A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 4

slash of night visible between the buildings, as it
suddenly lit red and orange.
    It was pretty much the last thing he ever saw.
    As soon as he was past the fool, Gaz whirled round, his
right fingerless hand lashing out to crack with a crunch
against the base of his victim's neck. Bone against bone,
and it was not knuckles that broke – they were by now
too scarred, too calcined, for that. No, what snapped was
Hanut Orr's neck.
    Gaz was swinging with his other hand even as the body
crumpled, his left pounding into the man's forehead, flinging
the head back like a bulbous seed pod on a broken
stalk. Slap went the body, head bouncing once and then
lolling way too far to one side.
    He stared down, and then moaned. This was no drunk
who'd been leaning against a wall behind the inn. He
should have noted the man's tone when he'd warned him
off.
    This was a highborn.
    Gaz found he was breathing fast. A rapid pounding
in his chest, a sudden heat flooding through him. His
knuckles throbbed.
    'Thordy,' he whispered, 'I'm in deep trouble. Thordyyyy . . .'
    He looked up and down the alley, saw no one, and then
set off, stiff-legged, leaning far forward, his fingerless hands
drawn up under his chin. He was going home. Yes, he had
to get home, and be there all night, yes, he'd been there all
night—
    In trouble in trouble I'm in trouble now. Mages and
necromancers, guards everywhere – listen to the alarms
– they've found him already! Oh oh oh trouble, Thordy, so
much trouble . . .
    Councillor Coll had pushed him back on to the bar, then
down on to its battered surface. The severe arch forced by
the position had Hanut Orr's thug groaning in pain.
    'Is he waiting, then?' Coll asked, leaning close. 'Your
shitface boss – is he waiting outside?'
    The man understood loyalty, and he understood the
demands of raw survival, and of course there was no
contest between the two. He managed a nod and gasped,
'Alley. He's in the alley. There's another man, other side of
the street out front.'
    'And who are you all looking for?'
    'Any – uh – any one of you. No, wait. The assassin, the
one with the two knives – the one who just killed Gorlas
Vidikas.'
    The man saw Coll's broad, oddly puffy face twist into a
frown, and the heavy weight pressing down on his chest
– keeping him pinned on the countertop – eased back.
    'Meese, this one moves, kill him.'
    The woman with the absurd two-handed mace stepped
up, eyes flat and lifeless as they fixed on the thug. 'Give me
a reason,' she said.
    The thug simply shook his head and stayed right where
he was, leaning now against the rail.
    He watched as Coll shambled over to where stood the
short, round man in the red waistcoat. They spoke for
a time, in tones so low the man had no chance of overhearing
their conversation. And then Coll went behind
the bar and emerged a moment later with an antique
broadsword that looked like a perfect fit in those huge
hands. Trailed by the fat man, he marched out into the
kitchen, presumably for the back door.
    Well, Hanut Orr was an arrogant tyrant. So he got what
he wanted and a whole lot more. Things like that happen.
    The man suddenly recalled that he'd spilled nothing
about the two men waiting outside Coll's estate. Well, this
could work out just fine, so long as he managed to get out of
this damned inn before Coll got ambushed at his gate.
    Damned noisy in the city tonight – ah, yes, the last night
of the Gedderone Fête. Of course it was noisy, and dammit,
he wanted to be out there himself, partying, dancing,
squeezing soft flesh, maybe picking a fight or two – but
ones he could win, of course. Nothing like this crap—
    All at once Coll and the fat man were back, both looking
confused.
    'Sulty dear,' sang out the fat man, and one of the serving
wenches looked over – they all had themselves a quiet,
nervous audience among the half-dozen others in the
tavern, and so numerous sets of eyes watched as she headed
over. She was just rounding the nearest table when the
fat man said, 'It would appear that Hanut Orr has met an
untimely end – before we even arrived, alas for Coll's sake.
Best summon a guard—'
    She made a face. 'What? Out there? In the damned
streets? Sounds like ten thousand wolves have been let
loose out there, Kruppe!'
    'Sweet Sulty, Kruppe assures you no harm will come
to you! Kruppe assures, yes, and will warmly comfort too
upon your triumphant return!'
    'Oh now that's incentive,' and she turned round and
headed for the front door.