‘And that absolves you?’

Storo spun on the magistrate. ‘J know it damn well does not!’

Sunny stepped between the two men. He faced Storo but said to Ehrlann, ‘Get out of here before I do what should be done to you.’

Ehrlann drew himself up straight, flicked his bhederin-hair switch across his shoulders. ‘Very well. I will go. But know this, Captain, with this debacle this night you have lost all the confidence of the council. Know that. Plengyllen?’

The magistrates marched off down the bridge. Storo signalled Captain Gujran to him.

‘Yes, sir?’

‘Have your men out this night at key points. There'll probably be riots. Some may even try the gates.’

‘Yes, sir.’

Saluting, the captain gestured to his detachment and marched off. Storo turned away only to face east and in the firelight playing across his features Hurl saw the pain of a man facing potential failure. A constant barrage of flame arrows now flew. The pitiful rafts and small boats burned brightly like some kind of grisly offerings as they bumped downstream with the lazy current. The glowing procession reminded Hurl of the Festival of Lights, when the citizenry of Cawn send their offerings in thanks and propitiation out upon the waters – fleets of candles and tiny lamps glimmering like stars in the night. And so to what God or Gods was this offering of blood and suffering? To Trake alone, she feared. And Hood of course. Always Hood.

Tossed rocks clattered from the arch and Hurl ducked. The citizenry of Heng now yelled their outrage. Their curses and screams mingled into an unintelligible roar. The corpse of a dead dog flew through the night sky, struck the stone arch and fell spinning into the river. Stones and offal flew, but no vegetables, these, even rotten ones, being too valuable to toss. It looked to Hurl that none of the venom was directed out against the besieging Seti – all was directed at them atop the Outer River Gate.

Ho told himself it wasn't spying or probing or prying; he was just being considerate, bringing a small selection of a recent delivery of apples. A rare enough treat worthy of sharing. That's all. Nothing more. He walked the narrow winding slits that served as tunnels here in this, one of the most isolated and distant of the galleries. Ways so narrow at times even he, an emaciated Hengan, had to slide along sideways.

As he neared the hollowed out cave he'd been told the two had moved into, he heard voices and stopped. He was sure he didn't mean to eavesdrop. He told himself he'd stopped out of mere good manners, to clear his throat, or to call ahead that he was coming. But he heard talk and so he listened.

‘Still nothing from them?’ That was Treat, the tall one.

‘I told you, nothing.’

‘Not even Fingers?’

‘No! Nothing! OK? There's nothing I can do.’

‘But I thought you lot had it all worked out that the Brethren shouldn't give a damn about the Otataral.’

A loud exasperated sigh. ‘That's right, Treat. We worked all that out. So who knows? Maybe there's another problem.’

‘I say we just go. This is a waste of time. We're late now as it is. Say, maybe it's this pack of squirrelly mages. They'd be enough to keep me away.’

So not a mage. How was that arranged?

‘These squirrelly mages are up to something. Something they think important.’

Could they know? Yath would surely kill them if he suspected.

‘So what we'll do is…’

The blackened point of a wooden spear thrust itself at Ho who flinched back completely startled, dropping his basket.

Treat faced him. ‘It's Ho.’

‘Come on in, Ho,’ called Grief.

After collecting the apples, Ho stepped forward, rounded a curve, and found himself in the men's quarters, stark as it might be. Grief sat on a ledge carved from the naked rock and strewn with rags, whittling with the smallest blade Ho had ever seen. Treat stood next to the entrance, spear still levelled. Ho slowly reached out to touch the point. ‘Fire-hardened.’

One edge of Treat's mouth quirked up. ‘Right you are. Took me forever to whittle the damned thing. Won't tell anyone, will you?’

Ho shared the smile. ‘No, of course not.’

‘What can we do for you, Ho?’ asked Grief, not looking up from his whittling.

He held out the basket. ‘Apples. A rare delivery care of the Malazans.’

‘Our thanks.’

Treat reached forward, took the basket, all the while keeping the point of the spear level. Ho watched the weapon – the first he'd seen in, well, longer than he'd care to think about. It occurred to him that Yath and Sessin had no weapons. That he knew of, in any case. He wet his lips and thought about what to say while the spear remained motionless upon him.

‘Yes?’

‘On behalf of the community I ask again that you not attempt to escape. It will bring reprisals. They'll cut off all food deliveries. They've done it before.’

Grief stopped whittling, hung his hands. ‘And I ask again, Ho… What are you mages up to here anyway? What's keeping you here?’

Ho wet his lips, found he could not hold Grief's gaze. He looked away. Grief sighed his disappointment. ‘Tell you what, Ho. I'll make me an educated guess. How about that?’ Without waiting for any reply he continued, ‘You lot are investigating the Otataral, aren't you? Researching how it deadens magic. Maybe experimenting with it. You've taken this opportunity to organize a damned academy on how the stuff works and maybe even how to circumvent it. Am I far from the truth?’

Ho stared at Grief. Definitely more than what he seemed. The man was closer – and yet so much further – from the truth than he could possibly imagine. Better by far, though, for him and for them, that he suspect it was the Otataral they were investigating. And so Ho nodded. ‘Something like that, yes.’

‘OK. Now, since we're sharing our innermost secrets and such, I'll let you in on our secret. We can get out of here any time we wish. Believe me, we can. And we can arrange it so that all of you accompany us. What do you say to that?’

The fellow must be mad. The only way that could be managed would be by Warren, which was clearly impossible. Yet Ho studied the fellow's Napan-blue features, his open expectant look and quirked brow; clearly the fellow believed what he was saying. But for the life of him Ho could not see how it could be done. He shook his head. ‘I'm sorry, but most of the inmates here would refuse to leave. The – research – is too important to be abandoned. Believe me, it is.’

Grief almost threw the short wand, or baton, he was whittling. ‘Damn it to damned Fener! What is the matter with you people? Don't you want a chance to strike back against the Malazans?’

‘Certainly there are many here who would jump at the chance for revenge – if they can win free of the contamination – which I am not sure is possible now that we have been eating and breathing the dust for so long.’

‘In its raw unrefined form, yes…’

Ho waved that aside. ‘I know the arguments. All academic, in any case.’

Grief appeared ready to say more then decided against it. He dismissed Ho. ‘Thanks for the fruit. Think on the offer. It may be your only chance to get out of this place before you die.’

Ho bowed his head in acknowledgment, stepped away. Returning to the main tunnels, he tried to make sense of what he'd learned. Could these two really escape whenever they wished? Even get everyone out as they promised? Seemed utterly fantastic. Why would they do such a thing? Who were they to them? And that word he'd overheard, Brethren. He'd heard it before, he was sure. Somewhere and in some strange context. He'd have to think about it.

For the near future, though, he would have to work on keeping Yath and Sessin away. They mustn't suspect that these two had ideas that fell uncomfortably close to the truth of just what their community had discovered buried so far down within the Otataral-bearing formations.