Two knives slammed point first into the table in front of the ex-sergeant. His bushy brows shot upward, eyes bulging. ‘Just an idea,’ he muttered. ‘No reason to get all uppity, you two.’

‘Could be he’s another Kalam,’ Picker said. ‘A Claw.’

Antsy choked on something, coughed, hacked, then managed a breath. He leaned forward until he was very nearly lying on the table from the chest up. He chewed on his moustache for a moment, eyes darting between Picker and Blend. ‘Listen, if he is, then we should kill him.’

‘Why?’

‘Could be he’s hunting us, Picker. Could be he’s come to finish off the Bridgeburners once and for all.’

‘Why would any of them care?’ Picker asked.

‘Maybe the bard set us up, did you think of that?’

Blend sighed and rose. ‘How about I just go up and ask him?’

‘You want to take a grab at a tit,’ Picker said, smiling again. ‘So, go ahead, Blend. Go on. See if she blows you a kiss.’

Shrugging, Blend set out to where the three newcomers had just acquired a table.

Antsy choked again, plucked at Picker’s sleeve and gasped, ‘She’s heading straight over!’

Picker licked her lips. ‘I didn’t really mean-’

‘She’s almost there-they seen her-don’t turn round!’

Barathol saw the Malazan threading her way to where they now sat. By hue of skin, by cast of features, by any obvious measure one might find, there was nothing that differentiated the woman from any local Daru or Genabarii; yet he knew, instantly. A Malazan, and a veteran. A damned marine.

Scillara noted his attention and half turned in her chair. ‘Good taste, Barathol-and it seems she likes-’

‘Quiet,’ Barathol muttered.

The slim woman came up, soft brown eyes fixed on Barathol. And in Malazan, she said, ‘I knew Kalam.’

He snorted. ‘Yes, he’s a popular man.’

‘Cousin?’

He shrugged. ‘That will do. Are you with the embassy?’

‘No. Are you?’

Barathol’s eyes narrowed. Then he shook his head. ‘We arrived today. I never directly served in your empire.’

She seemed to think about that. Then she nodded. ‘We’re retired. Causing no trouble to anyone.’

‘Sounds retired indeed.’

‘We run a bar. K’rul’s, in the Estates District, near Worry Gate.’

‘And how does it fare?’

‘Slow to start, but we’re settled in now. Getting by.’

‘That’s good.’

‘Come by, I’ll set you the first round.’

‘We just might.’

She glanced down at Scillara then, and winked. Then turned away and walked back to her table.

‘What just happened?’ Scillara asked after a moment.

Barathol smiled. ‘Do you mean the wink or all the rest?’

‘I figured out the wink, thank you… The rest.’

‘They’re deserters, I’d wager. Worried that we might be imperial. That I might be a Claw, come to deliver a message from the Empress-the usual message to deserters. They knew Kalam Mekhar, a relation of mine, who was once a Claw, and then a Bridgeburner.’

‘A Bridgeburner. I’ve heard about them. The nastiest company ever. Started in Seven Cities and then left with Dujek.’

‘The same.’

‘So they thought you were here to kill them.’

‘Yes.’

‘So one of them just decided to walk up and talk to you. That seems either incredibly brave or profoundly stupid.’

‘The former,’ said Barathol. ‘About what you’d expect from a Bridgeburner, deserter or otherwise.’

Scillara twisted round, quite deliberately, to study the two women and the red-bearded man at the table on the other side of the plaza. And did not flinch from the steady regard they then fixed on her.

Amused, Barathol waited until Scillara slowly swung back and reached for her jar of wine, before saying, ‘Speaking of brave…’

‘

‘Oh, I just don’t go for that kowtowing stuff.’

‘I know.’

‘So do they, now.’

‘Right. Shall we join them, then?’

Scillara suddenly grinned. ‘Tell you what, let’s buy them a pitcher, then watch and see if they drink from it.’

‘Gods, woman, you play sharp games.’

