A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 4

do? No, Rallick, the point is, if I don't know it's
because I've been pushed out of things.'
    'You should be thankful for that.'
    'I don't need any patronizing shit from you, Rallick Nom.
You're all secrets now, nothing but secrets. But you'll live
here, with me, and eat what I cook, and what about me?
Oh, right, on the outside again, this time with you. Well, I
can't live like that, so you'd better go. Don't think ill of me
– I won't tell Seba about you.'
    'Can I not buy your retirement, Krute?'
    'No.'
    Rallick nodded and then walked to the door. 'Guard
yourself well, Krute.'
    'You too, Rallick.'
    *
    Emerging from the tenement building's narrow back door,
Rallick Nom stepped out into the rank, rubbish-filled
alley. His last venture into the world had seen him very
nearly killed by Crokus Younghand, and of his time spent
recovering at the Phoenix Inn, it was clear that no one
who'd known of his presence had said a thing – not Kruppe,
nor Coll, nor Murillio, nor Meese, or Irilta; the Guild had
not sniffed out his ignominious return. Even that wayward
cousin of his, Torvald, had said nothing – although why
that man had so vigorously avoided him was both baffling
and somewhat hurtful.
    Anyway, in a sense, Rallick remained invisible.
    He paused in the alley. Still light, a ribbon of brightness
directly above. It felt odd, to be outside in the day, and he
knew it would not be long before someone caught sight of
him, recognizing his face – eyes widening with astonishment
– and word would race back to Seba Krafar. And
then?
    Well, the Master would probably send one of his lieutenants
to sound Rallick out – what did he want? What did
he expect from the Guild? There might be an invitation
as well, the kind that was deadly either way. Accept it and
walk into an ambush. Reject it and the hunt would begin.
There were few who could take down Rallick one on one,
but that wouldn't be the preferred tactic in any case. No, it
would be a quarrel to the back.
    There were other places he could hide – he could
probably walk right back into the Finnest House. But then,
Krute was not the only one getting impatient. Besides,
Rallick had never much liked subterfuge. He'd not used it
when he'd been active in the Guild, after all – except when
he was working, of course.
    No, the time had come to stir things awake. And if
Seba Krafar's confidence had been rattled by a handful of
rancorous Malazans, well, he was about to be sent reeling.
    The notion brought a faint smile to Rallick's lips. Yes, I
am back.
    He set out for the Phoenix Inn.
    I am back, so let's get this started, shall we?
    Echoing alarms at the blurred border between the Daru
and Lakefront districts, a half-dozen streets behind them
now as Barathol – holding Chaur's hand as he would a
child's – dragged the giant man through the late afternoon
crowds. They had passed a few patrols, but word had yet
to outdistance the two fugitives, although it was likely
that this flight would, ultimately, prove anything but
surreptitious – guards and bystanders both could not help
but recall the two huge foreigners, one onyx-skinned, the
other the hue of stained rawhide, rushing past.
    Barathol had no choice but to dispense with efforts at
stealth and subterfuge. Chaur was bawling with all the indignant
outrage of a toddler unjustly punished, astonished
to discover that not all things were cute and to be indulged
by adoring caregivers – that, say, shoving a sibling off a cliff
was not quite acceptable behaviour.
    He had tried calming Chaur down, but simple as Chaur
was, he was quick to sense disapproval, and Barathol had
been unthinking and careless in expressing that disapproval
– well, rather, he had been shocked into carelessness
– and now the huge child would wail unto eventual
exhaustion, and that exhaustion was still a long way off.
    Two streets away from the harbour, three guards thirty
paces behind them suddenly raised shouts, and now the
chase was on for real.
    To Barathol's surprise, Chaur fell silent, and the smith
pulled him up alongside him as they hurried along. 'Chaur,
listen to me. Get back to the ship – do you understand?
Back to the ship, to the lady, yes? Back to Spite – she'll hide
you. To the ship, Chaur, understand?'
    A tear-streaked face, cheeks blotchy, eyes red, Chaur
nodded.
    Barathol pushed him ahead. 'Go. On your own – I'll
catch up with you. Go!'
    And Chaur went, lumbering, knocking people off their
feet until a path miraculously opened