Ormly’s withered face twisted into a scowl. ‘Change of position? What does that mean?’

‘Something tells me there is no legion of beleaguered women bemoaning the loss of one Ormly.’

‘I wouldn’t know nothing about that. Listen, I’m nervous.’

‘How do you think I feel? Care for some wine? Oh, I was hoping you’d decline. You know, hiding in this burial crypt has put a strain on select vintages. It’s all very well for you, skulking in the shadows every night, but as the new commander of our insurgent organization, I have to hide down here, receiving and despatching all day, doing endless paperwork-’

‘What paperwork?’

‘Well, the paperwork I do to convince the minions how busy I am, so they don’t come running to me every damned moment.’

‘Yes, but what are you writing down, Rucket?’

‘I record snatches of overheard conversations-the acoustics down here are impressive if a tad wayward. One can achieve sheer poetry on occasion, with judicial use of juxtaposition.’

‘If it’s random then it ain’t poetry,’ Ormly said, still scowling.

‘Clearly you don’t keep up with modern movements, then.’

‘Just one, Rucket, and that’s what I’m nervous about. It’s Tehol Beddict, you see.’

‘A most extraordinary juxtaposition there,’ she replied, reaching for another hog’s ear. ‘Idiocy and genius. In particular, his genius for creating idiotic moments. Why, the last time we made love-’

‘Rucket, please! Don’t you see what’s going on out there? Oh, sorry, I guess you don’t. But listen to me, then. He’s too successful! It’s going too fast! The Patriotists are stirred up something awful, and you can be sure the Liberty Consign is backing them with every resource at its disposal. In the Low Markets they’re starting to barter because there’s no coin.’

‘Well, that was the plan-’

‘But we’re not ready!’

‘Ormly, Scale House collapsed, didn’t it?’

He glared at her suspiciously, then grunted and looked away. ‘All right, so we knew that was coming. We’ve been ready for that, yes. True enough. Even though we’re no closer to knowing what’ll happen when whatever it is happens, assuming we’ll even know it’s happening when it does. Anyway, you’re just trying to confuse me, because you’ve lost all objectivity when it comes to Tehol.’

‘Oh now really, do you take me for a fool?’

‘Yes. Love, lust, whatever, it’s affected your ability to think straight when it comes to that madman.’

‘You’re the one not thinking straight. Tehol’s not the mystery here. Tehol’s easy-no, not that kind of-oh, very well, that kind, too. Anyway, like I said. Easy. The true mystery before us, Ormly, is his damned manservant.’

‘Bugg?’

‘Bugg.’

‘But he’s just the front man-’

‘You sure it’s not the. other way round? What does he do with all that coin they’ve leveraged into their hands? Bury it in the back yard? They don’t even have a back yard. Ormly, we’re talking tons of coinage here.’ She waved a-hand about. ‘Could fill this crypt twenty times over. Now, sure, there’re other crypts under the city, but we know them all. I’ve sent runners to every one of them, but they’re empty, the dust underfoot not disturbed in years. We’ve sent rats into every fissure, every crevasse, every crack. Nothing.’ She snapped her fingers. ‘Gone. As if into thin air. And not just in this city, either.’

‘So maybe Tehol’s found a hiding place we ain’t looked at yet. Something both clever and idiotic, like you said.’

‘I thought of that, Ormly. Trust me when I tell you, it’s all gone.’

His scowl suddenly cleared and he reached for a refill of the wine. ‘I figured it out. It’s all dumped into the river. Simple. Easy.’

‘Except that Tehol insists it can be recovered-to flood the market, if the Consign financiers panic and start minting more than the usual quota. And even that quota is proving inflationary, since there’s no recycling of old coins taking place. There’s no return for recasting. I hear even the Imperial Treasury is hurting. Tehol says he can dump it all back onto the streets, at a moment’s notice.’

‘Maybe he’s lying.’

‘Maybe he isn’t.’

‘Maybe I’ll have that last hog ear.’

‘Forget it.’

‘Fine. We got another problem. Tensions are high between the Edur and the Patriotists-and the Chancellor and his army of thugs and spies. Blood was spilled.’

‘Not surprising,’ Rucket replied. ‘It was bound to happen. And don’t think the financial strain has nothing to do with it.’

‘If it does it’s only indirectly,’ Ormly said. ‘No, this clash was, I think, personal.’

‘Can we make use of it?’

‘Ah, finally we can discuss something and actually get somewhere.’

‘You’re just jealous of Tehol Beddict.’

‘So what if I am. Forget it. Let’s make plans.’

Sighing, Rucket gestured to one of her servants. ‘Bring us another bottle, Unn.’

Ormly’s brow lifted, and, as the huge man shambled off into a side chamber, he leaned closer. ‘Unn? The one who…?’

‘Murdered Gerun Eberict? Indeed, the very man. With his own two hands, Ormly. His own two hands.’ Then she smiled. ‘And those hands, well, murdering isn’t the only thing they’re good at.’

‘I knew it! It is all you ever think about!’

She settled back in her chair. Make them feel clever. The only sure way to keep the peace.

Beneath the city of Letheras was a massive core of ice. A fist of Omtose Phellack, clutching in its implacable grip an ancient spirit. Lured, then trapped by a startling alliance of Ceda Kuru Qan, a Jaghut sorceress and an Elder God. For the Errant, it was a struggle to appreciate that conjoining, no matter how advantageous the consequence. A spirit imprisoned, until such time as that hoary ritual weakened-or, more likely, was shattered in wilful malice. So, though temporary-and what truly wasn’t?-it had prevented death and destruction on a colossal scale. All very well.

Kuru Qan treating with a Jaghut sorceress-surprising but not disturbing. No, it was Mael’s involvement that gnawed ceaselessly in the Errant’s thoughts.

An Elder God. But not K’rul, not Draconus, not Kilmandaros. No, this was the one Elder God who never got involved. Mael’s curse was everyone else’s blessing. So what changed? What forced the old bastard’s hand, enough so that he forged alliances, that he unleashed his power in the streets of the city, that he emerged onto a remote island and battered a broken god senseless?

Friendship towards a pathetic, mortal?

And what, dear Mael, do you now plan to do about all those worshippers? The ones so abusing your indifference? They are legion and their hands drip blood in your name. Does this please you? From them, after all, you acquire power. Enough to drown this entire realm.

War among the gods, but was the battle line so simply drawn as it seemed? The Errant was no longer sure.

He stood in solid rock, within reach of the enormous knot of ice. He could smell it, that gelid ancient sorcery that belonged to another era. The spirit imprisoned within it, frozen in the act of rising through a fetid lake, was a seething storm of helpless rage, blurred and indistinct at its centre. One of Mael’s own kin, the Errant suspected, like a piece torn free only to suffer a geas of the Crippled God. Entirely unaware-so far-of the terrible fissures spread like crazed webs through that ice, fissures even now working their way inwards.

Shattered indeed. With intent? No, not this time, but in imagining a place of permanence they chose in error. And no, they could not have known. This… nudge… not mine. Just… dread circumstance.

Does Mael know? Abyss take me, 1 need to speak to him-ah, how 1 recoil at the notion! How much longer can I delay? What rotted commodity would my silence purchase? What meagre reward my warning?

Perhaps another word with that war god, Fener. But no, that poor creature probably knew even less than he did. Cowering, virtually usurped… usurped, now there’s an interesting notion. Gods at war… yes, possibly.