A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 4

wealthy man might claim innocence. Mitigating
circumstances, unexpected costs of production, the law of
supply and demand, and so on.'
    'Indeed, a plethora of justifications, making the waters so
very murky, and who then sees the blood?'
    'And yet, destitution results, with all its misery, its stresses
and anxieties, its foul vapours of the soul. It can be said
that the wealthy grain merchant wages subtle war.'
    Kruppe studied the wine through the crystal. 'And so the
poor remain poor and, mayhap, even poorer. The employed
but scarcely getting by cling all the harder to their jobs, even
unto accepting despicable working conditions – which in
turn permits the employers to fill their purses unto bulging,
thus satisfying whatever hidden pathetic inadequacies they
harbour. A balance can be said to exist, one never iterated,
whereby the eternal war is held in check, so as to avoid
anarchy. Should the grain merchant charge too high, then
revolution may well explode into life.'
    'Whereupon everyone loses.'
    'For a time. Until the new generation of the wealthy
emerge, to begin once again their predations on the
poor. Balance is framed by imbalances and so it seems
such things might persist for all eternity. Alas, in any
long view, one sees that this is not so. The structure
of society is far more fragile than most believe. To set
too much faith in its resilience is to know a moment of
pristine astonishment at the instant of its utter collapse
– before the wolves close in.' Kruppe raised one finger.
    'Yet, witness all these who would grasp hold of the crown,
to make themselves the freest and the wealthiest of them
all. Oh, they are most dangerous in the moment, as one
might expect. Most dangerous indeed. One is encouraged
to pray. Pray for dust.'
    'An end to it all.'
    'And a new beginning.'
    'I somehow expected more from you, my friend.'
    Kruppe smiled, reached down and patted the demon's
pebbly head. It blinked languidly. 'Kruppe maintains a
perspective as broad as his waistline, which, as you know,
is unceasing. After all, where does it begin and where does
it end?'
    'Any other momentous news?'
    'Cities live in haste. Ever headlong. Nothing changes
and everything changes. A murderer stalks Gadrobi
District, but Kruppe suspects you know of that. Assassins
plot. You know this too, friend Baruk. Lovers tryst or dream
of said trysts. Children belabour unknown futures. People
retire and others are retired, new careers abound and old
nemeses lurk. Friendships unfold while others unravel. All
in its time, most High Alchemist, all in its time.'
    'You do not put me at ease, Kruppe.'
    'Join me in a glass of this exquisite vintage!'
    'There are a dozen wards sealing the cellar – twice as
many as at your last visit.'
    'Indeed?'
    'You did not trip a single one.'
    'Extraordinary!'
    'Yes, it is.'
    The demon belched and the heady fragrance of smoked
eel wafted through the chamber. Even the demon wrinkled
its nostril slits.
    Kruppe produced, with a flourish, some scented candles.
    An intestinal confusion of pipes, valves, copper globes,
joins and vents dominated one entire end of the building's
main front room. From this bizarre mechanism came
rhythmic gasps (most suggestive), wheezes (inserting, as
it were, a more realistic contribution) and murmurs and
hissing undertones. Six nozzles jutted out, each one ready
for a hose attachment or extension, but at the moment all
shot out steady blue flame and this heated the crackling
dry air of the chamber so that both Chaur and Barathol
– working barebacked as they had been the entire day just
done – were slick with sweat.
    Most of the clutter in this decrepit bakery had now been
removed, or, rather, transferred from inside to the narrow
high-walled yard out at the back, and Chaur was on his
hands and knees using wet rags to wipe dust and old flour
from the well-set pavestone floor. Barathol was examining
the brick bases of the three humped ovens, surprised and
pleased to find, sandwiched between layers of brick, vast
slabs of pumice-stone. The interior back walls of the ovens
each contained fixtures for the gas that had been used as
fuel, with elongated perforated tubes projecting out beneath
the racks. Could he convert these ovens to low-heat
forges? Perhaps.
    The old copper mixing drums remained, lining one half
of the room's back wall, and would serve for quenching. He
had purchased an anvil from an inbound caravan from Pale,
the original buyer having, alas, died whilst the object