A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 3

his way down. Not just me, then. Fiddler, you're
breaking my heart.
     
    Four Hands, weapons out, hooded eyes scanning in every
direction. Pearl stood above a body. The poor man's head
had been driven into the street, hard enough to turn it into
pulp, to push the jaw and the base of the skull into the
column of the neck between the shoulders, turing the spine
into a coiled, splintered mess.
    That was the one thing about Kalam Mekhar that one
tended to forget, or even more erroneously, disregard. The
bastard's animal strength.
    'Westward,' one of his lieutenants said in a whisper.
'Along Lightings, likely to the last gate. They will seek to
circle round, pulling loose our established ambushes—'
    'Not all of them,' Pearl murmured. 'I did not
for a moment believe he would attempt the direct
route. In fact, he's about to run into the bulk of my small
army.'
    The lieutenant actually chuckled – Pearl faced him,
stared for a long moment, then said, 'Take two Hands and
trail him. Don't close, just get in sight every now and then.
    Push them onward.'
    'They'll turn and ambush us, Clawmaster—'
    'Probably. Enjoy your evening. Now go.'
    An evil snicker would have been worse, but the chuckle
was bad enough.
    Pearl drew back the left sleeve of his loose silk shirt. The
head of the quarrel set in the wrist-strapped crossbow was
sheathed in thick wax. Easily pulled off when the time
was propitious. In the meantime, he would not risk any
possible contact with the paralt smeared on the head's
edges. No, this taste is for you, Kalam.
    You've eliminated sorcery, after all. So, you leave me little
choice, and no, I do not care about the Code.
    He rolled the sleeve back down, looked over at his two
chosen Hands, his favoured, elite assassins. Not one of
them a mage. Theirs was the most direct kind of talent.
Tall, well-muscled, a match for Kalam's brawn. 'We
position ourselves south of Admiral Bridge, at the edge of
the Mouse.'
    One spoke: 'You believe they will get that far,
Clawmaster?'
    Pearl simply turned away. 'Let's go.'
     
    Kalam edged down the low, narrow tunnel. He could see
the brush of the garden disguising the cave mouth ahead.
There were broken branches among it, and the air stank of
bile and blood. What's this, then? Weapons out, he drew
closer, came to the threshold.
    There had been a Hand, positioned around the tunnel
entrance. Five corpses, limbs sprawled. Kalam pushed
through the brush.
    They had been cut to pieces. Arms broken. Legs snapped.
Blood everywhere, still dripping from some low branches on
the tree commanding the abandoned orchard. Two had been
cleanly eviscerated, their intestines tumbled out, trailing
across the leaf-littered ground like bloated worms.
    Movement behind him and he turned. The Adjunct and
T'amber pushed their way into the clearing.
    'That was fast,' Tavore said in a whisper.
    'Not me, Adjunct.'
    'I'm sorry. I realized that. We have friends, it seems.'
    'Don't count on it,' Kalam said. 'This has the look of
vendetta – someone or ones took out a whole lot of anger
on these poor bastards. I don't think it has anything to do
with us. As you said, the Claw is a compromised
organization.'
    'Have they turned on themselves?'
    'Certainly looks that way.'
    'Still in our favour, Kalam.'
    'Well,' he muttered after a moment, 'that's not as important
as the revelation that taking the long way round
was anticipated. We've real trouble ahead, Adjunct.'
    'There are sounds,' T'amber said, 'from the top of the
well, I think. Hands. Two.'
    'Fast,' said Kalam, baring his teeth. 'They want to flush
us forward. To Hood with that. Stay here, you two.' He set
off back into the tunnel. Top of the well. Meaning you've got
to come down ... one at a time. You were impatient, fools.
And now it's going to cost you.
    Reaching the cistern, he saw the first set of moccasined
feet appear, dangling from the hole in the ceiling. Kalam
moved closer.
    The Claw dropped, landed lightly, and died with a knifeblade
through an eye socket. Kalam tugged his weapon free
and pulled the slumping corpse to one side. Looking up, he
waited for the next one.
    Then he heard, echoing down, a voice.
     
    Gathered round the well, the two Hands hesitated, looking
down into the darkness. 'Lieutenant said he'd call up,' one
of them hissed. 'I don't hear a thing down there.'
    There then came a faint call, three fast clicks. A recognized
signal. The assassins relaxed. 'Was checking out the
entrance, I guess – Kalam must have got past the