A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 1

there?'
    Crokus stared in confusion, then he glanced down at his hand. 'Oh, just a coin,' he explained, showing it to Kruppe. 'I picked it up the same night I thieved D'Arle's. Two-headed, see?'
    'Indeed? May Kruppe examine the peculiar item more closely?'
    Crokus obliged, then reached for the mug of wine. He leaned back. 'I was thinking of Orr's estate next,' he said casually, his eyes fixed on Kruppe.
    'Mmm.' Kruppe turned the coin in his hand again and again. 'Poorest quality cast,' he muttered. 'Crooked stamping, too. Orr's estate, you say? Kruppe advises caution. The house is well protected. The metallurgist who foundried this should have been hanged, indeed, probably was, thinks Kruppe. Black copper, no less. Cheap tin, temperatures all too cool. Favour me, Crokus? Peruse the scene in the street from yon door. If you spy a red and green merchant's wagon wobbling into town, Kruppe would be much obliged for such information.'
    Crokus rose and crossed the room to the door. Opening it he stepped outside and glanced around. Seeing no wagon in sight, the youth shrugged again and went back inside. He returned to the table. 'No merchant wagon.'
    'Ah, well,' Kruppe said. He set down the coin on the table. 'Altogether worthless, judges wise Kruppe. You may part with it at your leisure.'
    Crokus collected the coin and slipped it into his pocket. 'No, I'm keeping it. For good luck.'
    Kruppe looked up, his eyes bright, but Crokus had his attention on the mug in his hands. The fat man glanced away, sighing. 'Kruppe must needs depart immediately, if this eve's rendezvous is to be propitious for all involved.'
    Crokus drained his wine. 'We can head back together.'
    'Excellent.' Kruppe rose, pausing to brush crumbs from his chest. 'Shall we be off, then?' He looked up to see Crokus frowning down at his hand. 'Has something smitten the lad?' he asked quickly.
    Crokus started. He looked away guiltily, the colour rising in his face. 'No,' he mumbled. He glanced again at his hand. 'I must've picked up some wax somewhere,' he explained. He rubbed his hand on his leg and grinned sheepishly. 'Let's go.'
    'It will be a fine day for a walk, pronounces Kruppe, who is wise in all things.'
     
    White Gold's Round encircled an abandoned tower with a panoply of brightly dyed awnings. The goldsmith merchant shops, each with their own security guards loitering outside, faced out on the round street, the aisles between them narrow cracks leading to the tower's ruined compound.
    The many tales of death and madness surrounding Hinter's Tower and its environs kept it empty and, uppermost in the minds of the goldsmiths, an unlikely approach to their precious stores.
    As the afternoon waned towards dusk, the Round's crowds thinned and the private guards grew more wary. Iron grilles rattled into place over storefronts here and there, and among the few that remained open, torches were ignited.
    Murillio entered the Round from the Third Tier Road, pausing every now and then to examine a shopkeeper's wares. Wrapped in a shimmering blue cloak from the Malle Waste, Murillio knew his ostentatious display of wealth would do much to allay suspicion.
    He came to one shop in particular, framed on either side by unlit stores. The goldsmith, narrow-faced and pebble-nosed, leaned hawkishly on his counter, his weathered hands before him bearing tiny grey scars that looked like raven tracks on mud. One finger tapped a restless beat. Murillio approached, meeting the man's beetle eyes.
    'Is this the shop of Krute of Talient?'
    'I'm Krute,' the goldsmith grated sourly, as if disgruntled with his lot in life. 'Talient pearls, set in Bloodgold from the mines of Moap and Belt, none other to be found in all Darujhistan.' He leaned forward and spat past Murillio, who involuntarily stepped to one side.
    'No customers this day?' he asked, pulling a handkerchief from his sleeve and touching his lips.
    Krute's gaze tightened. 'Only one,' he said. 'Perused a cache of Goaliss gems, rare as dragon's milk and suckled from rock as grim. A hundred slaves lost to each stone prised from the angry veins.' Krute's shoulders jerked and his eyes darted. 'Out the back I keep them, lest temptation spatter the street with blood, and like.'
    Murillio nodded. 'Sound practice. Did he purchase any?'
    Krute grinned, revealing blackened stumps for teeth. 'One, but not the best. Come, I'll show you.' He went to the side door and opened it. 'Through here, then.'
    Murillio entered the shop. Black