*

That night Ho sat with Su in the empty cargo hold. ‘If you don't go, they'll come down and carry you up.’

‘I'd curse their manhoods – if they still had them.’

‘It's just water. A quick dunk and they'll leave you alone.’

‘I'm too old for too many things, including dunking.’ The hull groaned around them. Rat claws scratched on wood. Ho felt the dark pressing in upon him, damp and gravid. ‘And what of you,’ Su said, tilting her head back to eye him. ‘They are all so much less than you – why fear them at all?’

‘We're not talking about that, Su. We could lower you in a net.’

‘A net? Am I a fish? Does your friend Blues know the real reason why you did not tell him of Heng? Why you are so frightened to return?’

‘Quiet, witch.’

‘Let us make a pact, magus-’

‘No pacts, witch. Just washing.’

‘A washing for me and a reunion for you.’

‘You're going under regardless, witch. It's just a question of coercion.’

‘Yes, it is always a question of coercion in the end, is it not?’

Ho sighed his impatience. ‘Su, I told you already I'm not impressed by these vague empty pronouncements you toss off hoping people will think they're wise.’

She smiled. ‘Is that what I do?’

‘Su…’

The old woman lifted a crooked finger. ‘Wisdom lives only in hindsight.’

Ho pushed his head back to hit the hull planking.

‘Is that anger I'm seeing, Ho? A temper, perhaps?’

‘Right, that's it.’ He stood, gestured Su up. ‘Let's go. On deck. Right now. There's something going on you should see. C'mon.’

She stared up at him, fiddled with her walking stick. ‘What? Right this minute?’

‘Yes. Come on!’

‘Well! Give an old woman a moment, would you?’ She struggled to rise, slapped away his offered hand. ‘As if anything could be so pressing! You would think Hood's Paths themselves had opened up above vomiting up all the dead!’ She grasped the steep gangway in one gnarled hand. ‘Just a trick, I'm sure,’ she grumbled, climbing.

On deck, torches and a bright moon in a clear night sky lit a crowd of inmates gathered around the Avowed at the larboard side of the Forlorn. Fingers sat gripping the sides of a slat seat perched atop the gunwale. By turns he peered down with pure dread and at Blues with pure venom. Treat and another of the Avowed, Reed, were tying ropes to the seat and to Fingers – who was already tightly strapped in.

‘It ain't gonna work!’ Fingers was shouting. ‘You're taking advantage of me right now is what you're doing! I'll drown.’

‘We'll keep a close watch,’ Dim assured him. ‘Don't you worry now.’

Fingers glared bloody fury at the man.

‘OK,’ Blues said. ‘All secure?’

Treat slapped Fingers’ back. ‘All secure.’

‘Bastards!’

‘Over we go,’ Blues ordered.

Treat and Reed lowered the stretcher by the ropes, backed up by Blues and Dim. Fingers had stopped cursing them all and, sinking out of sight, his pale white face stretched even tauter over his sharp cheekbones. The crowd of inmates pressed forward to line the side.

‘Room, dammit,’ Blues complained, raising his elbows. ‘Room!’

Ho observed aside to Su, ‘We're a little short on entertainment out here.’

‘Somehow this is not reassuring, Ho.’

‘Don't worry.’ He waved to a solid woman, her greying hair hacked short, who had come to his side. ‘Su, this is Devaleth. She's been over already but she and you and Inese – and Opal also – can wash at the stern. We'll put up a spare canvas or blankets. It's that or they'll throw you over in a net.’

The old witch's thin mouth curled in condescension. ‘If I must.’

Whoops and laughter sounded from the gathered inmates. Treat and Dim were hauling on the ropes. A sodden, shivering Fingers appeared at the gunwale. His torn linen shirt hung from his lank form. He stuttered something – curses probably – as they lowered his stretcher to the deck. Dim held out a blanket that he snatched and wrapped around himself. Ho watched, wondering, how could anyone be so skinny?

‘This does nothing for the traces we've ingested, or are ground into our calluses, or under our nails, or such,’ Su observed.

‘We've used the pumice stones on our flesh and knives under our nails,’ Devaleth said. ‘Myself, I would cut off my left hand to regain my gifts.’

‘Yes, well, let us hope it does not come to that,’ Su observed, turning away to limp to the stern.

From the broken wall of what was once one of a series of outlying gatehouses, hostelries and pilgrim inns for the sprawling complex that was the Great Sanctuary of Burn, Shimmer watched the envoy of the Talian League mount and ride off. The doubts and small suspicions that had gnawed at her since their return had lately coalesced into one dark, smothering feeling of wrongness that seemed to choke her. She turned back to the other two occupants of the room, Skinner and Cowl. ‘Was that wise?’ she asked, though she knew nothing would come of her objection – yet again the sensation struck her of being a player in a charade, of merely going through the motions in some tired play. Had she been here before? Done this countless times? Whence came this mood?

Skinner, his helm under one arm, revealing his scarred face and matted reddish-blond hair, waved her concerns aside. ‘This League is no different from the Malazans. I no more credit their offers of territory than I would any from Laseen.’

‘They may unite against us.’

The swordsman's gaze slid aside to Cowl. The High Mage, who had been looking off across the plain to the south, frowned a negative. ‘Unlikely for the near future – but a growing threat admittedly. Yet more forces are approaching.’

‘Laseen's?’ Shimmer asked.

A sly smile pulled at the curled tattoos beneath his mouth. ‘Who is to say? The choice is their commander's, I should think.’

‘It would precipitate matters, would it not,’ Skinner rumbled, ‘if Choss believed them Laseen's?’

‘Indeed.’

Skinner waved Cowl away. ‘I leave it to you.’

A curt bow from Cowl. The High Mage backed into shadow and disappeared. Shimmer turned to Skinner, surprised. ‘I thought Warren travel was extraordinarily dangerous these days.’

Heading to the shattered door jamb, the commander paused, considering. ‘So is Cowl.’

Alone, Shimmer suddenly felt the heat of the day seep into her – as if the commander's presence drained something vital from her. Catching his eyes still made her wince. What had become of the man who had led the First Company into the diaspora? He had been ambitious and fierce, yes, but not – inhuman. Now, something else looked out of those eyes. Something that felt more terrifying and menacing than anything that might be awaiting in the field.

‘Captain?’

Blinking, Shimmer turned. Greymane stood there along with Smoky and a regular, Ogilvy. ‘Yes?’

‘Turned them down, didn't he,’ Smoky said.

‘Yes.’

A sour nod. ‘Thought so. Makes sense.’

Shimmer straightened, ill at ease once more. ‘Explain yourself, mage.’

‘Me ‘n’ Grey been talking. Got us a theory.’

‘Yes?’ Shimmer said calmly, though her breath seemed to die in her throat.

‘First, though, this Guardsman here has something to say.’ Smoky urged Ogilvy forward with a curt jerk. Saluting, bobbing his bald bullet-head, the regular saluted.

‘’Pologies, ma'am, sir. Kept my drink-hole shut I did, sorry. Seemed most discretionary. Circumstances as they was, ’n’ all.’

Shimmer blinked again, her brow crimping. ‘Sorry, Guardsman…?’

‘Was first at the scene of Stoop's killin’ there in Stratem. Saw tracks – tracks that was later smoothed away. By spell.’

‘And those tracks told you what?’

‘Accordin’ to those tracks the lad never entered that clearing.’