A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 4

'The Malazans are safe – at
least from the Guild. Of course, that just means the client
will seek, er, other means.'
    'Yes, about your client.'
    'I cannot—'
    'No need to, Seba Krafar. I am well aware of the Master
Ironmonger's particular obsession.'
    'Lucky you,' Seba said in a growl – gods, whoever this
was still held him off the ground, and that grip did not
waver. 'Because,' he added – for he was still a brave man
– 'I'm not.'
    'If you were,' said the man, 'you would not be so eager to
take his coin, no matter how much he offered.'
    'Since you put it that way, perhaps those five councils
down there could buy him an accident.'
    'Generous offer, but suicidal on your part. No, I do not
hire people to do my dirty work.'
    Through gritted teeth – feeling was returning to his
limbs, like sizzling fire – Seba said, 'So I've gathered.'
    'We're done here,' the man said.
    'Unless you've other pressing business,' Seba managed,
and felt a slackening of that grip, and, vague beneath his
feet, the greasy cobblestones.
    'Very well,' said the voice, 'you've actually managed to
impress me, Seba Krafar. Reach up to that old lantern
hook, there on your left – you can hold yourself up until
the strength returns to your legs. It wouldn't do anything
for your already damaged dignity to have you fall now. Stay
facing the wall for ten steady breaths, eyes closed. I don't
want to have to change my mind about you.'
    'First impressions are never easy to live up to,' said Seba,
'but I'll do my best.'
    The hand pulled away, then returned to give his shoulder
a gentle pat.
    He stood, forehead pressed against the wall, eyes closed,
and counted ten slow breaths. Somewhere round the third
one, he caught the stench – oh, more than just muscles
let loose below his neck, and now he understood the
man's comments on dignity. Yes, plopping down on my arse
would've been most unpleasant.
    Sweat ran down both sides of his face. Glancing straight
down, he saw the small bag with its measly five coins.
    'Shit,' he muttered, 'I forgot to write him a receipt.'
    *
    Fisher waited at the mouth of the alley, until he saw the
Master Assassin delicately bend down to retrieve the bag.
    Agreement consummated.
    The Master Assassin, he was certain, would bother them
no more. As for Humble Measure, well, that man's downfall
would require something considerably more complicated.
But there was time.
    And this is the lesson here, dear friends. Even a man
such as Fisher kel Tath, for all his formidable, mysterious
qualities, was quite capable of grievous errors in judgement.
    Time then to return to K'rul's Bar. Perhaps Picker had
found her way back, into that cool flesh that scarcely drew
breath. If not, why, Fisher might have to do something
about that. Lost souls had a way of getting into trouble.
    Was this sufficient cause for his own carelessness? Perhaps.
Leaving the round and its crowds, he walked into
the narrow, shady Avenue of the Bullocks, threading between
the few hurrying passers-by – at night, this street
was notorious for muggings, and indeed, was it not but
two days ago that the City Guard had found yet another
battered corpse? There, before those very steps leading to
a shop selling square nails, rivets and wooden frames on
which to hang skinned things and other works worthy of
display. Even during the day this track was risky. It was the
shadows, you see—
    And out from one stepped a small, toad-visaged
apparition wearing a broad grin that split the very dark,
somewhat pocked face, reminding one of a boldly slashed
overripe melon. Seemingly balanced on this creature's
head was a bundle of bow-gut – no, it was hair – in which
at least three spiders nested.
    'You,' hissed the man, his eyes bright and then shifty,
and then bright once more.
    'None other,' said Fisher, with the faintest of sighs.
    'Of course not.' The head tilted but the hair did not
slide off. 'Another idiot – this city's full of them! "None
other." What kind of thing to say is that? If some other,
why, I'd not have leapt into his path, would I? Best keep
this simple.' The head righted itself, spiders adjusting their
perches to match. 'I bring word from my brilliant not-all-there
master.' A sudden whisper: 'Brilliant, yes, a word used
most advisedly; still, use it once and we're done with it for
ever.' He then raised his voice once more. 'When all this
is done—'
    'Excuse me,' cut in Fisher. 'When all what is done?'
    'This, of course! Foolish Iskaral – keep it