Where would he begin?

Mallick Rel.

Korbolo Dom.

Neither of you will see the dawn. I swear it.

The other Claw spoke from the edge of the hole in the roof: 'I don't see him, Clawmaster.'

'He's crawling off to die,' Pearl said. 'Kartoolian paralt.'

The man's head snapped round. 'Not the snake? The spider's…? Gods below!'

Aye, a most painful, protracted death. And there's not a priest left on the island who can neutralize that poison.

Two weapons clunked on the roof. Pearl looked over. 'What are you doing?' he demanded.

The man was staring at him. 'Enough. How much dishonour will you set at the feet of the Claw? I am done with you.' And he turned away. '

Find the Adjunct yourself, Pearl, give her one of your damned spider bites-'

Pearl raised his right arm, sent a second quarrel flying across the rooftop. Striking the man between the shoulder-blades. Arms flung out to the sides, the Claw toppled.

'That, regrettably, was white paralt. Much quicker.'

Now, as he had intended all along, there were no witnesses left. And it was time to gather the remaining Hands.

He wished it could have been different. All of it. But this was a new Malazan Empire, with new rules. Rules I can manage well enough. After all, I have nothing left. No-one left…

Closing his eyes, Fiddler set down his fiddle. He said nothing, for there was nothing to say. The reprise that had taken him was done. The music had left his hands, had left his mind, his heart. He felt empty inside, his soul riven, lifeless. He had known this was coming, a truth that neither diminished the pain of loss nor intensified it – a burden, that was all. Just one more burden.

Screams from the street below, then the sound of a door smashing into kindling.

Braven Tooth glanced up, wiped at his eyes.

Heavy footsteps on the stairs.

Gesler collected the wine jug from the table and slowly refilled the cups. No-one had touched the bread.

Thumping steps coming up the corridor. Scraping, dragging.

Halting before the Master Sergeant's door.

Then a heavy, splintering knock, like claws gouging the wood.

Gesler rose and walked over.

Fiddler watched as the sergeant opened the door, stood motionless for a long moment, staring at whoever was in the corridor, then Gesler said, 'Stormy, it's for you.'

The huge man slowly rose as Gesler turned about and walked back to his chair.

A shape filled the entrance. Broad-shouldered, wearing tattered, dripping furs. A flat face, the skin betel brown and stretched taut over robust bones. Pits for eyes. Long arms hanging to the sides.

Fiddler's brows rose. A T'lan Imass.

Stormy cleared his throat. 'Legana Breed,' he said, his voice oddly high.

The reply that rasped from the apparition was like the grating of barrow stones. 'I have come for my sword, mortal.'

Gesler collapsed into his chair and collected his cup. 'A long, wet walk, was it, Breed?'

The head swivelled with a creak, but the T'lan Imass said nothing.

Stormy collected the flint sword and walked over to Legana Breed. 'You been scaring a lot of people below,' he said.

'Sensitive souls, you mortals.'

The marine held the sword out, horizontally. 'Took your time getting out of that portal.'

Legana Breed grasped it. 'Nothing is ever as easy as it seems, Shield Anvil. Carry the pain in your heart and know this: you are far from finished with this world.'

Fiddler glanced across at Braven Tooth. Shield Anvil?

The Master Sergeant simply shook his head.

Legana Breed was studying the weapon in his skeletal hands. 'It's scratched.'

'What? Oh, but I – oh, well-'

'Humour is extinct,' the T'lan Imass said, turning back to the doorway.

Gesler suddenly straightened. 'A moment, Legana Breed!'

The creature paused.

'Stormy did all that you asked of him. Now, we need repayment.'

Sweat sprang out on Fiddler's skin. Gesler!

The T'lan Imass faced them again. 'Repayment. Shield Anvil, did not my weapon serve you well?'

'Aye, well enough.'

'Then there is no debt-'

'Not true!' Gesler said in a growl. 'We saw you take that Tiste Andii head with you! But we told your fellow T'lan Imass nothing – we kept your secret, Legana Breed! When we could have bargained with it, gotten ourselves right out of that damned mess we were in! There is a debt!'

Silence from the ancient undead warrior, then, 'What do you demand of me?'

'We – me, Stormy and Fiddler here – we need an escort. Back to our ship. It could mean a fight.'

'There are four thousand mortals between us and the docks,' Legana Breed said. 'One and all driven into madness by chaotic sorcery.'

'And?' Gesler sneered. 'Are you afraid, T'lan Imass?'

'Afraid.' A declarative statement. Then the head cocked. 'Humour?'

'So what's the problem?'

'The docks.' Hesitation, then, 'I just came from there.'

Fiddler began collecting his gear. 'With answers like that one, Legana Breed,' he said, 'you belong in the marines.' He glanced over at Braven Tooth. 'Well met, old friend.'

The Master Sergeant nodded. 'And with you. The three of you. Sorry about punching you in the gut, Fid.'

'Like Hood you are.'

'I didn't know it was you-'

'To Hood you didn't.'

'All right, I heard you come in. Heard cloth against fiddle strings.

Smelled Moranth munitions. Not hard with all that.'

'So you punched me anyway?'

Braven Tooth smiled. The particular smile that gave the bastard his name.

Legana Breed spoke: 'You are all marines?'

'Aye,' Fiddler said.

'Tonight, then, I too am a marine. Let us go kill people.'

Throatslitter clambered up the gangplank, stumbled down onto the deck.

'Fist,' he gasped, 'we need to call more in – we none of us can hold much longer-'

'No, soldier,' Keneb replied, his gaze fixed on the vicious fighting on the concourse before them, the ever-contracting Perish lines, the ever-growing mass of frenzied attackers pouring in from every street and alley mouth between warehouse buildings. Don't you see? We commit more and we get pulled deeper into this mess, deeper and deeper – until we cannot extricate ourselves. There's too much sorcery out there – gods below, my head feels ready to explode. He so wanted to explain all of this to the desperate marine, but that was not what a commander did.

Just like the Adjunct. You want to, gods how you want to, if only to see the understanding in their eyes. But you cannot. All right, so I'm starting to comprehend…

'Attend, Fist Keneb!' The warning came from the Destriant. 'Assassins, seeking to penetrate our defences-'

A hiss from Throatslitter, and he turned, called down to the marines on the jetty. 'Sergeant! Get the squads up here! We got Claws on the way!'

Keneb faced Run'thurvian. 'Can you block them?'

A slow nod of the suddenly pallid face. 'This time, yes – at the last moment – but they are persistent, and clever. When they breach, they will appear, suddenly, all about us.'

'Who is their target? Do you know?'

'All of us, I believe. Perhaps, most of all,' the Destriant glanced over at Nil and Nether, who stood on the foredeck, silent witnesses to the defence, 'those two. Their power sleeps. For now, it cannot be awakened – it is not for us, you see. Not for us.'

Hood's breath. He turned to see the first marines arrive. Koryk, Tarr, Smiles – damn you, Fiddler, where are you? – then Cuttle and Corabb Bhilan Thenu'alas. A moment later Sergeant Balm appeared, followed by Galt and Lobe. 'Sergeant, where is your healer – and your mage?'

'Used up,' the Dal Honese replied. 'They're recovering on the Silanda, sir.'

'Very well. I want you to form a cordon around Nil and Nether – the Claw will go for them first and foremost.' As the soldiers scrambled he turned to Run'thurvian, and said in a low voice, 'I assume you can protect yourself, Destriant.'