Aragan seemed almost embarrassed as he turned away, clearing his throat. ‘You’re too kind, Fist.’ He walked off with his splay-legged rolling gait.
K’ess watched him go. A soldier who just wanted to be a soldier but ended up a politician.
Captain Fal-ej paused at the open tent flaps to salute.
‘Yes?’
‘Outriders ready.’
‘Send them off.’
‘At once.’ She turned to go.
‘Captain,’ K’ess called quickly.
She turned back, blinking. ‘Yes?’
‘We’ll stay close to the lake shore, Captain.’
‘Very good, Fist.’
K’ess pulled a hand down his unshaven chin. ‘And perhaps — as we ride — you might tell me all about Seven Cities. I never did make it there.’
Captain Fal-ej’s thick dark brows rose very high and she smiled broadly. ‘That would please me a great deal, Fist.’
*
That evening Kruppe sat once more at his usual table near the back of the Phoenix Inn. Jess was on duty that night and when she caught sight of him she marched right over. ‘You again! You’ve some nerve showing your oily self here. I’ve half a mind to call Scurve to toss you out right now.’
Kruppe threw up his hands. ‘Good Jess! What ire! What passion! I am overcome. Indeed, I am overcome with famishment. A bottle of red if you would be so kind. With two glasses, for Kruppe is in a bountiful munificent mood. And a touch of that gorgeous mutton I smell. And the pear tart for afters.’
Jess set her fists on her wide hips. ‘And how are you going to pay for all this?’
Kruppe pointed past her. ‘Oh, look! ’Tis Meese herself there at the bar. She’ll speak for me, I’m certain.’
‘Oh, I’ll have a word with her about you all right, you can be sure of that.’
Jess crossed to the bar and spoke with Meese. Kruppe watched, eyes narrowed, nervously tapping his fingertips together. The older woman waved Jess close and whispered something in her ear. Jess’s eyes widened in surprise and she appeared to mouth Really?
The older woman gave a serious nod.
Jess straightened. Her wondering frown seemed to say: who would have thought it?
She returned to Kruppe’s table. Here she bent down to him with a wide smile, and pushed back her hair. ‘Was that two glasses you asked for, sir?’
Kruppe’s gaze darted left and right. His fingertips halted their tapping. ‘Why … yes, good Jess. If you would be amenable?’
‘Certainly, sir. Right away.’ She turned to go but paused for a moment to adjust the lie of her skirt over one broad hip. Then she walked off, swinging those hips like two great warships.
Kruppe’s brows climbed very high indeed and his gaze shifted to Meese at the bar. An evil smirk raised the corners of her mouth and she winked.
Great anxious gods! Whatever did the evil Meese tell the poor woman!
Later that night Kruppe sat back to wipe his enormous handkerchief across his mouth and survey the conquered plates, crusts and bones scattered before him. Most restorative struggle to the death! Kruppe is … satisfied.
Yet the second glass remained untouched opposite and he regarded it for a moment, then poured himself more of the — slightly disappointing — red.
Two cloaked and hooded figures pulled up chairs to either side of him and leaned close.
Kruppe set his glass back down. ‘Gentlemen … Kruppe was expecting company this night, but not you two.’ He gestured to the empty glass. ‘Alas, perhaps my friend’s days of bachelor conviviality are done. The chains of domesticity have closed upon him and gone are the times of carefree bonhomie … Out of the window, as it were.’
‘Whatever in the Abyss are you going on about, ya fat fool?’ Leff growled. ‘We’re in real trouble here and we need your help!’
‘My help? How can poor Kruppe be of any service to you?’
‘We need to get out of town,’ Scorch added urgently from the other side.
Kruppe’s expressive thick brows climbed again; he clamped his handkerchief to his mouth and coughed behind it for a time. Fit over, he stuffed the cloth back into a frilly sleeve and thoughtfully stroked the tiny rat’s tail braided beard at his chin. ‘Really?’ he managed after a time. ‘Kruppe hardly dares ask what for …?’
‘It was an accident-’ Scorch began.
‘It was your fault!’ Leff cut in. ‘You fired!’
‘You grabbed it!’ Scorch yelled, nearly choking.
Nearby conversations stopped as people glanced over.
Kruppe raised his hands for quiet. ‘Decorum in the bar, please, gentlemen. Now, what, exactly, are you two staggering blindly around?’
The two exchanged stricken looks. ‘We killed the Legate,’ they said together in a fierce whisper.
Kruppe slapped a hand to his mouth, choking again. Once the coughing fit had passed he took a quick sip of wine to clear his throat. ‘Oh dear,’ he murmured. ‘Most serious. I daresay you are in a great deal of trouble.’
Leff pulled his hood lower and glared about. ‘You have to help! The whole city’s after us!’
Kruppe stroked the slim beard once more, shaking his head. He sighed heavily. ‘Kruppe is only one man … This may lie beyond even his astounding abilities.’
‘You have to get us out of the city,’ Scorch pleaded. ‘We’ll do anything!’
Kruppe’s hand paused upon the beard. His eyes darted once more. ‘Anything …?’
The two shared a glance of utter desperation and together they jerked a nod.
The little man picked up a last crust and gave it an experimental nibble. ‘It just so happens that Kruppe does know of a job outside the city that may be admirably suited to your, ah, unique, talents …’
The two sagged in relief. Leff cuffed Kruppe on the back. ‘You’re a true friend, Kruppe. Got no idea where we’d be without ya.’
Kruppe took a dainty sip of his wine. ‘You have no idea,’ he murmured.
EPILOGUE
The next morning Antsy sat looking out of the still gaping doorway of K’rul’s Temple and Bar and sipped his tea. Sadly, once more they were all out of liquor as last night the three gigantic friends of Fisher, the Heel brothers, had been up drinking and singing until every bottle and keg was bone dry. After the not-so-discreet glowers from Blend and Picker the bard was out now seeing them off.
Antsy sipped the tea again and grimaced his disgust: damned cheap southern leaf.
Duiker came down and sat with him. The old historian rubbed his face and sighed blearily. ‘Didn’t sleep a wink.’
‘You’d think with Fisher with ’em they’d at least be able to carry a tune.’
‘See the sigil on one’s shield? Black mountain on a blue field? Know it?’
Antsy shook his head. He poured Duiker some tea. ‘Do you think he’s still down there?’ And he inclined his head to the rear.
The historian shrugged. ‘Don’t know. Probably not.’ He looked to where the Claw sat at her own table staring out of an open window. She appeared pensive, somehow lost. He glanced around at the empty common room. ‘So, Spindle’s off?’
‘Aye. We can breathe easily now.’ Antsy laughed. The laugh died away as he squinted at something outside. ‘Look there,’ he murmured, and he lifted his chin to the open door. ‘He’s got some nerve showin’ his face here.’ Duiker turned in his chair. Across the street a man loitered; but not just any man. Duiker recognized him. In fact, he suspected that every Malazan in the building would’ve recognized him: Topper, Clawmaster to the Empire.
The woman appeared to have seen him now as well, as a hissed breath escaped her and she stood up. Antsy sent her a questioning look, which she answered with a sign: stand down. She picked up her stave and went to the door. On her way she paused at their table. ‘Thanks for the room,’ she told Antsy. She inclined her head to Duiker. ‘Historian.’ She crossed the road and the two appeared to talk for a time. Then they walked off more or less side by side.