Dust of Dreams

what?’ Corabb asked behind him. ‘Was that practice?’
    ‘Practice?’
    ‘Aye.’
    ‘No, Corabb—gods, this is strange—look at this gear! Those clothes.’
    ‘Well, what I meant was, do you want me to open Smiles’s box next?’
    ‘What?’
    ‘That’s Cuttle’s. You’re at Cuttle’s bunk, Bottle.’ He pointed. ‘Hers is right there.’
    ‘Well,’ Bottle muttered as he stood up and dropped the lid on the lockbox. ‘That explains the codpiece.’
    ‘Oh . . . does it?’
    They stared at each other.
    ‘So, just how many bastards do you think you’ve sired by now?’
    ‘What?’
    ‘What?’
    ‘You just say something, Corabb?’
    ‘What?’
    ‘Before that.’
    ‘Before what?’
    ‘Something about bastards.’
    ‘Are you calling me a bastard?’ Corabb demanded, his face darkening.
    ‘No, of course not. How would I know?’
    ‘How—’
    ‘It’s none of my business, right?’ Bottle slapped the man on one solid shoulder and set off to find his boots. ‘I’m going out.’
    ‘Thought you were sick.’
    ‘Better now.’
    Once he’d made his escape—in all likelihood narrowly avoiding being beaten to death by the squad’s biggest fist over some pathetic misunderstanding—Bottle glared up at the mid-afternoon sun for a moment, and then set off.
All right, you parasite, I’m paying attention now. Where to?
    ‘It’s about time. I was having doubts—’
    Quick Ben! Since when were you playing around with Mockra? And do you have any idea how our skulls will ache by this evening?
    ‘Relax, I got something for that. Bottle, I need you to go to the Old Palace. I’m down in the crypts.’
    Where you belong.
    ‘First time anybody’s expressed that particular sentiment, Bottle. Tell me when you get to the grounds.’
    What are you doing in the crypts, Quick Ben?
    ‘I’m at the Cedance. You need to see this, Bottle.’
    Did you find them, then?
    ‘Who?’
    Sinn and Grub. Heard they went missing.
    ‘No, they’re not here, and no sign that anyone’s been down here in some time. As I’ve already told the Adjunct, the two imps are gone.’
    Gone? Gone where?
    ‘No idea. But they’re gone.’
    Bad news for the Adjunct—she’s losing her mages—
    ‘She’s got me. She doesn’t need anyone else.’
    And all my fears are laid to rest.
    ‘You may not have realized, Bottle, but I was asking you about your furry lover for a reason.’
    Jealousy?
    ‘Hurry up and get here so I can throttle you. No, not jealousy. Although, come to think on it, I can’t even recall the last time—’
    You said you had a reason, Quick Ben. Let’s hear it.
    ‘What’s Deadsmell been telling you?’
    What? Nothing. Well.
    ‘Hah, I knew it! Don’t believe him, Bottle. He hasn’t any idea—any idea at all—about what’s in the works.’
    You know, Quick Ben, oh . . . never mind. So, I’m on the grounds. Where to now?
    ‘Anybody see you?’
    You didn’t tell me to do this sneakily!
    ‘Anybody in sight?’
    Bottle looked round. Wings of the Old Palace were settled deep in mud, plaster cracking or simply gone, to reveal fissured, slumping brick walls. Snarls of grasses swallowed up old flagstone pathways. A plaza of some sort off to his left was now a shallow pond. The air was filled with spinning insects.
No.
    ‘Good. Now, follow my instructions precisely, Bottle.’
    You sure? I mean, I was planning on ignoring every third direction you gave me.
    ‘Fiddler needs to have a few words with you, soldier. About rules of conduct when it comes to High Mages.’
    Look, Quick Ben, if you want me to find this Cedance, leave me to it. I have a nose for those kinds of things.
    ‘I knew it!’
    You knew what? I’m just saying—
    ‘She’s been whispering in your ear—’
    Gods below, Quick Ben! The noises she makes aren’t whispers. They’re not even words. I don’t—
    ‘She gives you visions, doesn’t she? Flashes of her own memories. Scenes.’
    How do you know that?
    ‘Tell me some.’
    Why do you think it’s any of your business?
    ‘Choose one, damn you.’
    He slapped at a mosquito. Some would be easier than others, he knew. Easier because they were empty of meaning. Most memories were, he suspected. Frozen scenes. Jungle trails, the bark of four-legged monkeys from cliff-sides. Huddled warmth in the night as hunting beasts coughed in the darkness. But there was one that returned again and again, in innumerable variations.
    The sudden blossoming of blue sky, an opening ahead, the