He tested the balcony door. Unlocked! Oh, things would indeed have to change. Why, he could just saunter inside and find himself-‘Please, Captain, take a seat.’

She was lounging in a plush chair, barely visible in the dark room. Veiled? Yes, veiled. Dressed in some long loose thing, silk perhaps. One long-fingered hand, snug in a grey leather glove, held a goblet. There was a matching chair opposite her.

‘Pour yourself some wine-yes, there on the table. The failure of that route, from the roof of the annexe, is that the roof is entirely visible from the window of any room on this side of the house. I assume, Captain, you were either testing the security of the estate, or that you wished to speak with me in private. Any other alternatives, alas, would be unfortunate.’

‘Indeed, Mistress. And yes, I was testing… things. And yes,’ he added as, summoning as much aplomb as he could manage, he went over to pour himself a goblet full of the amber wine, ‘I wished to speak with you in private. Concerning your castellan and the two new compound guards.’

‘Do they seem… excessive?’

‘That’s one way of putting it.’

‘I would not want to be discouraging.’

He sat down. ‘Discouraging, Mistress?’

‘Tell me, are my two gate guards as incompetent as they appear to be?’’That would be quite an achievement, Mistress.’

‘It would, yes.’

‘It may surprise you,’ Torvald Nom said, ‘but they actually possess a nasty streak. And considerable experience. They have been caravan guards, enforcers, Guild thugs and bounty hunters. It’s the formality of this present job that has them so… awkward. They will adjust in time.’

‘Not too well, I hope.’

All right, Torvald Nom decided, she was talking about something and he had no idea what that something was. ‘Mistress, regarding Studlock, Lazan and Madrun-’

‘Captain, I understand you are estranged from House Nom. That is unfortunate. I always advise that such past errors be mended whenever possible. Reconciliation is essential to well-being.’

Twill give that some thought, Mistress.’

‘Do so. Now, please make your way out using the stairs. Inform the castellan that I wish to speak to him-no, there will be no repercussions regarding your seeking a private conversation with me. In fact, I am heartened by your concern. Loyalty was ever the foremost trait of the family Nom. Oh, now, do finish your wine, Captain.’

He did, rather quickly. Then walked over and locked the balcony doors. A bow to Lady Varada, and then out into the corridor, closing the door behind him. A moment to figure out where the stairs were, and, feeling slightly numbed-was it the wine? No, it wasn’t the wine-he descended to the ground floor and out through the formal entrance, striding across the compound to where stood the castellan and his two friends.

‘Castellan Studlock,’ Torvald Nom called out, pleased to see how all three looked up guiltily from their game. ‘The Mistress wishes to see you immediately.’

‘Oh? Of course. Thank you, Captain.’

Torvald watched him flit away, and then turned to Lazan Door and Madrun. ‘Interesting technique you have here. I feel the need to describe your duties, since it appears the castellan forgot to. You are to patrol the compound, preferably at random intervals, employing a variety of routes to ensure that you avoid predictability. Be especially mindful of unlit areas, although I do not recommend you carry torches or lanterns. Any questions?’

Madrun was smiling. He bowed. ‘Sound instruction, Captain, thank you. We shall commence our duties immediately. Lazan, collect up your scrying dice. We must attend to the necessary formalities of diligent patrol.’

Scrying dice! Gods below. ‘Is it wise,’ he asked, ‘to rely upon the hoary gods to determine the night’s flavour?’

Lazan Door cleared his throat then bared his metal fangs. ‘As you say, Captain. Divination is ever an imprecise science. We shall be sure to avoid relying overmuch on such things.’

‘Er, right. Good, well, I’ll be in my office, then.’

‘Again,’ Madrun said, his smile broadening. There was, Torval decided as he walked away, nothing pleasant about that smile. About either of their smiles, in fact. Or anythlng else about those two. Or Studious Lock, for that matter-Blood Drinker, Bile Spitter, Poisoner, oh, they had so many names for that one. How soon before he earns a few more? And Madrun Badrun? And Lazan Door? What is Lady Varada up to?

Never mind, never mind. He had an office, after all. And once he crawled over the desk and settled down in the chair, why, he felt almost important.

The sensation lasted a few heartbeats, which was actually something of an achievement. Any few precious moments, yes, of not thinking about those three. Any at all.

Make new masks-now why should they do that! Renegade Seguleh are renegade-they can’t ever go back. Supposedly, but then, what do any of us really know about the Seguleh? Make new masks, he said to them. Why!

