A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 3

find.'
    'Grievances?'
    'Every one of them, and I'm pretty certain they are all legitimate. Granted, a few probably deserved their banishment from the trade.'
    'Most de-certifications are political, Bugg. Just be sure none of them are incompetent. All we need is for them to keep a secret, and for that, spite against the guilds is the best motivation.'
    'I'm not entirely convinced. Besides, we've had some warnings from the guilds.'
    'In person?'
    'Delivered missives. So far. Your left knee will stay warm.'
    'Warm? It's hot out there, Bugg, despite what your old rheumy bones tell you.'
    'Well, they're trousers for every season.'
    'Really? Assure the guilds we're not out to underbid. In fact, the very opposite. Nor do we pay our crew higher rates. No benefits, either—'
    'Barring a stake in the enterprise.'
    'Say nothing of that, Bugg. Look at the hairs on my right thigh. They're standing on end.'
    'It's the contrast they don't like.'
    'The guilds?'
    'No, your hairs. The guilds just want to know where by the Errant I came from. And how dare I register a company.'
    'Don't worry about that, Bugg. Once they find out what you're claiming to be able to do, they'll be sure you'll fail and so ignore you thereafter. Until you succeed, that is.'
    'I'm having second thoughts.'
    'About what?'
    'Put the skirt back on.'
    'I'm inclined to agree with you. Find some more wool. Preferably the same colour, although that is not essential, I suppose. In any case, we have a meeting with the three darlings this evening.'
    'Risky.'
    'We must be circumspect.'
    'That goes both ways. I stole that wool.'
    Tehol wrapped the sheet once more about his waist. 'I'll be back down later to collect you. Clean up around here, will you?'
    'If I've the time.'
    Tehol climbed the ladder to the roof.
    The sun's light was deepening, as it edged towards the horizon, bathing the surrounding buildings in a warm glow. Two artists had set up easels on the Third Tier, competing to immortalize Tehol and his bed. He gave them a wave that seemed to trigger a loud argument, then settled down on the sun-warmed mattress. Stared up at the darkening sky.
    He had seen his brother Brys at the Drownings. On the other side of the canal, in conversation with Gerun Eberict. Rumour had it that Gerun was accompanying the delegation to the Tiste Edur. Hardly surprising. The King needed that wild man out of the city.
    The problem with gold was the way it crawled. Where nothing else could. It seeped out from secrets, flowered in what should have been lifeless cracks. It strutted when it should have remained hidden, beneath notice. Brazen as any weed between the cobbles, and, if one was so inclined, one could track those roots all the way down. Sudden spending, from kin of dead hirelings, followed quickly – but not quickly enough – by sudden, inexplicable demises. A strange severing that left the king's inquisitors with no-one to question, no-one to torture to find the source of the conspiracy. Assassination attempts were no small thing, after all, especially when the king himself was the target. Extraordinary, almost unbelievable success – to have reached Diskanar's own bedchamber, to stand poised above the man, mere heartbeats from delivering death. That particular sorceror had never before shown such skill in the relevant arts. To conjure sand to fill the chests of two men was highest sorcery.
    Natural curiosity and possible advantage, these had been Tehol's motives, and he'd been much quicker than the royal inquisitors. A fortune, he had discovered, had been spent on the conspiracy, a life's savings.
    Clearly, only Gerun Eberict had known the full extent of the scheme. His hirelings would not have anticipated their employer's attacking them. Killing them. They'd fought back, and one had come close to succeeding. And the Finadd carried the scars still, lips and crooked teeth, to show the nearness of the thing.
    Immunity from conviction. So that Gerun Eberict could set out and do what he wanted to do. Judge and executioner, for crimes real and imagined, for offences both major and minor.
    In a way, Tehol admired the man. For his determination, if not his methods. And for devising and gambling all on a scheme that took one's breath away with its bold ... extremity.
    No doubt Brys had official business with the man. As King's Champion.
    Even so, worrying. It wouldn't do to have his young brother so close to Gerun Eberict.
    For if Tehol possessed a true enemy, a foe to match his