Murmurs of agreement followed from the masters and mistresses. Gruntle almost smiled at the mannered decorum among these street-bred killers. Glancing over, he saw, his brows rising, Nektara's hand plunged beneath the leather folds of Stonny's leggings at the crotch. Stonny's face was flushed, a faint smile on her lips, her eyes almost closed. Queen of Dreams, no wonder nine-tenths of the men in this room are panting, not to mention drinking deep from their cups of wine. He himself reached for his tankard.
'A wholesale slaughter,' one of the mistresses growled. 'Every damned one of them priests should be belly-smiling, that's the only way to deal with this, I say.'
'Martyrs to the faith,' Keruli responded. 'Such a direct attack is doomed to fail, as it has in other cities. This conflict is one of information, lords and ladies, or, rather, misinformation. The priests are conducting a campaign of deception. The Pannion Domin, for all its imposition of law and order, is a tyranny, characterized by extraordinary levels of cruelty to its people. No doubt you have heard tales of the Tenescowri, the Seer's army of the dispossessed and the abandoned — all that you may have heard is without exaggeration. Cannibals, rapers of the dead-'
'Children of the Dead Seed.' One man spoke up, leaning forward. 'It is true? Is it even possible? That women should descend onto battlefields and soldiers whose corpses are not yet cold …'
Keruli's nod was sombre. 'Among the Tenescowri's youngest generation of followers. aye, there are the Children of the Dead Seed. Singular proof of what is possible.' He paused, then continued, 'The Domin possesses its sanctified faithful, the citizens of the original Pannion cities, to whom all the rights and privileges the priests speak of applies. No-one else can acquire that citizenship. Non-citizens are less than slaves, for they are the subjects — the objects — of every cruelty conceivable, without recourse to mercy or justice. The Tenescowri offers their only escape, the chance to match the inhumanity inflicted on them. The citizens of Saltoan, should the Domin subjugate this city, will be one and all cast from their homes, stripped of all possessions, denied food, denied clean water. Savagery will be their only possible path, as followers sworn into the Tenescowri.
'Masters and mistresses, we must fight this war with the weapon of truth, the laying bare of the lies of the Pannion priests. This demands a very specific kind of organization, of dissemination, of crafted rumours and counter-intelligence. Tasks at which you all excel, my friends. The city's commonalty must themselves drive the priests from Saltoan. They must be guided to that decision, to that cause, not with fists and knouts, but with words.'
'What makes you so sure that will work?' a master demanded.
'You have no choice but to make it work,' Keruli replied. 'To fail is to see Saltoan fall to the Pannions.'
Keruli continued, but Gruntle was no longer listening. His eyes, half shut, studied the man who had hired them. An intermediary had brokered the contract in Darujhistan. Gruntle's first sight of the master was the morning outside Worry Gate, at the rendezvous, arriving on foot, robed as he was now. The carriage was delivered scant moments after him, of local hire. Keruli had quickly entered it and from then on Gruntle had seen and spoken with his master but twice on this long, wearying journey.
A mage, I'd concluded. But now, I think, a priest. Kneeling before which god, I wonder? No obvious signs. That itself is telling enough, I suppose. There's nothing obvious about Keruli, except maybe the bottomless coin-chest backing his generosity. Any new temples in Darujhistan lately? Can't recall — oh, that one in Gadrobi District. Sanctified to Treach, though why anyone would be interested in worshipping the Tiger of Summer is beyond me-
'-killings.'
'Been quiet these two nights past, though.'
The masters and mistresses were speaking amongst themselves. Keruli's attention was nevertheless keen, though he said nothing.
Blinking, Gruntle eased slightly straighter on the bench. He leaned close to Harllo. 'What was that about killings?'
'Unexplained murders for four nights running, or something like that. A local problem, though I gather it's past.'
The captain grunted, then settled back once again, trying to ignore the cool sweat now prickling beneath his shirt. They made good time, well ahead of us — that carriage moved with preternatural speed. But it would never have managed Saltoan's streets. Too wide, too high. Must have camped in Waytown. A score of paces from Sunrise Gate. Proof of your convictions, friend Buke?
'I was bored out of my mind, what do you think?' Stonny poured herself another cup of wine. 'Nektara managed to alleviate that, and — if all those sweating hairy faces were any indication — not just for me. You're all pigs.'
'Wasn't us on such public display,' Gruntle said.
'So what? You didn't all have to watch, did you? What if it'd been a baby on my hip and my tit bared?'
'If that,' Harllo said, 'I would have positively stared.'
'You're disgusting.'
'You misunderstand me, dearest. Not your tit — though that would be a fine sight indeed — but you with a baby! Hah, a baby!'
Stonny threw him a sneer.
They were sitting in a back room in the tavern, the leavings of a meal on the table between them.
'In any case,' Gruntle said, sighing, 'that meeting will last the rest of the night, and come the morning our master will be the only one among us privileged to catch up on his sleep — in the comfy confines of his carriage. We've got rooms upstairs with almost-clean beds and I suggest we make use of them.'
'That would be to actually sleep, dearest Stonny,' Harllo explained.
'Rest assured I'll bar the door, runt.'
'Nektara has a secret knock, presumably.'
'Wipe that grin off your face or I'll do it for you, Harllo.'
'How come you get all the fun, anyway?'
She grinned. 'Breeding, mongrel. What I got and you ain't got.'
'Education, too, huh?'
'Precisely.'
A moment later, the door swung open and Keruli entered.
Gruntle leaned back in his chair and eyed the priest. 'So, have you succeeded in recruiting the city's thugs, murderers and extortionists to your cause?'
'More or less,' Keruli replied, striding over to pour himself some wine. 'War, alas,' he sighed, 'must be fought on more than one kind of battlefield. The campaign will be a long one, I fear.'
'Is that why we're headed to Capustan?'
The priest's gaze settled on Gruntle for a moment, then he turned away. 'I have other tasks awaiting me there, Captain. Our brief detour here in Saltoan is incidental, in the great scheme of things.'
And which great scheme is that, Priest? Gruntle wanted to ask, but didn't. His master was beginning to make him nervous, and he suspected that any answer to that question would only make matters worse. No, Keruli, you keep your secrets.
The archway beneath Sunrise Gate was as dark as a tomb, the air chill and damp. Waytown's shanty sprawl was visible just beyond, through a haze of smoke lit gold by the morning sun.
Grainy-eyed and itching with flea bites, Gruntle nudged his horse into an easy trot as soon as he rode into the sunlight. He'd remained in Saltoan, lingering around the Gate for two bells, whilst Harllo and Stonny had driven the carriage and its occupant out of the city a bell before dawn. They would be at least two leagues along the river road, he judged.