‘Ah,’ said Bauchelain as he adjusted his cloak, ‘here he is. Korbal Broach old friend, are you well?’
The Grand Bishop stepped into the courtyard and looked round. ‘I think it’s going to rain,’ he said, peering up at the night sky and sniffing.
‘Quite possible,’ Bauchelain agreed.
‘Your Demon Prince has escaped.’
‘Yes well, these things happen. What of your god?’
‘Gone, too.’
‘No matter. As you can see, Mister Reese has made us ready to depart this ungrateful city and its humourless neighbours. Our carriage awaits, as it were.’
‘There is an army coming,’ said Korbal Broach. ‘I can feel them. With many powerful sorcerers. They are all very angry. Why are they angry, Bauchelain?’
‘Misapprehensions, alas, for which I have decided to blame Grand General Pin Dollop.’
‘Shall I kill him for you?’ Korbal Broach asked.
‘Alas, he has already led his army out of the city and will momentarily march straight into the maw of the punitive Firrwend forces. I would imagine he’ll not survive the encounter.’
‘Oh. Good.’
‘Indeed,’ said Bauchelain as he drew on his leather gloves. ‘It comforts, does it not, when justice is seen to be served. Mister Reese.’
Emancipor was leaning against the tall front wheel of the carriage. ‘Yes, Master?’
‘The Royal Treasury.’
‘With all the other loot, Master, in that clever Warren you created beneath the floorboards. You know,’ he added, ‘I’ve been dumping stuff in there for years now.’
‘Mmhmm, yes?’
‘Well, I was just wondering, Master, when is enough enough?’
Bauchelain turned to face him, one thin brow arching. ‘Dear me, Mister Reese. Very well, allow me to explain. Ideally, one – in this case yours truly – envisages a world with a single, indeed global, economy, wherein wealth flows from all quarters in a seemingly ceaseless river, or series of rivers, all gathering in one particular place, that place being, of course, my coffers.’
‘Huh,’ said Emancipor Reese.
‘Like a massive body bearing a million small cuts, the blood draining into a single gutter.’
‘And, er, you’re the gutter then?’
‘Precisely.’
‘But what about everyone else, Master? The ones trying to make enough to live well, or even enough to eat and maybe raise a family?’
‘Accord them no sympathy, Mister Reese. They make their own fate, after all, and if through incompetence, laziness or stupidity they must live a life of abject suffering and hopeless, despairing misery, why, no-one ever said the world was fair. In the meantime,’ he added with a faint sigh, ‘it falls to the capable ones, such as me, to bleed the suckers dry. And then to convince them – given their innate stupidity it proves rather easy, by the way – of just how fortunate they are that I am running things.’
‘Aye, sir, sly as a fox you are, that’s for sure.’
‘I am not sure, Mister Reese, if I like the comparison. Foxes are often the prey of frenzied packs of dogs let loose by the inbred classes, after all. I do not see myself as the object of such sport.’
‘Sport, huh? Aye, Master. My apologies, then.’
‘Now, Mister Reese, I think it best we take our leave. Korbal, dearest, will you ensure the path before us is unobstructed all the way to the South Gate?’
‘Okay.’
Emancipor prepared to climb up to the driver’s bench, but then he glanced over at Bauchelain. ‘Master, just one thing’s got me wondering.’
‘Yes?’
‘All that loot, sir. You never seem to use any of it.’
‘Well of course not, Mister Reese. I simply wish to possess it, thereby exercising my absolute power in preventing anyone else from ever using it. In fact, my special Warren is designed in such a manner that there are no exits from it. What goes in stays in. Unless I choose otherwise. I point this out to make certain you do not concoct any grand deception, or thievery, although I remain confident of your loyalty.’
‘Uh, right. Thank you, Master. I had no plans in that direction.’
‘I didn’t think you had, Mister Reese. Now then, I believe Korbal Broach is ready?’
Korbal Broach nodded. ‘Yes, Bauchelain. Everybody I’ve killed and worked on since we got here is now in the street outside.’
‘Ah, excellent … yes, I think I hear the screaming begin. Mister Reese?’
Emancipor gathered the traces. The four black horses, their hides steaming as was their wont, lifted their heads, mouths opening as they sank their fangs into the bits, eyes flaring a lurid, blazing amber. He flicked the straps. ‘Move along now,’ he said, making clicking noises.
Mortari’s head was now swollen on the other side, but Plaintly Grasp was relieved to see him smiling. Le Groutt’s jaw had been unhinged by Barunko’s punch and was shifted well off to one side, so that the lower half of his face was misaligned with the upper half. He could now close his mouth with nary a single clack of teeth, a trick that made even Barunko giggle.
Lurma Spilibus had also regained consciousness and was even now creeping stealthily towards the postern door they had passed through earlier that night. Watching Lurma slip from side to side in the narrow corridor filled Plaintly with an almost overwhelming sense of well-being.
‘Another successful mission by the Party of Five,’ she said, glancing at Symon The Head Niksos. ‘Into the very palace itself and back out again! Another legend to our name, friends. I don’t know why we ever split up in the first place.’
‘Artistic differences,’ said Symon. ‘Overblown egos, too much drugs and hard liquor.’
‘No,’ Plaintly said, scowling, ‘that’s what ruined The Seven Thieves of The Baker’s Dozen and the Fancy Pillagers.’
‘And the Masons, too,’ added Barunko.
Symon frowned. ‘What masons?’
‘The Grand High Order of the Wax Masons,’ said Barunko, rolling up a sleeve to reveal a tattoo of a bee on his forearm. ‘I was Chief Rumpah of the Lavender Hive of the Full Moon.’
‘You were a Honeymooner?’ Symon asked, eyes widening. ‘I never knew!’
‘Once a month at the third bell before midnight,’ said Barunko, ‘I ate a basketful of lavender flowers and then bared my ass to the heavens, letting out aromatic farts – none of the others could fart as many times as me! That’s when the jealousy started, and Borbos started sneaking in lima beans and cabbage to try and beat me so I had to kill him, right? Since he was a cheater! And besides, his farts were killing bees!’
‘You had a whole secret life!’ Symon accused Barunko. ‘And you didn’t tell any of us!’
Barunko blinked sleepily. ‘Everything masons do is secret. That’s the whole point of it. Being, uh, secret. And secretive, and keeping secrets, too. I drink a bottle of d’bayang oil every day to keep me from knowing my own secrets! I think,’ he added, ‘it’s wearing off.’
‘How can you tell?’ Symon asked.
‘Well, I can see straight, for one.’
Lurma hissed impatiently from the door and then waved them over.
‘Granma used to keep a kitten up her—’
‘Not now, Mortari!’ hissed Lurma, scowling, ‘I can hear a crowd out there! In the street! They’re partying or something – did we miss a fête? Never mind, we need to slink out, quiet like, so nobody notices us, and just blend in with the crowd, in case guards are watching or something.’
‘Our last challenge,’ said Plaintly. ‘We can do it! The Party of Five went and retrieved the Head of the Thieves’ Guild! Imagine that!’