A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 4

'Are you the foreman
of the camp, sir?' he asked, after a deferential half-bow to
the nobleman. At the answering nod, Murillio continued,
'Very good. I am here in search of a young boy, name of
Harllo, who was sold to your camp a few weeks back.' He
quickly raised a gloved hand. 'No, I have no desire to
challenge the propriety of that arrangement. Rather, I wish
to purchase the boy's freedom, and so deliver him back to
his, er, terribly distressed parents.'
    'Do ye now?' The foreman looked over at the nobleman.
    Yes, Murillio thought he might know this young man.
    'You are the one named Murillio,' the nobleman said,
with an odd glitter in his gaze.
    'You have the better of me—'
    'That goes without saying. I am the principal investor
of this operation. I am also a councillor. Gorlas Vidikas of
House Vidikas.'
    Murillio bowed a second time, as much to hide his
dismay as in proper deference. 'Councillor Vidikas, it is a
pleasure meeting you.'
    'Is it? I very much doubt that. It took me a few moments
to place you. You were pointed out, you see, a couple of
years back, at some estate fête.'
    'Oh? Well, there was a time when I was—'
'You were on a list,' Gorlas cut in.
    'A what?'
    'A hobby of a friend of mine, although I doubt he would
have seen it as a hobby. In fact, if I was so careless as to use
that word, when it came to his list, he'd probably call me
out.'
    'I am sorry,' Murillio said, 'but I'm afraid I do not know
what you are talking about. Some sort of list, you said?'
    'Likely conspirators,' Gorlas said with a faint smile,
'in the murder of Turban Orr, not to mention Ravyd
Lim – or was it some other Lim? I don't recall now, but
then, that hardly matters. No, Turban Orr, and of course
the suspicious suicide of Lady Simtal – all on the same
night, in her estate. I was there, did you know that? I saw
Turban Orr assassinated with my own eyes.' And he was
in truth smiling now, as if recalling something yielding
waves of nostalgia. But his eyes were hard, fixed like sword
points. 'My friend, of course, is Hanut Orr, and the list is
his.'
    'I do recall attending the Simtal fête,' Murillio said, and
in his mind he was reliving those moments after leaving
the Lady's bedchamber – leaving her with the means by
which she could take her own life – and his thoughts, then,
of everything he had surrendered, and what it might mean
for his future. Appropriate, then, that it should now return
to crouch at his feet, like a rabid dog with fangs bared.
'Alas, I missed the duel—'
    'It was no duel, Murillio. Turban Orr was provoked. He
was set up. He was assassinated, in plain view. Murder, not
a duel – do you even comprehend the difference?'
    The foreman was staring back and forth between them
with all the dumb bewilderment of an ox.
    'I do, sir, but as I said, I was not there to witness the
event—'
    'You call me a liar, then?'
    'Excuse me?' Gods below, ten years past and he would
have handled this with perfect grace and mocking equanimity,
and all that was ruffled would be smoothed over,
certain debts accepted, promises of honouring those debts
not even needing explicit enunciation. Ten years past
and—
    'You are calling me a liar.'
    'No, I do not recall doing so, Councillor. If you say
Turban Orr was assassinated, then so be it. As for my
somehow conspiring to bring it about, well, that is itself
a very dangerous accusation.' Oh, he knew where this was
leading. He had known for some time, in fact. It was all
there in Gorlas Vidikas's eyes – and Murillio now recalled
where he had last seen this man, and heard of him. Gorlas
enjoyed duelling. He enjoyed killing his opponents. Yes,
he had attended one of this bastard's duels, and he had
seen—
    'It seems,' said Gorlas, 'we have ourselves a challenge to
honour here.' He gave a short laugh. 'When you retracted
your accusation, well, I admit I thought you were about
to tuck your tail between your legs and scuttle off down
the road. And perhaps I would've let you go at that – it's
Hanut's obsession, after all. Not mine.'
    Murillio said nothing, understanding how he had
trapped himself, with the foreman to witness the fact
that the demand for a duel had come from him, not
Gorlas Vidikas. He also understood that there had been
no chance, none at all, that Gorlas would have let him
go.
    'Naturally,' continued the councillor, 'I have no
intention of withdrawing my accusation – so either accept
it or call me out, Murillio. I have vague recollections that
you were