'I assume we don't step within that ring.'

'Not unless we need to pull them out.'

Strings looked over.

'Not unless I need to pull them out, I mean. If things go wrong. If they get in trouble.'

They drew nearer. 'What made you join the army, Bottle?'

She insisted. 'My grandmother thought it would be a good idea. She'd just died, you see, and her spirit was, um, agitated a little. About something.' Oh, steer away from this, Bottle. 'I was getting bored.

Restless. Selling dolls to pilots and sailors on the docks-'

'Where?'

'Jakatakan.'

'What kind of dolls?'

'The kind the Stormriders seem to like. Appeasement.'

'Stormriders? Gods below, Bottle, I didn't think anything worked with them lately. Not for years.'

'The dolls didn't always work, but they sometimes did, which was better than most propitiations. Anyway, I was making good coin, but it didn't seem enough-'

'Are you feeling cold all of a sudden?'

Bottle nodded. 'It makes sense, where they've gone.'

'And where is that?'

'Through Hood's Gate. It's all right, Sergeant. I think. Really. They' re pretty sneaky, and so long as they don't attract the wrong attention…'

'But… why?'

Bottle glanced over. The sergeant was looking pale. Not surprising.

Those damned ghosts at Raraku had rattled him. 'They're looking for… people. Dead ones.'

'Sormo E'nath?'

'I guess. Wickans. Ones who died on the Chain of Dogs. They've done this before. They don't find them-' He stopped as a gust of bitter cold wind swirled up round the circle of stones. Sudden frost limned the ground. 'Oh, that's not good. I'll be right back, Sergeant.'

Bottle ran forward, then leapt into the ring.

And vanished.

Or, he assumed he had, since he was no longer on the Lato Odhan, but ankle-deep in rotting, crumbling bones, a sickly grey sky overhead.

Someone was screaming. Bottle turned at the sound and saw three figures thirty paces away. Nil and Nether, and facing them, a horrific apparition, and it was this lich that was doing the screaming. The two young Wickans were flinching before the tirade.

A language Bottle did not understand. He walked closer, bone-dust puffing with each step.

The lich suddenly reached out and grasped both Wickans, lifting them into the air, then shaking them.

Bottle ran forward. And what do I do when I get there?

The creature snarled and flung Nil and Nether to the ground, then abruptly disappeared amidst the clouds of dust.

He reached them as they were climbing to their feet. Nether was swearing in her native tongue as she brushed dust from her tunic. She glared over at Bottle as he arrived. 'What do you want?'

'Thought you were in trouble.'

'We're fine,' Nil snapped, yet there was a sheepish expression on his adolescent face. 'You can lead us back, mage.'

'Did the Adjunct send you?' Nether demanded. 'Are we to have no peace?'

'Nobody sent me. Well, Sergeant Strings – we were just out walking-'

'Strings? You mean Fiddler.'

'We're supposed to-'

'Don't be an idiot,' Nether said. 'Everybody knows.'

'We're not idiots. It clearly hasn't occurred to either of you that maybe Fiddler wants it that way. Wants to be called Strings, now, because his old life is gone, and with the old name comes bad memories, and he's had enough of those.'

Neither Wickan replied.

After a few more strides, Bottle asked, 'So, was that a Wickan lich?

One of the dead you were looking for?'

'You know too much.'

'Was it?'

Nil cursed under his breath, then said, 'Our mother.'

'Your…' Bottle fell silent.

'She was telling us to stop moping and grow up,' Nil added.

'She was telling you that,' Nether retorted. 'She told me to-'

'To take a husband and get pregnant.'

'That was just a suggestion.'

'Made while she was shaking you?' Bottle asked.

Nether spat at his feet. 'A suggestion. Something I should maybe think about. Besides, I don't have to listen to you, soldier. You're Malazan. A squad mage.'

'He's also the one,' pointed out Nil, 'who rides life-sparks.'

'Small ones. The way we did as children.'

Bottle smiled at her remark.

She caught it. 'What's so amusing?'

'Nothing. Sorry.'

'I thought you were going to lead us back.'

'I thought so, too,' Bottle said, halting and looking round. 'Oh, I think we've been noticed.'

'It's your fault, mage!' Nil accused.

'Probably.'

Nether hissed and pointed.

Another figure had appeared, and to either side padded dogs. Wickan cattle dogs. Nine, ten, twelve. Their eyes gleamed silver. The man in their midst was clearly Wickan, greying and squat and bow-legged. His face was savagely scarred.

'It is Bult,' Nether whispered. She stepped forward.

The dogs growled.

'Nil, Nether, I have been searching for you,' the ghost named Bult said, halting ten paces away, the dogs lining up on either side. 'Hear me. We do not belong here. Do you understand? We do not belong.' He paused and pulled at his nose in a habitual gesture. 'Think hard on my words.' He turned away, then paused and glanced back over a shoulder, 'And Nether, get married and have babies.'

The ghosts vanished.

Nether stamped her foot. Dust rose up around her. 'Why does everyone keep telling me that!?'

'Your tribe's been decimated,' Bottle said reasonably. 'It stands to reason-'

She advanced on him.

Bottle stepped backAnd reappeared within the stone circle.

A moment later gasps came from Nil and Nether, their crosslegged bodies twitching.

'I was getting worried,' Strings said behind him, standing just outside the ring.

The two Wickans were slow in getting to their feet.

Bottle hurried to his sergeant's side. 'We should get going,' he said.

'Before she comes fully round, I mean.'

'Why?'

Bottle started walking. 'She's mad at me.'

The sergeant snorted, then followed. 'And why is she mad at you, soldier? As if I need ask.'

'Just something I said.'

'Oh, I am surprised.'

'I don't want to go into it, Sergeant. Sorry.'

'I'm tempted to throw you down and pin you for her.'

They reached the crest. Behind them, Nether began shouting curses.

Bottle quickened his pace. Then he halted and crouched down, reaching under his shirt, and gingerly drew out a placid lizard. 'Wake up,' he murmured, then set it down. It scampered off.

Strings watched. 'It's going to follow them, isn't it?'

'She might decide on a real curse,' Bottle explained. 'And if she does, I need to counter it.'

'Hood's breath, what did you say to her?'

'I made a terrible mistake. I agreed with her mother.'

'We should be getting out of here. Or…'

Kalam glanced over. 'All right, Quick.' He raised a hand to halt the soldiers flanking them and the one trailing behind, then uttered a low whistle to alert the huge, red-bearded corporal on point.

The squad members drew in to surround the assassin and the High Mage.

'We're being followed,' Sergeant Gesler said, wiping sweat from his burnished brow.

'It's worse than that,' Quick Ben said.

The soldier named Sands muttered, 'Isn't it just.'

Kalam turned and studied the track behind them. He could see nothing in the colourless swirl. 'This is still the Imperial Warren, isn't it?'

Quick Ben rubbed at his neck. 'I'm not so sure.'

'But how can that happen?' This from the corporal, Stormy, his forehead buckling and small eyes glittering as though he was about to fly into a berserk rage at any moment. He was holding his grey flint sword as if expecting some demon to come bursting into existence right in front of them.

The assassin checked his long-knives, and said to Quick Ben, 'Well?'