A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 1

footsteps.
    Lady Simtal spoke behind him. 'I would rather you'd permitted one of my servants to inform me of your arrival, Councilman. Allow me the privilege of escorting you into the main chamber.' She slipped her arm through his.
    'A moment,' he muttered, eyes on the figure now emerging from the carriage. 'It's the alchemist's carriage,' he said, 'but that's hardly Baruk, now, is it?'
    Lady Simtal looked. 'Trake unleashed!' she gasped. 'Who would that be?'
    'Baruk's guest,' Orr said drily.
    Her grip bit into his arm. 'I'm aware of his privilege, Councilman. Tell me, have you seen this one before?'
    The man shrugged. 'He's masked. How could I tell?'
    'How many men do you know, Turban, who are seven feet tall and wear two-handed swords strapped to their backs?' She squinted. 'That white hair, do you think it's part of the mask?'
    The councilman did not reply. He watched as Baruk emerged behind the stranger. The alchemist's mask was a conservative silver-inlaid half-shield that no more than covered his eyes. An obvious statement denying duplicity. Turban Orr grunted, knowing well that his suspicions about the alchemist's influence and power were accurate. His eyes returned to the stranger. His mask was that of a black dragon, lacquered with fine silver-traced highlights; somehow the dragon's expression seemed ... sly.
    'Well?' Lady Simtal demanded. 'Are we going to linger out here all night? And where's your dear wife, anyway?'
    'Ill,' he said distractedly. He smiled at her. 'Shall we introduce ourselves to the alchemist's guest? And have I complimented you yet on your attire?'
    'You haven't,' she said.
    'A black panther suits you, Lady.'
    'But of course it does,' she replied testily, as Baruk and his guest strode down the paved walk towards them. She disengaged her arm and stepped forward. 'Good evening, Alchemist Baruk. Welcome,' she added to the black-dragon-masked man. 'An astonishing presentation. Have we met?'
    'Good evening, Lady Simtal,' Baruk said, bowing. 'Councilman Turban Orr. Permit me to introduce,' he hesitated, but the Tiste Andii had been firm on this, 'Lord Anomander Rake, a visitor to Darujhistan.' The alchemist waited to see if the councilman would recognize the name.
    Turban Orr bowed formally. 'On behalf of the City Council, welcome, Lord Anomander Rake.'
    Baruk sighed. Anomander Rake, a name known by poets and scholars, but not, it appeared, by councilmen.
    Orr continued, 'As a lord, I assume you hold title to land?' He almost stepped back as the dragon's visage swung to regard him. Deep blue eyes fixed on his.
    'Land? Yes, Councilman, I hold title. However, my title is honorary, presented to me by my people.' Rake looked past Orr's shoulder to the room beyond the wide doorway. 'It seems, Lady, that the evening is well under way.'
    'Indeed.' She laughed. 'Come, join in the festivities.'
    Baruk breathed another relieved sigh.
     
    Murillio had to admit that Kruppe's choice of mask suited him perfectly. He found himself grinning behind his feather-decked peacock mask in spite of his trepidation. He stood near the opened doorway leading out to the patio and garden, a goblet of light wine in one hand, the other hitched in his belt.
    Rallick leaned against the wall beside him, arms crossed. His mask was that of a Catlin tiger, idealized to mimic the god Trake's image. Murillio knew the assassin let the wall bear his weight out of exhaustion rather than from a lazy slouch. He wondered yet again if matters would fall to him. The assassin stiffened suddenly, eyes on the entrance across from them.
    Murillio craned to see past the crowd. There, the hawk. He murmured, 'That's Turban Orr all right. Who's he with?'
    'Simtal,' Rallick growled. 'And Baruk, and some monster of a man wearing a dragon's mask – and armed.'
    'Baruk?' Murillio laughed nervously. 'Let's hope he doesn't recognize us. It wouldn't take him a second to put everything together.'
    'It doesn't matter,' Rallick said. 'He won't stop us.'
    'Maybe you're right.' Then Murillio almost dropped his glass. 'Hood's Weary Feet!'
    Rallick hissed between his teeth. 'Dammit! Look at him! He's heading straight for them!'
     
    Lady Simtal and Turban Orr excused themselves, leaving Baruk and Rake momentarily alone in the middle of the chamber. People moved around them, some nodding deferentially at Baruk but all keeping their distance. A crowd gathered around Simtal where she stood at the foot of the winding staircase, eager with questions regarding