What’s wrong with normal advice! Wash that robe, Lazan Door, before the spiders start laying eggs. Choose no more than two colours, Madrun, and not ones that clash. Please. And what’s with those moccasins!

Masks! Never mind the masks.

His stomach gurgled and he felt another rise of bilious gas. ‘Always chew your food, Tor, why such a hurry! There’s plenty of daylight left to play. Chew, Tor, chew! Nice and slow, like a cow, yes. This way nothing will disagree with you. Nothing disagrees with cows, after all.’

So true, at least until the axe swings down.

He sat in his office, squeezed in behind the desk, in a most disagreeable state.

‘She’s poisoning him, is my guess.’

Scorch stared, as if amazed at such a suggestion. ‘Why would she do that?’

‘Because of you,’ said Leff. ‘She hates you, Scorch, because of the way you always got Tor into trouble, and now she thinks you’re going to do it all over again, so that’s why she’s poisoning him.’

‘That don’t make any sense. If she was worried she wouldn’t be killing him!’

‘Not killing, just making sickly. You forget, she’s a witch, she can do things like that. Of course, she’d do better by poisoning you.’

‘I ain’t touching nothing she cooks, that’s for sure.’

‘It won’t help if she decides you’re better off dead, Scorch. Gods, I am so glad I’m not you.’

‘Me too.’

‘What?’

‘I’d have orange eyes and that’d be awful because then we’d both have orange eyes so looking at each other would be like looking at yourself, which I have to do all the time anyway but imagine double that! No thanks, is what I say.’

‘Is that what you say?’

‘I just said it, didn’t I?’

‘I don’t know. I don’t know what you just said, Scorch, and that’s the truth.’

‘Good, since what I had to say wasn’t meant for you anyway.’Leff looked round and no, he didn’t see anyone else. Of course he didn’t, there was no point in looking.

‘Besides,’ said Scorch, ‘you’re the one who’s been poisoned.’

‘It wasn’t no poison, Scorch. It was a mistake, a misdiagnosis. And it’s fading-’

‘No it ain’t.’

‘Yes. It is.’

‘No. It ain’t.’

‘I’d stop saying that if I was you-’

‘Don’t start that one again!’

Blessed fates! Leave them to it, thy round self begs! The night stretches on, the city wears its granite grin and shadows dance on the edge of darkness. Late-night hawkers call out their wares, their services both proper and dubious. Singers sing and the drunk drink and thieves do their thieving and mysteries thrive wherever you do hot belong and that, friends, is the hard truth.

Like rats we skitter away from the pools of light, seeking other matters, other scenes both tranquil and foul.

Follow, oh, follow me!

Benefactor of all things cosmopolitan, bestower of blessings upon all matters human and humane (bless their hearts both squalid and generous, bless their dreams and bless their nightmares, bless their fears and their loves and their fears of love and love of fears and bless, well, bless their shoes, sandals, boots and slippers and to walk in each, in turn, ah, such wonders! Such peculiar follies!), Kruppe of Darujhistan walked the Great Avenue of sordid acquisitiveness, casting a most enormous, indeed gigantic shadow that rolled sure as a tide past all these shops and their wares, past the wary eyes of shop owners, past the stands of fruit and succulent pastries, past the baskets of berries and the dried fish and the strange leafy things some people ate believing themselves to be masticators of wholesomeness, past the loaves of bread and rounds of cheese, past the vessels of wine and liquors in all assorted sizes, past the weavers and dressmakers, past the crone harpist with nubs for fingers and only three strings left on her harp and her song about the peg and the hole and the honey on the nightstand-ducking the flung coins and so quickly past!-and the bolts of cloth going nowhere and the breeches blocking the doorway and the shirts for men-at-arms and shoes for the soulless and the headstone makers and urn-pissers and the old thrice-divorced man who tied knots for a living with a gaggle of children in tow surely bound by blood and thicker stuff. Past the wax-drippers and wick-twisters, the fire-eaters and ashcake-makers, past the prostitutes-oozing each languorous step with smiles of appreciation and fingers all aflutter and unbidden mysterious sensations of caresses in hidden or at least out-of-reach places and see eyes widen and appreciation flood through like the rush of lost youth and princely dreams and they sigh and call out Kruppe, you darling man! Kruppe, ain’t you gonna pay for that! Kruppe, marry every one of us and make us honest women! Kruppe-rushing quickly past, now, aaii, frightening prospect to imagine! Abludgeon of wives (surely that must be the plural assignation)! A prattle of prostitutes!