A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 4

And the man was close enough
to hear her add under her breath, 'Incentive to throw myself
into the jaws of the first wolf I see . . .'
    But out she went.
    The guard with the loving family and the aching chest
was at the intersection just on this side of the wall one
street away from the Phoenix Inn – and hurrying with
genuine alarm towards the sounds of destruction to the
south (the other raging fire in the Estate District was not
his jurisdiction) – when he heard someone shouting at him
and so turned, lifting high his lantern.
    A young woman was waving frantically.
    He hesitated, and then flinched at a howl so loud and so
close he expected to see a demon standing at his shoulder.
He jogged towards the woman.
    'For Hood's sake!' he shouted. 'Get yourself inside!'
    He saw her spin round and scamper for the entrance to
the Phoenix Inn. As he drew closer a flash of motion from
a facing alley mouth almost drew him round, but when he
shot the bull's eye in that direction, he saw no one. He
hurried on, breathing hard as he climbed the steps and
went inside.
    A short time and a tumble of words later, he followed
Councillor Coll and Kruppe into the alley, where they
gathered round the corpse of yet another councillor. Hanut
Orr, apparently.
    Wincing at the tightness that was closing like a vice
round his ribcage, the guard slowly squatted to examine
the wounds. Only two blows – which didn't sound like his
man – but then, the look of those wounds . . . 'I think he's
killed another one,' he muttered. 'Not long ago either.' He
looked up. 'And you two saw nothing?'
    Coll shook his head.
    Kruppe – a man the guard had always regarded askance,
with considerable suspicion, in fact – hesitated.
    'What? Speak, you damned thief.'
    'Thief? Aaii, such an insult! Kruppe was but observing
with most sharp eye the nature of said wounds upon forehead
and back of neck.'
    'That's how I know it's the same man as has been killing
dozens over the last few months. Some kind of foreign
weapon—'
    'Foreign? Not at all, Kruppe suggests. Not at all.'
    'Really? Do go on.'
    'Kruppe suggests, most vigilant and honourable guard,
that 'twas hands alone did this damage. Knuckles and no
more, no less.'
    'No, that's wrong. I've seen the marks a fist makes—'
    'But Kruppe did not say "fist". Kruppe was being more
precise. Knuckles, yes? As in knuckles unencumbered by
fingers . . .'
    The guard frowned, and then looked once more at
that bizarre elongated dent in Hanut Orr's forehead. He
suddenly straightened. 'Knuckles . . . but no fingers. But . . .
I know that man!'
    'Indeed?' Kruppe beamed. 'Best make haste then, friend,
and beware on this night of all nights, do beware.'
    'What? Beware what – what are you talking about?'
    'Why, the Toll, friend. Beware the Toll. Now go quickly
– we shall take this poor body inside, until the morning
when proper arrangements are, er, arranged. Such a
multitude of sorrows this night! Go, friend, hunt down
your nemesis! This is the very night for such a thing!'
    Everything was pulsing in front of the guard's eyes, and
the pain had surged from his chest into his skull. He was
finding it hard to so much as think. But . . . yes, he knew
that man. Gods, what was his name?
    It would come to him, but for now he hurried down the
alley, and out into yet another bizarrely empty street. The
name would come to him, but he knew where the bastard
lived, he knew that much and wasn't that enough for now?
It was.
    Throbbing, pounding pulses rocked the brain in his skull.
Flashes of orange light, flushes of dry heat against his face
– gods, he wasn't feeling right, not right at all. There was
an old cutter down the street from where he lived – after
tonight, he should pay her a visit. Lances of agony along his
limbs, but he wasn't going to stop, not even for a rest.
    He had the killer. Finally. Nothing was going to get in
his way.
    And so onward he stumbled, lantern swinging wildly.
    Gaz marched up to the door, pushed it open and halted,
looking round. The stupid woman hadn't even lit the
hearth – where the fuck was she? He made his way across
the single room, three strides in all, to the back door,
which he kicked open.
    Sure enough, there she was, standing with her back to
him, right there in front of that circle of flat stones she'd
spent days and nights arranging and rearranging. As if
she'd lost her mind, and the look in her eyes of late – well,
they were in so much trouble now.
    'Thordy!'
    She didn't even turn