‘Nah, it’s just flirting.’

‘With what?’

Her smile broadened, and she gestured over a nearby server.

‘Now what?’ Antsy demanded.

‘Guess they’re thirsty,’ Picker said.

‘It’s that quiet one who worries me,’ Antsy continued. ‘He’s got that blank look, like the worst kinda killer.’

‘He’s a simpleton, Antsy,’ said Blend.

‘Worst kinda killer there is.’

‘Oh, really. He’s addled, a child’s brain-look how he looks round at everything. Look at that silly grin.’

‘It’s probably an act, Blend. Tell her, Pick, it’s an act. That’s your Claw, right there, the one that’s gonna kill us starting with me, since I ain’t never had no luck, except the pushin’ kind. My skin’s all clammy already, like I was practising being a corpse. It’s no fun, being a corpse-take it from me.’

‘That explains the fingernails,’ Blend said.

Antsy frowned at her.

The server who had just been at the other table now arrived, delivering a large clay jar. ‘Wine,’ she said. ‘Compliments of them three o’er there.’

Picker snorted. ‘Oh, that’s cute. And now they want to see if we drink from it. Get that wench back here, Blend. Buy them a bottle of white apricot nectar. Returning the favour, like.’

Blend rolled her eyes. ‘This could get expensive,’ she said as she rose.

‘I ain’t drinkin’ from nothing I didn’t buy myself,’ Antsy said. ‘We shoulda brought Bluepearl, he could’ve sniffed out whatever. Or Mallet. They got poisons so secret here there’s no taste, no smell, the one drop that kills ya don’t even feel wet. Why, all you need to do is look in its direction!’

‘What in Hood’s name are you going on about, Antsy?’

‘You heard me, Pick-’

‘Pour me some of this wine, then. Let’s see if they got good taste.’

‘I ain’t touching that jar, could be powdered with something-’

‘Only if the wench was in on it. If she wasn’t and there was, she’d be dead, right?’

‘She don’t look too healthy to me.’

‘You’d look pretty rough too with all the cysts she’s got on her head and neck.’

‘Some Daru poisons show up as knobby lumps-’

‘Gods below, Antsy!’ Picker reached across and collected the jar, filled her goblet. Drank down a mouthful of the amber liquid. ‘There.’Not half bad. We got better in our cellar, I’m pleased to say.’

Antsy was studying her with slightly bulging eyes.

Blend returned, sank into a slouch in her chair. ‘On its way,’ she said. ‘How was the wine, Pick?’

‘Passing. Wants some?’

‘All this trudging back and forth has worked up a fierce thirst, so fill it up, darling.’

‘You’re both suicidal,’ Antsy said.

‘We’re not the ones feeling clammy, are we?’

‘There are some poisons,’ Picker said, ‘that kill the person next to the one who took it.’

The ex-sergeant lurched back in his chair. ‘Damn you-I heard of those-you killed me!’

‘Calm down,’ Blend interjected. ‘She was teasing you, Antsy. Honest. Right, Picker?’

‘Well

‘If you don’t want his knife in your throat, Pick, tell him quick.’

‘Aye, a jibe. A jest. Teasing, nothing more. Besides, if you’re naturally clammy, you’re immune.’

‘You must think me an idiot, Pick. Both of you!’ When neither objected to that assertion the Falari snarled and took the jar from Blend, raised it defiantly to his mouth and downed the rest of the contents in a cascade of gulps, his oversized Adam’s apple bobbing as if he was trying to swallow a cork.

A fearless idiot,’ Blend said, shaking her head.

Antsy sucked on his moustache ends for moment, then thumped the empty jar on to the tabletop He belched,

They watched as the wench delivered the bottle of white apricot nectar. A brief conversation with the woman ensued, whereupon she flounced off with a toss of her knobby head. The pleasantly plump woman and the Mekhar both poured a healthy measure of the liquor. With a bold toast in the Malazans’ direction, they sipped.