'We seek… affirmation.'

'Did not the Empress herself confirm the Jhistal's words?'

'Sir, she did not. She… said nothing.'

'Yet she was present.'

'She was.'

Now what am I to make of that? Was she just feeding out enough rope?

Or was she, too, frightened of Tayschrenn and so was pleased to unleash Mallick Rel on Banaschar? Damn! I don't know enough about all of this. No choice, then, for now. 'Very well. The command is given.'

The Claw, Mallick Rel, are not yours. And the Empress has… abstained. No, it seems that, until – or if – Topper returns, the Claw are mine. Convenient as well, Laseen, that you brought six hundred with you…

The two assassins bowed, then departed through the postern door.

Then again, why did it feel as if he was the one being used? And worse, why did it seem that he no longer cared? No, it was well.

Tonight he would not think, simply obey. Tomorrow, well, that was another matter, wasn't it? Tomorrow, then, I will kick through what's left. And decide what needs to be decided. There you have it, Empress.

Tomorrow, the new Clawmaster once more cleans house. And maybe… maybe that is what you ask from me. Or you have asked it already, for it wasn't just the Adjunct for whom you assembled that tribunal, was it? You just gave me command of six hundred assassin-mages, didn't you? What else would they be for?

The truth was, he could not guess the mind of Empress Laseen, and in that he most certainly was not alone.

Nerves slithered awake in his stomach, born of sudden fears he could not comprehend. Six hundred…

Face it, Pearl. The Adjunct did not kill Lostara. You did. You sent her away, and she died. And that's that.

But that changes nothing. It makes no real difference what I do now.

Let them all die.

Pearl turned about and made his way to his rooms. To await more orders. Six hundred killers to unleash… but upon whom?

Hellian decided she hated rum. She wanted something else, something not so sweet, something better suited to her nature. It was dark, the wind warm and humid but falling off, and the harbourfront of Malaz seemed to whisper an invitation, like a lover's breath on the back of her neck.

The sergeant stood watching as the Froth Wolf moved ahead of the rest of the ships, the Silanda following in its wake. Yet, from all around now came the liquid rattle of anchor chains sliding down, and the craft beneath her was tugged to a halt. Staring wildly about, Hellian cursed. 'Corporal,' she said.

'Me?' asked Touchy behind her.

'Me?' asked Brethless.

'That's right, you. What's going on here? Look, there's soldiers on the jetties, and well-wishers. Why aren't we heading in? They're waving.' Hellian waved back, but it was unlikely they could see that – there were hardly any lights from the fleet at all. 'Gloom and gloom,' she muttered, 'like we was some beaten dog creeping home.'

'Or like it's real late,' Brethless said, 'and you was never supposed to be with your mother's friend at all especially when Ma knows and she's waiting up with that dented skillet but sometimes, you know, older women, they come at you like a fiend and what can you do?'

'Not like that at all, you idiot,' Touchy hissed. 'More like that daughter of that priest and gods below you're running but there ain't no escaping curses like those, not ones from a priest, anyway, which means your life is doomed for ever and ever, as if Burn cares a whit she's sleeping anyway, right?'

Hellian turned round and stared at a space directly between the two men. 'Listen, Corporal, make up your damned mind, but then again don't bother. I wasn't interested. I was asking you a question, and if you can't answer then don't say nothing.'

The two men exchanged glances, then Brethless shrugged. 'We ain't disembarking, Sergeant,' he said. 'Word's just come.'

'Are they mad? Of course we're disembarking – we've just sailed a million leagues. Five million, even. We been through fires and storms and green lights in the sky and nights with the shakes and broken jaws and that damned rhizan piss they called wine. That's Malaz City there, right there, and that's where I'm going, Corporal Brethy Touchless, and I don't care how many arms you got, I'm going and that's that.'

She swung about, walked forward, reached the rail, pitched over and was suddenly gone.

Brethless and Touchy stared at each other again, as a heavy splash sounded.

'Now what?' Touchy demanded.

'She's done drowned herself, hasn't she?'

'We'd better report it to somebody.'

'We do that and we're in real trouble. We was standing right here, after all. They'll say we pushed her.'

'But we didn't!'

'That don't matter. We're not even trying to save her, are we?'

'I can't swim!'

'Me neither.'

'Then we should shout an alarm or something.'

'You do it.'

'No, you.'

'Maybe we should just go below, tell people we went looking for her but we didn't never find her.'

At that they both paused and looked round. A few figures moving in the gloom, sailors doing sailor things.

'Nobody saw or heard nothing.'

'Looks like. Well, that's good.'

'Isn't it. So, we go below now, right? Throw up our hands and say nothing.'

'Not nothing. We say we couldn't find her nowhere.'

'Right, that's what I mean. Nothing is what I mean, I mean, about her going over the side, that sort of nothing.'

A new voice from behind them: 'You two, what are you doing on deck?'

Both corporals turned. 'Nothing,' they said in unison.

'Get below, and stay there.'

They hurried off.

'Three ashore,' the young, foppishly attired figure said, his eyes fixed on the knuckle dice where they came to a rest on the weathered stone.

His twin stood facing the distant, looming bulk of Mock's Hold, the night's wind caressing the gaudy silks about her slim form.

'You see how it plays out?' her brother asked, collecting the dice with a sweep of one hand. 'Tell me truly, have you any idea – any idea at all – of how mightily I struggled to retain our card during that horrendous game? I'm still weak, dizzy. He wanted to drag us out, again and again and again. It was horrifying.'

'Heroic indeed,' she murmured without turning.

'Three ashore,' he said again. 'How very… unexpected. Do you think that dreadful descent above Otataral Island was responsible? I mean, for the one that's even now on its way?' Straightening, he moved to join his sister.

They were standing on a convenient tower rising from the city of Malaz, south of the river. To most citizens of the city, the tower appeared to be in ruins, but that was an illusion, maintained by the sorceror who occupied its lower chambers, a sorceror who seemed to be sleeping. The twin god and goddess known as Oponn had the platform – and the view – entirely to themselves.

'Certainly possible,' she conceded, 'but is that not the charm of our games, beloved?' She gestured towards the bay to their right. 'They have arrived, and even now there is a stirring among those abject mortals in those ships, especially the Silanda. Whilst, in the fell Hold opposite, the nest slithers awake. There will be work for us, this night.'

'Oh yes. Both you and me. Pull, push, pull, push.' He rubbed his hands together. 'I can hardly wait.'

She faced him suddenly. 'Can we be so sure, brother, that we comprehend all the players? All of them? What if one hides from us?

Just one… wild, unexpected, so very terrible… we could end up in trouble. We could end up… dead.'

'It was that damned soldier,' her brother snarled. 'Stealing our power! The arrogance, to usurp us in our very own game! I want his blood!'

She smiled in the darkness. 'Ah, such fire in your voice. So be it.