Dust of Dreams

wrapping arms round one of the man’s legs.
    The three went down in a heap.
    Moments later, amidst a flurry of snarled curses, gouging thumbs and frantickicking, the rest of the hunters arrived, and finally succeeded in pinning down their quarry.
    Bottle edged closer to gaze down at their victim’s bruised, flushed visage. ‘Really, Sergeant, you had to know it was hopeless.’
    Fiddler glared.
    ‘Look what you did to my nose!’ Stormy said, gripping one of Fiddler’s arms and apparently contemplating breaking it in two.
    ‘You used a smoker in the tavern, didn’t you?’ Bottle asked. ‘What a waste.’
    ‘You’ll all pay for this,’ said Fiddler. ‘You have no idea—’
    ‘He’s probably right,’ said Gesler. ‘So, Fid, we gonna have to hold you down here for ever, or will you come peacefully now? What the Adjunct wants, the Adjunct gets.’
    ‘Easy for you,’ hissed Fiddler. ‘Just look at Bottle there. Does he look happy?’
    Bottle scowled. ‘No, I’m not happy, but orders are orders, Sergeant. You can’t just run away.’
    ‘Wish I’d brought a sharper or two,’ Fiddler said, ‘that would’ve settled it just fine. All right now, you can all let me up—I think my knee’s busted anyway. Gesler, you got a granite jaw, did you know that?’
    ‘And it cuts me a fine profile besides,’ said Gesler.
    ‘We was hunting Fiddler?’ Balm suddenly asked. ‘Gods below, he mutiny or something?’
    Throatslitter patted his sergeant on the shoulder. ‘It’s all right now, Sergeant. Adjunct wants Fiddler to do a reading, that’s all.’
    Bottle winced.
That’s all. Sure, nothing to it. I can’t wait.
    They dragged Fiddler to his feet, and wisely held on to the man as they marched him back to the barracks.
     
    Grey and ghostly, the oblong shape hung beneath the lintel over the dead Azath’s doorway. It looked lifeless, but of course it wasn’t.
    ‘We could throw stones,’ said Sinn. ‘They sleep at night, don’t they?’
    ‘Mostly,’ replied Grub.
    ‘Maybe if we’re quiet.’
    ‘Maybe.’
    Sinn fidgeted. ‘Stones?’
    ‘Hit it and they’ll wake up, and then out they’ll come, in a black swarm.’
    ‘I’ve always hated wasps. For as long as I can remember—I must’ve been bad stung once, do you think?’
    ‘Who hasn’t?’ Grub said, shrugging.
    ‘I could just set it on fire.’
    ‘No sorcery, Sinn, not here.’
    ‘I thought you said the house was dead.’
    ‘It is . . . I think. But maybe the yard isn’t.’
    She glanced round. ‘People been digging here.’
    ‘You ever gonna talk to anybody but me?’ Grub asked.
    ‘No.’ The single word was absolute, immutable, and it did not invite any further discussion on that issue.
    He eyed her. ‘You know what’s happening tonight, don’t you?’
    ‘I don’t care. I’m not going anywhere near that.’
    ‘Doesn’t matter.’
    ‘Maybe, if we hide inside the house, it won’t reach us.’
    ‘Maybe,’ Grub allowed. ‘But I doubt the Deck works like that.’
    ‘How do you know?’
    ‘Well, I don’t. Only, Uncle Keneb told me Fiddler talked about me last time, and I was jumping into the sea around then—I wasn’t in the cabin. But he just knew, he knew exactly what I was doing.’
    ‘What
were
you doing?’
    ‘I went to find the Nachts.’
    ‘But how did you know they were there? You don’t make sense, Grub. And anyway, what use are they? They just follow Withal around.’
    ‘When they’re not hunting little lizards,’ Grub said, smiling.
    But Sinn was not in the mood for easy distraction. ‘I look at you and I think . . .
Mockra
.’
    To that, Grub made no reply. Instead, he crept forward on the path’s uneven pavestones, eyes fixed on the wasp nest.
    Sinn followed. ‘You’re what’s coming, aren’t you?’
    He snorted. ‘And you aren’t?’
    They reached the threshold, halted. ‘Do you think it’s locked?’
    ‘Shh.’
    Grub crouched down and edged forward beneath the huge nest. Once past it, he slowly straightened and reached for the door’s latch. It came off in his hand, raising a puff of sawdust. Grub glanced back at Sinn, but said nothing. Facing the door again, he gave it a light push.
    It crumpled like wafer where his fingers had prodded. More sawdust sifted down.
    Grub raised both hands and pushed against the door.
    The barrier disintegrated in clouds and frail splinters. Metal clunked on the floor just beyond, and a moment later the clouds were swept inward as if on an