"How goes it, Mister Pirate?"
Aldrededor looked up at her from the stove as he stirred, then bent, inhaling deeply from the cooking pot. "Ahhh, sproing, crackfish and limpods, everything the stomach of a true mariner could desire."
Kali smiled, and dipped a spoon for a sample. "At least you're willing to admit what's in it."
"Indeed. And in honour of these ingredients, I name it Seaman Stew."
Kali's smile froze, as did the spoon at her lips. "You know, Aldrededor. I might be tempted to have another think about that …"
"Oh?"
"You know. Think about it."
"Why should I think about it, Kali Hooper?"
Kali stared at him as he stared at her, wondering whether he was going to crack a smile. "Well, because…" She shrugged when there was no response. Maybe pirates had a different sense of humour, she thought. Or maybe, more worryingly, it was just her.
"I'll get Slowhand to explain it. See you later."
She returned to the bar, noticed that Pim and his men were once more staring in expectant hope at the stairs, and looked up herself to see what had caused the creak this time. Still no Hells Bellies but, as the thieves slumped once more, she smiled, seeing the one person who had so far been missing from the festivities. Though she had given Slowhand Jenna's bracelet in the yassan caves the night before they had left for the Crucible, the archer — perhaps so as not to be distracted from the task at hand — had decided not to activate it until now, and had spent the best part of the day watching his sister's recordings over and over. She had, every now and then, gone up to check on him, but had never made it through the door, Jenna's voice speaking so gently to Slowhand — of their childhood together — that she had felt it improper to intrude.
"Hey," she said, "fancy a drink?"
Slowhand nodded and smiled.
"Except there doesn't seem to be anywhere to sit."
"Not a problem," Kali said. She moved over to the bar and nudged two of Sonpear's hovering companions, so that they floated off across the tavern, clearing two stools. There was a belch and a pink puff from the mage next to them.
"Want to talk about?" Kali said.
Slowhand took a sip of thwack. "If you're asking if I'm all right, Hooper, yes, I am. It's funny but, despite her conditioning, Jenna remembered more of our early years than I did myself. Maybe that's the reason she was able to resist as she did, by holding those memories close."
"I wish there could have been more," Kali said softly. She hesitated. "'Liam, I'm sorry about what had to be done."
"Don't be. I'd have done the same myself. Besides, it was me who gave the order, wasn't it?" Slowhand downed more beer. "I found her too late, Hooper, but in a funny way I also found her in time. She would not have wanted to be what she had become and at least I helped her… not be."
Kali studied Slowhand. He wasn't quite as calm as he seemed to be, that she could tell, but she didn't think the reason was Jenna herself. No, there was a tension in his face that was more anger than grief, and it didn't take much to realise who that anger was directed towards. She wouldn't like to be in Querilous Fitch's shoes when her lover found him.
"Can we talk about something else?" Slowhand asked.
"Sure," Kali said, signalling for two more drinks from Red. "For one thing, I never got a chance to thank you for coming after me at Andon. That was quite a stunt with Horse."
"Don't mention it."
"There's one thing I don't get, though. Horse. How'd you manage to get him out of his sick bed — sick stable, I suppose?"
Slowhand produced a small vial from his pocket. "Essence of worgle. Swiped it from one of the laboratories in the Crucible. Here, have it."
Kali took the vial. "I'll save it for emergencies."
"Don't give him any more than a drop, though. It makes him frisky."
Kali laughed but the sound was drowned out by a sudden clamouring from Jengo Pim and his men, the thumping of hands on table. She and Slowhand looked over and saw that they were staring at the stairs and, this time, with good reason. The Hells Bellies musicians were descending the creaking risers, and where musicians came the Hells Bellies themselves could not be far behind. Jengo Pim was on his feet now, his tongue hanging out, applauding loudly as a female leg appeared at the top of the stairs. The leg was followed by its owner and then the rest of the dancing troupe. And then Jengo Pim's applause stopped and the thief collapsed back into his chair, his arms hanging limp by his side. Seeing this, Kali almost choked on her thwack, because she had never seen a man look so crestfallen.
The reason for Pim's dramatic disappointment was the equally dramatic difference in the Hells' Bellies since he had last seen them. Because each of his beloved dancers must have shed at least twenty stone, the obvious result of a week's hoofing to stay the advance of the k'nid. They were now, Kali had to admit, really quite elfin, and their new stage costumes — made, it seemed, from the pockets of their old — while not making much of an impression on Pim, had certainly got the attention of the rest of the men in the Flagons.
The music started, the dancers began to dance, and the tavern didn't shake.
"At least the k'nid caused something good to happen," Kali said to Slowhand's back.
"What?"
"I said, at least the k'nid caused something good to happen," Kali repeated, cursing as Red poured beer over her hand. "Oh pits, Slowhand are you listening to me?"
The archer stared at the stage as the Hells' Bellies slithered provocatively through their old garters. "Of… course… I… am."
"Well, then — all that dancing," Kali persisted. "The dancing that stopped the k'nid?"
"Actually," Slowhand said slowly, "I don't think it was the dancing."
"What are you talking about? What else could it have been?"
"Remember that eerie wailing in the Crucible? The one that sounded like an old elven instrument …?"
It took Kali a second to register what he meant, but then she stared at the Hells' Bellies, or rather the stage behind them where the musicians were beamingly strumming and fiddling away. One on his old elven instrument.
The theralin?
Kali swallowed. "You think that I made them dance all week for nothing?"
"Yup."
"My Gods, they'll kill me."
"Ah well, never mind."
"What the hells do you mean, 'ah well, never mind'?" Kali protested. She looked towards the stage again, where the dancers were now slithering two at a time through their garters, a manoeuvre that evidently required them to slither rather slowly over each other as well. "Oh, fark it, you're not listening again, are you? ARE YOU?"
Kali shook her head and gave up. She grabbed her thwack and left the bar, debating whether to chance her arm in the bragging barrel while everyone else seemed occupied. But then she caught sight of Merrit Moon, the old man sitting exactly where she'd seen him last, alone at a table at the far end of the bar, and looking as if he wasn't enjoying the festivities at all.
No, she realised. It wasn't that he wasn't enjoying himself. He was concentrating on what was in his hand.
Ah. So that was it.
The fact was, the essence of worgle hadn't been the only essence that had been taken from the Crucible, she herself having removed a sample from that part of the laboratory that dealt with human specimens. And she had taken it to give to the old man. She didn't know whether it would be of any help to him, but she figured there had to be some link between the body-changing experiments at the Crucible and the Scythe Stone that had originally transformed Moon into the half-ogur he now was. The point was, she thought it might help him in his own experiments to find a full cure for himself — or thought it worth a chance anyway. But by the look of things it hadn't been.