A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 4
make sure the barracks remained empty
– of course it did, they were out there guarding things! He
padded across to the back window. Unlatched it and eased
out the shutters. Another quick, darting look, outside
this time. Estate wall not ten paces opposite. Main building
to his left, stables to his right. Was this area part of
their rounds? It certainly should be. Well, if he moved fast
enough, right this moment—
Hitching himself up on to the window sill, Torvald Nom
edged out and reached up for the eaves-trough. He tested
his weight on it and, satisfied at the modest creak, quickly
pulled himself up and on to the sloped roof. Reached back
down and carefully closed the shutters.
He rolled on to his back and waited. He'd wait, yes, until
the two monsters tramped past.
The clay tiles dug into his shoulder blades. Was that
the scuff of boots? Was that the whisper of linen sweeping
the cobbles? Was that – no, it wasn't, he wasn't hearing a
damned thing. Where had his damned compound guards
gone? He sat up, crept his way to the peak of the roof.
Peered out on to the grounds – and there they were, playing
dice against the wall to one side of the gate.
He could fire them for that! Why, even Studlock
wouldn't be able to—
And there he was, Studious himself, floating across
towards his two cohorts. And his voice drifted back to
Torvald Nom.
'Any change in the knuckles, Lazan?'
'Oh yes,' the man replied. 'Getting worse. Options fast
diminishing.'
'How unfortunate.'
Madrun Badrun grunted and then said, 'We had our
chance. Go north or go south. We should've gone north.'
'That would not work, as you well know,' said Studious
Lock. 'Where are your masks?'
Lazan Door flung the bone dice against the wall again,
bent to study the results.
'We tossed 'em,' answered Madrun.
'Make new ones.'
'We don't want to, Studious, we really don't.'
'That goes without saying, but it changes nothing.'
Oh, Torvald suspected he could crouch here and listen
to the idiots all night. Instead, he needed to take advantage
of their carelessness. He eased back down the slope of the
roof, lifted himself into a crouch, and eyed the main building
– and, look, a balcony. Well, that wasn't wise, was it?
Now, could he make the leap without making any
noise? Of course he could – he'd been a thief for years, a
successful thief, too, if not for all the arrests and fines and
prison time and slavery and the like. He paused, gauging
the distance, deciding which part of the rail he'd reach for,
then launched himself across the gap.
Success! And virtually no noise at all. He dangled for
a moment, then pulled himself on to the balcony. It was
narrow and crowded with clay pots snarled with dead
plants. Now, he could work the locks and slip in on this
floor, taking the inside route to the level above. That
would be simplest, wouldn't it? Riskier scaling the outside
wall, where a chance glance from any of the three fools
still jabbering away just inside the gate might alight upon
him. And the last thing he wanted was to see any of them
draw swords (not that he recalled seeing them wearing
any).
He tested the balcony door. Unlocked! Oh, things would
indeed have to change. Why, he could just saunter inside
and find himself—
'Please, Captain, take a seat.'
She was lounging in a plush chair, barely visible in the
dark room. Veiled? Yes, veiled. Dressed in some long loose
thing, silk perhaps. One long-fingered hand, snug in a grey
leather glove, held a goblet. There was a matching chair
opposite her.
'Pour yourself some wine – yes, there on the table. The
failure of that route, from the roof of the annexe, is that the
roof is entirely visible from the window of any room on this
side of the house. I assume, Captain, you were either testing
the security of the estate, or that you wished to speak
with me in private. Any other alternatives, alas, would be
unfortunate.'
'Indeed, Mistress. And yes, I was testing . . . things.
And yes,' he added as, summoning as much aplomb as he
could manage, he went over to pour himself a goblet full
of the amber wine, 'I wished to speak with you in private.
Concerning your castellan and the two new compound
guards.'
'Do they seem . . . excessive?'
'That's one way of putting it.'
'I would not want to be discouraging.'
He sat down. 'Discouraging, Mistress?'
'Tell me, are my two gate guards as incompetent as they
appear to be?'
'That would be quite an achievement, Mistress.'
'It would, yes.'
'It may surprise
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