A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 1

mop-boys. Oh, my! Our young thief is perchance smitten, and now keeps her baubles for himself. Of all the hopeless dreams a boy could have, he's reached for the worst.'
    'Maybe,' Rallick said quietly. 'Maybe not. A word to his uncle ...'
    Murillio's pained expression lifted. 'A nudge in the right direction? Yes, finally! Mammot will be pleased—'
    'Patience,' Rallick interjected. 'Turning a thieving child into a man of standing and learning will require more work than a swooning heart will manage.'
    Murillio frowned. 'Well, forgive me for being so excited at the prospect of saving the lad's life.'
    Rallick's smile was soft. 'Never regret such pleasure,' he said.
    Catching the assassin's tone, Murillio sighed, the sharp edges of his sarcasm sinking away. 'It's been many years since we had so many things of hope to strive for,' he said quietly.
    'The path to one will be bloody,' Rallick said. 'Don't forget that. But, yes, it's been a long time. I wonder if Kruppe even remembers such days.'
    Murillio snorted. 'Kruppe's memory is revised hourly. All that holds him together is fear of being discovered.'
    Rallick's eyes darkened. 'Discovered?'
    His friend seemed far away but then he collected himself and smiled. 'Oh, worn suspicions, no more. He's a slippery one, is Kruppe.'
    Rallick chuckled at Murillio's mocking syntax. He studied the pond before them. 'Yes,' he agreed, after a time, 'he's the slippery one, all right.' He stood. 'Krute will be wanting to close up. The Round's asleep by now.'
    'Right.'
    The two men left the terrace, methane mists swirling around their legs. As they reached the path Murillio turned for a look at the tower's doorway, wondering if he could see the gibbering wraiths, but all he saw beneath the sagging arch was a wall of darkness. In some strange way he found that more disturbing than any horde of lost souls he might imagine.
     
    Bright morning sunlight flowed in from the broad windows of Baruk's study, and a warm wind slipped into the room carrying the smells and noises from the street below. The alchemist, still dressed in his nightclothes, sat on a high stool at the map table. He held a brush in one hand, dipping it now and again into an ornate silver inkwell.
    The red ink had been watered down. He painted wash on the map, covering the areas now held by the Malazan Empire. Fully one half of the map – the north half – was red. A small clear strip just south of Blackdog Forest marked Caladan Brood's forces, flanked on either side by two smaller patches indicating the Crimson Guard. The red wash surrounded these clear spots and extended down to engulf Pale, ending on the north edge of the Tahlyn Mountains.
    The street noises had become quite loud, Baruk noted, as he leaned close to the map to paint the red tide's southern border. Construction work, he concluded, hearing the squeal of winches and a voice bellowing at passers-by. The sounds died away, then there came a loud crack! Baruk jumped, his right forearm jerking out and knocking over the inkwell. The red ink poured across his map.
    Cursing, Baruk sat back. His eyes widened as he watched the spreading stain cover Darujhistan and continue south to Catlin. He stepped down from the stool, reaching for a cloth to wipe his hands, more than a little shaken by what could easily be taken as an omen. He walked across the chamber to the window, bent forward and looked down.
    A crew of workers was busy tearing up the street directly below. Two burly men swung picks while three others formed a line passing the shattered cobblestones to a growing pile on the pavement. The foreman stood nearby, his back to a wagon, studying a parchment scroll.
    Baruk frowned. 'Who's in charge of road maintenance?' he wondered aloud.
    A soft knock diverted his attention. 'Yes?'
    His servant, Roald, took a single step into the room. 'One of your agents has arrived, Lord.'
    Baruk flicked a glance at the map table. 'Have him wait a moment, Roald.'
    'Yes, Lord.' The servant stepped back and closed the door.
    The alchemist walked over to the table and rolled up the ruined map. From the hallway came a loud voice followed by a murmur. Baruk slid the map on to a shelf and turned in time to see the agent enter, on his trail a scowling Roald.
    Waving at Roald to leave, Baruk gazed down at the gaudily dressed man. 'Good day, Kruppe.'
    Roald stepped out and softly shut the door.
    'More than good, Baruk, dear friend of Kruppe. Truly wonderful! Have you partaken of the morn's