There were plenty of figures lining the battlements, but few if any of them actual constabulary or soldiers. The city had sent its vaunted Horse Guard north to join Caladan Brood's forces in the war against the Malazan Empire. What remained of its army wasn't worth the polish on their boots.
He glanced back as his master's carriage clattered onto the causeway. Sitting on the driver's bench, Harllo waved. At his side, Stonny held the traces and Gruntle could see her lips moving to a stream of curses and complaints. Harllo's wave wilted after a moment.
Gruntle returned his attention to Sunset Gate. There were no guards in sight, and little in the way of traffic. The two huge wooden doors hung ajar and looked not to have been closed in a long time. The captain's mood soured even further. He slowed his horse until the carriage drew alongside him.
'We're passing right through, right?' Stonny asked. 'Straight through to Sunrise Gate, right?'
'So I have advised,' Gruntle said.
'What's the point of our long experience if the master won't heed our advice? Answer me that, Gruntle!'
The captain simply shrugged. No doubt Keruli could hear every word, and no doubt Stonny knew that.
They approached the arched entrance. The avenue within quickly narrowed to a tortuous alley buried beneath the gloom of the flanking buildings' upper levels, which projected outward until they almost touched overhead. Gruntle moved ahead of the carriage again. Mangy chickens scattered from their path, but the fat, black rats in the gutters only momentarily paused in their feasting on rotting rubbish to watch the carriage wheels slip past.
'We'll be scraping sides in a moment,' Harllo said.
'If we can manage Twistface Passage, we'll be all right.'
'Aye, but that's a big if, Gruntle. Mind you, there's enough that passes for grease on these walls …'
The alley narrowed ahead to the chokepoint known as Twistface Passage. Countless trader wagons had gouged deep grooves in both walls. Broken spokes and torn fittings littered the cobbles. The neighbourhood had a wreckers' mentality, Gruntle well knew. Any carriage trapped in the Passage was free salvage, and the locals weren't averse to swinging swords if their claims were contested. Gruntle had only spilled blood here once, six, seven years back. A messy night, he recalled. He and his guards had depopulated half a tenement block of cut-throats and thugs in those dark, nightmarish hours before they'd managed to back the wagon out of the passage, remove the wheels, lay rollers and manhandle their way through.
He did not want a repetition.
The hubs scraped a few times as they passed through the chokepoint, but then, with a swearing Stonny and a grinning Harllo ducking beneath sodden clothes hanging from a line, they were clear and into the square beyond.
No deliberate intent created Wu's Closet Square. The open space was born of the happenstance convergence of thirteen streets and alleys of various breadth. The inn to which they all once led no longer existed, having burned down a century or so ago, leaving a broad, uneven expanse of flagstones and cobbles that had, unaccountably, acquired the name of Wu's Closet.
'Take Mucosin Street, Stonny,' Gruntle directed, gesturing towards the wide avenue on the east side of the square.
'I remember well enough,' she growled. 'Gods, the stink!'
A score of urchins had discovered their arrival, and now trailed the carriage like flightless vultures, their dirty, pocked faces closed and all too serious. None spoke.
Still in the lead, Gruntle walked his horse into Mucosin Street. He saw a few faces peer out from grimy windows, but there was no other traffic. Not here. not ahead. This isn't good.
'Captain,' Harllo called.
Gruntle did not turn. 'Aye?'
'Them kids … they've just vanished.'
'Right.' He loosened his Gadrobi cutlasses. 'Load your crossbow, Harllo.'
'Already done.'
I know, but why not announce it anyway.
Twenty paces ahead three figures stepped into the street. Gruntle squinted. He recognized the tall woman in the middle. 'Hello, Nektara. I see you've expanded your holdings.'
The scar-faced woman smiled. 'Why, it's Gruntle. And Harllo. And who else? Oh, would that be Stonny Menackis? No doubt as unpleasant as ever, my dear, though I still lay down my heart at your feet.'
'Unwise,' Stonny drawled. 'I never step lightly.'
Nektara's smile broadened. 'And you do make that heart race, love. Every time.'
'What's the toll?' Gruntle asked, drawing his mount to a halt ten paces from the woman and her two silent bodyguards.
Nektara's plucked brows rose. 'Toll? Not this time, Gruntle. We're still in Garno's holdings — we've been granted passage. We're simply here by way of escort.'
'Escort?'
The sound of the carriage's shutters clattering open made the captain turn. He saw his master's hand appear, then languidly wave him over.
Gruntle dismounted. He reached the carriage's side door, peered in to see Keruli's round, pale face.
'Captain, we are to meet with this city's … rulers.'
'The king and his Council? Why-'
A soft laugh interrupted him. 'No, no. Saltoan's true rulers. At great expense, and through extraordinary negotiation, a gathering of all the hold-masters and mistresses has been convened, to whom I shall make address this night. You have leave to permit the escort just offered. I assure you, all is well.'
'Why didn't you explain all this earlier?'
'I was not certain that the negotiations were successful. The matter is complex, for it is the masters and mistresses who have asked for … assistance. I, in turn, must endeavour to earn their confidence, to the effect that I represent the most efficacious agent to provide said assistance.'
You? Then who in Hood's name are you? 'I see. All right, then, trust these criminals if you like, but I'm afraid we'll not be sharing your faith.'
'Understood, Captain.'
Gruntle returned to his horse. Collecting the reins he faced Nektara. 'Lead on.'
Saltoan was a city with two hearts, their chambers holding different hues of blood but both equally vile and corrupt. Seated with his back to the wall of the low-ceilinged, crowded tavern, Gruntle looked out with narrowed eyes on a motley collection of murderers, extortionists and thugs whose claim to power was measured in fear.
Stonny leaned against the wall to the captain's left, Harllo sharing the bench on his right. Nektara had dragged her chair and a small, round table close to Stonny. Thick coils of smoke rose from the hookah before the hold-mistress, wreathing her knife-kissed features in the cloying, tarry fumes. With the hookah's mouthpiece in her left hand, her other hand was on Stonny's leather-clad thigh.
Keruli stood in the centre of the room, facing the majority of the crimelords and ladies. The short man's hands were clasped above his plain grey silk belt, his cloak of black silk shimmering like molten obsidian. A strange, close-fitting cap covered his hairless pate, its style reminiscent of that worn by figures found among Darujhistan's oldest sculptures and in equally ancient tapestries.
He had begun his speech in a voice soft and perfectly modulated. 'I am pleased to be present at this auspicious gathering. Every city has its secret veils, and I am honoured by this one's select parting. Of course I realize that many of you might see me as cut from the same cloth as your avowed enemy, but I assure you this is not the case. You have expressed your concern as regards the influx of priests of the Pannion Domin into Saltoan. They speak of cities newly come under the divine protection of the Pannion Seer's cult, and offer to the common people tales of laws applied impartially to all citizens, of rights and enscripted privileges, of the welcome imposition of order in defiance of local traditions and manners. They sow seeds of discord among your subjects — a dangerous precedent, indeed.'