'Leoman must be taken down. Y'Ghatan must fall. Tonight.'

Keneb said nothing for a long moment, then he asked, 'Why, Adjunct, are you telling me this?'

'Because Gamet is dead.'

Gamet? Oh, I see.

'And T'amber is not respected by any of you. Whereas,' she glanced at him, with an odd expression, 'you are.'

'You wish for me to inform the other Fists, Adjunct?'

'Regarding Dujek? Decide that for yourself, but I advise you, Fist, to think very carefully before reaching that decision.'

'But they should be told! At least then they will understand…'

'Me? Understand me? Perhaps. But that is not the most important issue here.'

He did not comprehend. Not at once. Then, a growing realization. '

Their faith, beyond you, beyond the Fourteenth, lies with Dujek Onearm. So long as they believe he is there, poised behind us and ready to march to our aid, they will do as you command. You do not want to take that away from them, yet by your silence you sacrifice yourself, you sacrifice the respect they would accord you-'

'Assuming such respect would be granted, Fist, and of that I am not convinced.' She returned to the map-table. 'The decision is yours, Fist.'

He watched her studying the map, then, concluding he had been dismissed, Keneb left the tent. He felt sick inside. The Host – broken? Was that simply her assessment? Maybe Dujek was just tired… yet, who might know better? Quick Ben, but he wasn't here. Nor that assassin, Kalam Mekhar. Leaving… well, one man. He paused outside the tent, studied the sun's position. There might be time, before Sort spoke to them all, if he hurried.

Keneb set out towards the camps of the marines.

'What do you want me to say, Fist?' The sergeant had laid out a halfdozen heavy quarrels. He had already tied sharpers to two of them and was working on a third.

Keneb stared at the clay-ball grenado in Strings's hands. 'I don't know, but make it honest.'

Strings paused and looked over at his squad, eyes narrowing. 'Adjunct' s hoping for reinforcements if things go bad?' He was speaking in a low voice.

'That's just it, Sergeant. She isn't.'

'So, Fist,' Strings said, 'she thinks Dujek's finished. And so's the Host. Is that what she thinks?'

'Yes. You know Quick Ben, and the High Mage was there, after all. At Coral. He's not here for me to ask him, so I'm asking you. Is the Adjunct right?'

He resumed affixing the grenado to the quarrel head.

Keneb waited.

'Seems,' the sergeant muttered, 'I misjudged the Adjunct.'

'In what way?'

'She's better at reading signs than I thought.'

Hood's balls, I really did not want to hear that.

'You are looking well, Ganoes Paran.'

His answering smile was wry. 'My new life of ease, Apsalar.'

Shouts from the sailors on the deck as the carrack swung towards the harbour of Kansu, the sound of gulls a muted accompaniment to the creak of cordage and timber. A cool breeze rode the salty air coming through the cabin's round window portside, smelling of the shore.

Apsalar studied the man seated across from her a moment longer, then returned to her task of roughing with a pumice stone the grip of one of her in-fighting knives. Polished wood was pretty, but far too slick in a sweaty hand. Normally she used leather gloves, but it never hurt to consider less perfect circumstances. For an assassin, the ideal situation was choosing when and where to fight, but such luxuries were not guaranteed.

Paran said, 'I see that you're as methodical as ever. Although at least now, there's more animation in your face. Your eyes…'

'You've been at sea too long, Captain.'

'Probably. Anyway, I'm not a captain any more. My days as a soldier are done.'

'Regrets?'

He shrugged. 'Some. I was never where I wanted to be with them. Until the very end, and then,' he paused, 'well, it was too late.'

'That might have been for the better,' Apsalar said. 'Less… sullied.'

'Odd, how the Bridgeburners mean different things for us. Memories, and perspectives. I was treated well enough among the survivors-'

'Survivors. Yes, there's always survivors.'

'Picker, Antsy, Blend, Mallet, a few others. Proprietors of K'rul's Bar, now, in Darujhistan.'

'K'rul's Bar?'

'The old temple once sanctified to that Elder God, aye. It's haunted, of course.'

'More than you realize, Paran.'

'I doubt that. I've learned a lot, Apsalar, about a lot of things.'

A heavy thud to starboard, as the harbour patrol arrived to collect the mooring fees. The slap of lines. More voices.

'K'rul played a very active role against the Pannion Domin,' Paran went on. 'Since that time, I've grown less easy with his presence – the Elder Gods are back in the game-'

'Yes, you've already said something to that effect. They are opposing the Crippled God, and one cannot find fault in that.'

'Are they? Sometimes I'm convinced… other times,' he shook his head.

Then rose. 'We're pulling in. I need to make arrangements.'

'What kind of arrangements?'

'Horses.'

'Paran.'

'Yes?'

'Are you now ascended?'

His eyes widened. 'I don't know. Nothing feels different. I admit I'm not even sure what ascendancy means.'

'Means you're harder to kill.'

'Why?'

'You have stumbled onto power, of a personal nature, and with it, well, power draws power. Always. Not the mundane kind, but something other, a force in nature, a confluence of energies. You begin to see things differently, to think differently. And others take notice of you – that's usually bad, by the way.' She sighed, studying him, and said, 'Perhaps I don't need to warn you, but I will. Be careful, Paran; of all the lands in this world, there are two more dangerous than all others-'

'Your knowledge, or Cotillion's?'

'Cotillion's for one, mine for the other. Anyway, you're about to set foot on one of those two. Seven Cities, Paran, is not a healthy place to be, especially not for an ascendant.'

'I know. I can feel that… what's out there, what I have to deal with.'

'Get someone else to do your fighting for you, if possible.'

His gaze narrowed on her. 'Now that's a clear lack of faith.'

'I killed you once-'

'And you were possessed by a god, by the Patron of Assassins himself, Apsalar.'

'Who played by the rules. There are things here that do not.'

'I'll give that some consideration, Apsalar. Thank you.'

'And remember, bargain from strength or don't bargain at all.'

He gave her a strange smile, then headed topside.

A skittering sound from one corner, and Telorast and Curdle scampered into view, bony feet clattering on the wooden floor.

'He is dangerous, Not-Apsalar! Stay away, oh, you've spent too long with him!'

'Don't worry about me, Telorast.'

'Worry? Oh, we have worries, all right, don't we, Curdle?'

'Endless worries, Telorast. What am I saying? We're not worried.'

Apsalar said, 'The Master of the Deck knows all about you two, no doubt compounding those worries.'

'But he told you nothing!'

'Are you so certain of that?'

'Of course!' The bird-like skeleton bobbed and weaved in front of its companion. 'Think on it, Curdle! If she knew she'd step on us! Wouldn' t she?'

'Unless she has a more devious betrayal in mind, Telorast! Have you thought of that? No, you haven't, have you? I have to do all the thinking.'

'You never think! You never have!'

Apsalar rose. 'They've dropped the gangplank. Time to leave.'

'Hide us under your cloak. You have to. There are dogs out there, in the streets!'

She sheathed the knife. 'All right, but no squirming.'

A squalid port, four of the six piers battered into treacherous hulks by Nok's fleet a month earlier, Kansu was in no way memorable, and Apsalar was relieved as they rode past the last sprawl of shanties on the inland road and saw before them a scattering of modest stone buildings, marking the herders, the pens and the demon-eyed goats gathered beneath guldindha trees. And beyond that, tharok orchards with their silvery, thread-like bark prized for rope-making, the uneven rows looking ghostly with their boles shimmering in the wind.