A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 1

curtains covered the walls, and the air was musty with old sweat. Krute led him into the back room, which if anything was more rank and stifling than the first. The goldsmith dropped the curtain between the two rooms and faced Murillio.
    'Move quickly! I've laid out a horde of fool's gold and worthless stones on the counter out front. If any sharp-eyed customer marks them this hole will be finished.' He kicked at the back wall and a panel swung from its hinges. 'Crawl through, dammit, and tell Rallick that the Guild is not pleased with his generosity regarding our secrets. Go!'
    Murillio fell to his knees and pushed his way through the portal, the earthen floor damp beneath his hands and staining his knees. He groaned his distaste as the door swung down behind him, then climbed to his feet. Before him rose Hinter's Tower, its mould-ridden stone walls glistening in the dying light. An overgrown cobbled pathway led up to the arched entrance bereft of a door and heavy with shadows. Of the chamber within Murillio saw only darkness.
    Roots from the scraggy scrub oaks lining the path had pushed most of the cobbles up from the earth, making the way treacherous. After a cautious minute Murillio arrived at the doorway. He narrowed his gaze and tried to pierce the darkness. 'Rallick?' he hissed. 'Where the hell are you?'
    A voice spoke behind him. 'You're late.'
    Murillio spun, a long, thin duelling rapier in his left hand rasping from its sheath and sweeping low into guard position, a main-gauche appearing in his right hand as he dropped into a defensive crouch, then relaxed. 'Dammit, Rallick!'
    The assassin grunted in amusement, eyeing the rapier's razor-sharp tip, which had but a moment earlier hovered inches from his solar plexis. 'Good to see your reflexes have not dulled, friend. All that wine and those pastries seem not to have girdled you ... much.'
    Murillio resheathed his weapons. 'I expected to find you in the tower.'
    Eyes widening, Rallick said, 'Are you mad? The place is haunted.'
    'You mean that's not just a story you assassins made up to keep people away?'
    Rallick turned and made his way to a lower terrace that had once overlooked the garden. White stone benches squatted in the wiry yellow grass like the stained bones of some gargantuan beast. Below the terrace, Murillio saw as he joined the assassin, sprawled a muddy, algae-filled pond. Frogs croaked and mosquitoes buzzed in the tepid air. 'Some nights,' Rallick said as he brushed dead leaves from one of the benches, 'wraiths crowd the entrance – you can walk right up to them, listen to their pleas and threats. They all want out.' He sat down.
    Murillio remained standing, his gaze on the tower. 'What of Hinter himself? Does his wraith number among them?'
    'No. The madman sleeps within, or so it's said. The wraiths are trapped in the sorcerer's nightmares – he holds on to them, and even Hood cannot draw them to his cold bosom. Do you wish to know where those wraiths have come from, Murillio?' Rallick grinned. 'Enter the tower, and you'll discover it first hand.'
    Murillio had been about to go into the tower when Rallick had surprised him. 'Thanks for the warning,' he snapped sarcastically, gathering his cloak and sitting down.
    Rallick waved the mosquitoes from his face. 'Well?'
    'I have them,' Murillio said. 'Lady Orr's most trusted hand-servant
    delivered them this afternoon.' He removed from inside his cloak a bamboo
    tube tied in blue ribbon. 'Two invitations to Lady Simtal's Fete, as promised.'
    'Good.' The assassin looked quickly at his friend. 'You've not seen Kruppe's nose twitch?'
    'Not yet. Ran into him this afternoon. Seems Crokus is making some bizarre demands. Of course,' Murillio added, scowling, 'who can tell when Kruppe's caught wind of something? In any case, I've seen nothing to suggest the slippery little gnome suspects we're up to anything.'
    'What was that you said about Crokus making bizarre demands?'
    'A peculiar thing, that,' Murillio mused. 'When I dropped by the Phoenix Inn this afternoon Kruppe was delivering to the lad the pickings from his last job. Now, surely Crokus hasn't abandoned Kruppe as his fence – we all would've caught wind of that.'
    'That was from an estate, wasn't it? Whose?' Rallick asked.
    'D'Arle's,' Murillio answered, then his eyebrows rose. 'Kiss of Gedderone! The D'Arle maiden! The ripe one with the cheeks – she's being shown at damn near every gathering, all the frilly lads leaving a trail for the