A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 3

man push his way through the crowd,
then he glanced back at Temper. 'He got a real name?'
    'I'm sure of it,' Temper replied, turning away.
     
    Three shadows huddled round a table in the far corner.
They hadn't been there a moment earlier, Sergeant Hellian
was sure of that. Maybe. They didn't look to be drinking
anything, which was suspicious enough, and those black
murky heads drawn together whispered of conspiracy,
nefarious plans, malicious intentions, but if they were
speaking she could hear nothing of it and the gloom was
such that she could not see their mouths move. Assuming
they had mouths.
    The whore at the other table was playing a game of
Troughs. With no-one.
    Hellian leaned closer to her prisoner. 'This place is
strange, if you ask me.'
    Brows lifted marginally. 'Really? Wraiths and ghosts, one
haggardly whore and a demon behind the bar—'
    'Watch who you're callin' haggardly,' the woman
growled as black round stones bounced in the trough of
their own accord. She scowled at the result and muttered,
'You're cheatin', aren't ya? I swear it and I meant what I
said – if I catch you at it, Hormul, I'm buying a candle wi'
your name on it.'
    Hellian looked over at the bar. The demonic owner, back
into his scrawny, puny shape, was moving back and forth
behind the counter, only his head visible. He seemed to be
eating wedges of some kind of yellow fruit, his face twisting
as he sucked all the juice from each wedge, then flung
the rind over a shoulder. Back and forth, wedge
after wedge. 'So who let him loose?' she demanded. 'Ain't
there supposed to be some master nearby? Don't they get
summoned and then bound? You're a priest, you're
supposed to know about this stuff.'
    'It so happens that I do,' Banaschar replied. 'And yes,
normally it's how you d'scribed.' He rubbed at his face, then
continued, 'Here's my guess, Sergeant. Was Kellanved
'imself conjured this demon, probbly as a bodyguard, or
e'en a bouncer. Then he left, and the demon took over the
business.'
    'Ridiculous. What do demons know 'bout running a
business? You're lying. Now drink up, suspect, an' then
we'll have one more an' then we leave this madhouse.'
    'How can I c'nvince you, Sergeant? I need to get to
Mock's Hold. The fate of the world depends on it—'
    'Ha, that's a good one. Let me tell you 'bout the fate o'
the world. Hey, barkeep! You, head, more ale, damn you!
Look at them shadows, suspect, they're what it's all about.
Hidin' behind every scene, behind every throne, behind
every bath-tub. Making plans and nothing but plans and
plans while the rest of us, we go down the drain, chokin'
along leaking lead pipes and out into the swill, where we
drown. Countin' coin, that's what they do. Coin we can't
e'en see, but it's how they measure us, the scales, I mean, a
sliver in the dish a soul in the other one, evened out, you
see. What's the fate o' the world, suspect?' She made a
gesture with her hand, index finger corkscrewing, spiralling
round and round, then downward. 'Wi' them in charge, it's
all goin' down. An' the joke on 'em is this – they're goin'
with it.'
    'Listen, woman. Those are wraiths. Creatures of shadow.
They're not making plans. They're not counting
coins. They're just hanging around—'
    As if on cue, the three shadows rose, chairs audibly
scraping back, drew cloaks tight, hooded faces hidden in
darkness, then filed out the door.
    Hellian snorted.
    The barkeep arrived with another pitcher.
    'All right,' sighed Banaschar, closing his eyes. 'Arrest me.
Throw me in some dungeon. Let me rot with the worms
and rats. You're abs'lutely right, Sergeant. Headfirst down
the drain – here, lemme top you up.'
    'Now you're talkin', suspect.'
     
    Kalam's forearm hammered into the Claw's veiled face,
shattering the nose and driving the head against the wall.
Bone collapsed with a crunch and the attacker slumped.
Spinning round, Kalam made his way quickly along the
wall of the building, tracked by a half-dozen crossbow
quarrels that struck the bricks with snaps and sounds of
splintering. He could hear weapons clashing in the alley
ahead and to his right – where the Adjunct and T'amber
had retreated under a fusillade of missiles from across the
street – they had been shepherded into an ambush.
    Three Hands were rushing to close the trap. Swearing,
Kalam reached the mouth of the alley. A quick glance
revealed the two women locked in a vicious close-in battle
with four assassins – and in that momentary glance one of
those four fell to