A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 4

doorway.
    The officer in the lead had the decency to look embarrassed.
    'Barathol Mekhar? By city order, this smithy is now under
temporary closure, and I am afraid I have to take you
into custody.'
    'The charge?'
    'Brought forward by the Guild of Smiths. Contravention
of proper waste disposal. It is a serious charge, I'm afraid.
You could lose your business.'
    'I don't understand,' Barathol said. 'I am making use of
the sewage drains – I spill nothing—'
    'The common drain, yes, but you should be using the
industrial drain, which runs alongside the common drain.'
    'This is the first I have heard of such a thing.'
    'Well,' said a voice behind the guards, 'if you were a
member of the Guild, you'd know all about it, wouldn't
you?'
    It was a woman who spoke, but Scillara could not see
past the men in the doorway.
    Barathol threw up his hands. 'Very well, I am happy to
comply. I will install the proper pipes—'
    'You may do so,' said the officer, 'once the charges are
properly adjudicated, fines paid, and so forth. In the meantime,
this establishment must be shut down. The gas valves
must be sealed. Materials and tools impounded.'
    'I see. Then let me make some arrangement for my
helper – somewhere to stay and—'
    'I am sorry,' cut in the officer, 'but the charge is against
both you and your apprentice.'
    'Not precisely,' said the unseen woman. 'The blacksmith
cannot have an apprentice unless he is a member of the
Guild. The two are colluding to undermine the Guild.'
    The officer's expression tightened. 'As she said, yes. I'm
not here to prattle on in the language of an advocate. I
do the arrest and leave one of my guards to oversee the
decommissioning of the establishment by a qualified crew.'
    'A moment,' said Barathol. 'You are arresting Chaur?'
    'Is that your apprentice's name?'
    'He's not my apprentice. He's a simpleton—'
    'Little more than a slave, then,' snapped the unseen official
of the Guild. 'That would be breaking a much more
serious law, I should think.'
    Scillara watched as two men went to the yard and
returned with a wide-eyed, whimpering Chaur. Barathol
attempted to console him, but guards stepped in between
them and the officer warned that, while he didn't want to
make use of shackles, he would if necessary. So, if everyone
could stay calm and collected, they could march out of here
like civilized folk. Barathol enquired as to his right to hire
an advocate and the officer replied that, while it wasn't
a right as such, it was indeed a privilege Barathol could
exercise, assuming he could afford one.
    At that point Scillara spoke up and said, 'I'll find one for
you, Barathol.'
    A flicker of relief and gratitude in his eyes, replaced
almost immediately by his distress over the fate of Chaur,
who was now bawling and tugging his arms free every time
a guard sought to take hold of him.
    'Let him alone,' said Barathol. 'He'll follow peacefully
enough – just don't grab him.'
    And then the squad, save one, all marched out with
their prisoners. Scillara fell in behind them, and finally saw
the Guild official, a rather imposing woman whose dignity
was marred by the self-satisfied smirk on her face.
    As Scillara passed behind the woman, she took hold of
her braid and gave it a sharp downward tug.
    'Ow!' The woman whirled, her expression savage.
    'Sorry,' Scillara said. 'Must have caught on my bracelet.'
    And as Scillara continued on down the street, she heard,
from the squad officer: 'She's not wearing any bracelet.'
    The Guild woman hissed and said, 'I want her—'
And then Scillara turned the corner. She did not expect
the officer to send anyone in pursuit. The man was doing
his job and had no interest in complicating things.
    'And there I was,' she muttered under her breath, 'about
to trap a very fine man in my messed-up web. Hoping
– praying – that he'd be the one to untangle my life.' She
snorted. 'Just my luck.'
    From rank superstitions to scholarly treatises, countless
generations had sought understanding of those among
them whose minds stayed undeveloped, childlike or,
indeed, seemingly trapped in some other world. God
and demon possession, stolen souls, countless chemical
imbalances and unpleasant humours, injuries sustained
at birth or even before; blows to the head as a child;
fevers and so on. What could never be achieved, of course
(barring elaborate, dangerous rituals of spirit-walking), was
to venture into the mind of one thus afflicted.
    It would be easy to assume an inner world of