The admiral shook his head; spray glistened on his scar-mottled mostly bald pate. ‘No. At this rate, we'll beat them. Mind you, making the Horn could be touch ‘n’ go. No matter, when we arrive in the harbour those Cawnese'll come around. Always able to tell which way the wind's blowing, them.’ And he laughed then for the first time in months. ‘Get it? Wind blowin’? Ha!’

Ullen smiled, relieved to see his commander in a lightened mood. Yet he could not keep his gaze from returning to the glistening dark face of their High Mage. She sat where she always had, at centre deck, where she'd first positioned herself, and, thinking on it, Ullen could not call to mind a single time when she could not be found there. She even took her meals there, and slept sitting up, her fan shimmering and hissing through the night like a giant insect. He had to admit to being impressed – she reminded him of their old powerful cadre mages, A'Karonys or Nightchill.

Her eyes rose then, capturing his – huge brown pools, and she smiled as if guessing his thoughts. ‘They don't know you have me,’ she said, or seemed to say; he could not be sure. ‘They think this will be a contest of hedge-wizards and wax-witches. But I am of the old school, friend Ullen. I was taken in by Kellanved – and expelled by Tayschrenn. And for that I will teach him regret.’

The fan seemed to snap then with a slash that Ullen could almost feel above the storm driving them on. He glanced to Urko but the commander seemed oblivious to the exchange. Keep her in check -Urko had expressed every confidence he could keep the woman in check. Yet even now she hinted at larger ambitions and her own motives, playing her games undeterred by, or contemptuous of, his presence. What sort of a viper had they taken into their midst – a viper even too traitorous and unreliable for the emperor and his kind?

All the while the fan hummed, almost invisible, shimmering, and Ullen wondered, was it this ally of a priest of a sea cult helping them along, or were they all merely at the mercy of a flickering fan?

From the profound dark of a tunnel opening off the Pit, Ho sat watching the slightly lesser dark of the shadowed half of the large circular mine-head. He started, jerking, as yet again his chin touched his chest and he glared about wondering what he'd missed. But all remained quiet. Everyone seemed asleep, including, for all he knew, the two newcomers; the spies he'd last seen entering those shadows and now sat waiting just as he was. Waiting for what? Some sign among the stars? The right moment for a midnight escape attempt? Ho tried to identify their figures amidst the monochrome dark, but failed. No movement. He chided himself; maybe they just couldn't sleep in the caves; maybe they simply longed for a touch of the slight breeze that sometimes made its way down here when conditions were just right. Yeah, and maybe they were worshippers of the cult of Elder Dark.

Something then – movement? Someone standing there in the dark? The pale oval of a face upturned? Ho leaned forward, straining. A call sounded, an owl's warning call. From his friends? Or above? Hard to say. A flash in the moonlight streaming down into the open mine-head. Something small falling. His friends stepped out into the light; one, Grief, stooped, picked up the thing, examined it. They talked but Ho couldn't hear any of it.

As they retreated into the shadows Ho could not contain himself any longer. He marched out to confront them. Damn them and their schemes! Don't they know everyone here lives only at the sufferance of their captors above? That the slightest provocation could mean shortened rations, perhaps death for the more sickly among them?

When he reached them they were waiting for him, the object, whatever it was, nowhere in evidence. He glared. The one who gave his name as Grief eyed him back, unperturbed. ‘You're up late, Ho.’

‘Cut it out. What're you two up to?’

Grief sighed, glanced to Treat who shrugged. ‘Nothing that concerns you.’

‘You're wrong there, brother. Everything to do with this place concerns me. We're all one big family down here.’

‘Somehow I knew you were going to say that. Listen, if it'll help any, what we're up to is no threat at all. In fact, it could prove just the opposite.’

‘And I'm supposed to trust you on that, am I?’

Grief lifted his arms in a helpless shrug. ‘I guess that's about the meat of it.’

‘Not good enough.’

‘Yeah. I know. So, what now? Gonna denounce us to your ruling committee?’

Ho decided that now would be as good a time as any to test his estimate of the character of these two strangers. He raised his chin to indicate the surface. ‘Maybe I'll have to let the guards know – what do you think of that?’

The two men went still. For an instant Ho feared he'd overplayed his hand; that his reading of these two was wrong – after all, they truly did seem to be all alone right now. A body found in the morning, who would be the wiser? A big risk; but then, what kind of a test would it be otherwise? Grief crossed his arms. ‘No, I think we aren't going to do anything at all, because if you really were going to tell them the last thing you would do is let us know.’

Damn him. ‘OK. So I'm not about to run to the Malazans. But I need to know what you two are doing. What you're up to.’

Grief slowly edged his head from side to side; he seemed genuinely regretful. ‘Sorry, old man. We can't say a thing – yet. But what I can ask is: where is our faithful watchdog right now? One of your happy family members, I believe. Sessin. Where's he? Maybe he decided it convenient to leave you alone with us, eh, Ho?’

Ho had more to say but the two walked off leaving him fuming with unspent words. In the shadows his sandalled feet stepped on something and he knelt, feeling about. He came up with the shredded remains of a piece of driftwood.

Walking the plains surrounding Li Heng was a dangerous undertaking now with the Seti riding at will. Worse so, since Silk was headed the wrong direction: that is, away from the city. The young Seti of the various soldier societies, the Wolf, Dog, Ferret and Jackal, were happy to chivvy any refugees or fleeing traders into the city. But for anyone to attempt to leave was another matter altogether. The arrow-tufted bodies of those who tried to run south to Itko Kan lands, or downriver to Cawn, were left to rot within sight of the city walls as object lessons to all.

Silk kept to the lowest-lying of the prairie draws and sunken creekbeds as he headed west, parallel, more or less, with the Idryn. His goal was visible ahead as the source of the thick smoke of green wood and the stink of unwashed bodies and unburied excrement. A refugee camp of the most wretched and sick, those turned away from the city gates and judged too abject to be a worthy of a lancing or an arrow from the Seti warriors.

Faces turned to watch him pass as he walked the rutted trampled mud of the camp. Old men and women sat in the entrances of tents of hide. Children squatted in the mud peering up at him with open mouths. They did not even have the energy to beg. He stopped before one child whom he thought to be ten or so. ‘I'm looking for some Elders, child. Two or three who are always together. Heard of them?’

The child merely stared with liquid brown eyes; she was so dark he suspected mixed Dal Honese blood. One arm hung twisted and stick-thin, some old injury or illness. Sudden compassion for the child caught the breath in Silk's chest. He allowed himself the gesture of touselling her hair despite the crawling vermin. A woman ran up, snatched the child's good hand. ‘What do you want? Go away! If the Seti see us talking with you they'll cut our throats!’