‘Hood forbid we do that,’ snarled Antsy.

‘Hood is not one to forbid much of anything,’ Raest observed.

‘Can’t think he much likes these Azath Houses,’ Picker said, having recovered from her shock and irritation and, perhaps, indignation. ‘All this trapping of souls and things like you, Raest.’

‘I doubt I rate highly on Hood’s wish list,’ the undead Jaghut replied.

Antsy grunted a laugh. ‘All right, I’m finally working out your sense of hu-mour. And I thought Malazan marines were dry, Abyss below! Fine, Raest, let’s play this game for real. If you can help us with our problem, we’ll do something for you in return. If it’s within our abilities, that is, so nothing like “get me outa here” or anything like that. But, you know, other stuff.’

‘I do have a modest request. Very well, I accept the reciprocal engagement.’

Antsy grinned across at Picker, and then said to Raest, ‘It’s this. Someone’s taken out a contract on us. We don’t know why. We’re thinking maybe Paran can work out who and what’s got ’em so aggravated.’

The Jaghut stared.

Picker cleared her throat. ‘Possible causes. One, we’re Malazans. Veterans. We’ve made more than a few enemies on this continent. Two, we own K’rul’s Bar, which used to be K’rul’s Belfry, which used to be K’rul’s Temple. In the cel-

larr we just found thirteen pickled Seguleh, maybe centuries old, but looking fresh, Since they’re, er, pickled.’ She paused, drew a breath, and then continued, ‘Three, well, I ain’t got to three yet. The way I figure it, it’s all got to do with K’rul-maybe some cultists want the temple back. Maybe someone put in an order for pickled Seg-uleh and wants ’em delivered.’

Antsy stared at her. ‘Someone did what? Pick, that’s the stupidest idea I’ve ever heard.’

‘I wouldn’t argue with that,’ she said, ‘only I’m desperate, and besides, I got a hunch those Seguleh are part of the problem.’

Antsy looked to Raest. ‘So there it is. Got any suggestions or are you just going to stand there for ever?’

‘Yes I am,’ Raest replied, ‘but that detail is not relevant. As for suggestions, I suggest you kill every assassin in the city.’

‘Then whoever wants us dead just starts hiring thugs,’ Picker said.

‘Kill all thugs.’

Antsy tugged at his moustache. ‘Ain’t practical. There’s only three of us left-it’d take years.’

‘Kidnap the Guild Master and torture him or her to reveal the client. Then kill the client.’

‘Killing the client makes sense to us,’ Picker said, nodding. ‘The kidnapping thing doesn’t sound very feasible-we’d have to carve through a few hundred as-sassins to do it. Besides, we don’t know where the Guild Master’s hideout is. We could capture and torture an assassin to find that out, but they probably operate in cells which means whoever we get might not know a thing. The point is, we don’t know who the client is. We need to find out.’

Raest said, ‘Your suspicion that the K’rul Temple is central to this matter is probably accurate. Determining the specifics, however, would best be served by enlisting the assistance of the Master of the Deck.’

“That’s what we wanted in the first place!’ Antsy shouted.

‘Extraordinary, isn’t it?’

Antsy glared up at the infuriating lich, bit down a few retorts that might prove unwise. He drew a deep breath to calm himself, and then said in a nice, quiet tone, ‘So let’s see if we can send him a message, shall we?’

‘Follow me,’ Raest said.

Back into the corridor, turning right, five strides to a narrow door on the left that led into the squat round tower, up the spiral staircase, arriving into the upper level-a circular room with the walls bearing oversized painted renditions of the cards of the Deck of Dragons. Something twisted the eye in this chamber and Picker almost staggered.

‘Gods below,’ muttered Antsy. ‘This place is magicked-makes me sick to the stomach.’

The images swirled, blurred, shifted in rippling waves that crossed from every conceivable direction, a clash of convergences inviting vertigo no matter where the eye turned. Picker found herself gasping. She squeezed shut her eyes, heard Antsy cursing as he backed out of the room.

Raest’s dry voice drifted faintly into her head. ‘The flux has increased. There appears to be some manner of… deterioration. Even so, Corporal Picker, if you focus your mind and concentrate on Ganoes Paran, the efficacy of your will may prove sufficient to anchor in place the Master’s own card, which perhaps will awaken his attention. Unless of course he is otherwise engaged. Should your willpower prove unequal to the task, I am afraid that what remains of your sanity will be torn away. Your mind itself will be shredded by the maelstrom, leaving you a drooling wreck.’ After a moment, he added, ‘Such a state of being may not be desirable. Of course, should you achieve it, you will not care one way or the other, which you may consider a blessing.’

‘Well,’ she replied, ‘that’s just great. Give me a moment, will you?’

She tugged from her memory the captain’s not unpleasant face, sought to fix it before her mind’s eye. Ganoes Varan, pay attention. Captain, wherever you are. This is Corporal Picker, in Darujhistan. Ganoes, I need to talk to you.

She saw him now, framed as would a card be framed in the Deck of Dragons. She saw that he was wearing a uniform, that of the Malazan soldier he had once been-was that her memory, conjuring up her last sight of him? But no, he looked older. He looked beaten down, smeared in dust. Spatters of dried blood on his scarred leather jerkin. The scene behind him was one of smoke and ruination, the blasted remnants of rolling farmland, tracts defined by low stone walls, but noth-ing green in sight. She thought she could see bodies on that dead earth.

Paran’s gaze seemed to sharpen on her. She saw his mouth move but no sound reached her.

Ganoes! Captain-listen, fust concentrate back on me.

‘-not the time, Corporal. We’ve landed in a mess. But listen, if you can get word to them, try. Warn them, Picker. Warn them off.’

Captain-someone’s after the temple-K’rul’s Temple. Someone’s trying to kill us-

‘-jhistan can take care of itself, Pick. Baruk knows what to do-trust him. You need to find out who wants it. Talk to Kruppe. Talk to the Eel. But listen-pass on my warning, please.’

Pass it on to who? Who are you talking about, Captain? And what was that about Kruppe?

The image shredded before her eyes, and she felt something like claws tear into her mind. Screaming, she sought to reel back, pull away. The claws sank deeper, and all at once Picker realized that there was intent, there was malice. Something had arrived, and it wanted her.

Shrieking, she felt herself being dragged forward, into a swirling madness, into the maw of something vast and hungry, something that wanted to feed on her. For a long, long time, until her soul was gone, devoured, until nothing of her was left.

Pressure and darkness on all sides, ripping into her. She could not move.

In the midst of the savage chaos, she felt and heard the arrival of a third presence, a force flowing like a beast to draw up near her-she sensed sudden attention, a cold-eyed regard, and a voice murmured close, ‘Not here. Not now. There were torcs once, that you carried. There was a debt, still unpaid. Not now. Not here,’

The beast pounced.

Whatever had grasped hold of Picker, whatever was now feeding on her, sud-denly roared In pain, in fury, and the claws tore free, slashed against its new at-tiicker.

Snarls, the air trembling to thunder as two leviathans clashed.

Dwarfed, forgotten, small as an ant, Picker crawled away, leaking out her life in a crimson trail. She was weeping, shivering in the aftermath of the thing’s feed-ing. It had been so… intractable, so horribly… indifferent. To who she was, to her right to her own life. My soul… my soul was… food. That’s all. Abyss