She grasped the woman's right arm, the one she used to hold a weapon, and, with a sharp twist, dislocated it at the elbow.

The woman cried out.

Apsalar closed a hand on her throat and slammed her against the wall, the head cracking hard. Vomit spilled onto the assassin's glove and wrist. She held the Pardu there. 'Now you will answer my questions.'

'Please!'

'No pleading. Pleading only makes me cruel. Answer me to my satisfaction and I might let you and your friend live. Do you understand?'

The Pardu nodded, her face smeared with blood and an elongated bump swelling below her right eye where the iron-embedded moccasin had struck.

Sensing the arrival of the two ghosts, Apsalar glanced over her shoulder. They were hovering over the body of the other Pardu.

'One of us might take her,' Telorast whispered.

'Easy,' agreed Curdle. 'Her mind is addled.'

'Absent.'

'Lost in the Abyss.'

Apsalar hesitated, then said, 'Go ahead.'

'Me!' hissed Curdle.

'No, me!' snarled Telorast.

'Me!'

'I got to her first!'

'You did not!'

'I choose,' said Apsalar. 'Acceptable?'

'Yes.'

'Oh yes, you choose, dearest Mistress-'

'You're grovelling again!'

'Am not!'

'Curdle,' Apsalar said. 'Possess her.'

'I knew you'd pick her!'

'Patience, Telorast. This night's not yet done.'

The Pardu woman before her was blinking, a wild look in her eyes. 'Who are you talking to? What language is that? Who's out there – I can't see-'

'Your lantern's out. Never mind. Tell me about your master.'

'Gods below, it hurts-'

Apsalar reached down and twisted the dislocated arm again.

The woman shrieked, then sagged, unconscious.

Apsalar let her slide down the wall until the woman was roughly in a sitting position. Then she drew out a flask and splashed water into the Pardu's face.

The eyes opened, comprehension returned, and with it, terror.

'I don't want to hear about what hurts,' Apsalar said. 'I want to hear about the merchant. Your employer. Now, shall we try again?'

The other Pardu was sitting up near the entrance, making grunting noises, then coughing, until she spat out bloody phlegm. 'Ah!' Curdle cried. 'Better! Oh, everything aches, oh, the arm!'

'Be quiet,' Apsalar commanded, then fixed her attention once more on the woman in front of her. 'I am not a patient person.'

'Trygalle Trade Guild,' the woman said in a gasp.

Apsalar slowly leaned back on her haunches. A most unexpected answer.

'Curdle, get out of that body.'

'What?'

'Now.'

'Just as well, she was all broken. Ah, free of pain again! This is better – I was a fool!'

Telorast's laughter was a rasp. 'And you still are, Curdle. I could have told you, you know. She wasn't right for you.'

'No more talking,' Apsalar said. She needed to think on this. The Trygalle Trade Guild's centre of operations was Darujhistan. It had been a long time since they'd visited the fragment of the Shadow Realm with munitions for Fiddler, assuming it was the same caravan – and she suspected it was. As purveyors of items and information, it now seemed obvious that more than one mission had brought them to Seven Cities.

On the other hand, perhaps they were doing little more than recovering here in the city – given their harrowing routes through the warrens – and the merchant-mage had instructed his guards to deliver any and all unusual information. Even so, she needed to be certain. 'The Trygalle merchant – what brought him or her here to Ehrlitan?'

The swelling was closing the Pardu's right eye. 'Him.'

'His name?'

'Karpolan Demesand.'

At that, Apsalar allowed herself a faint nod.

'We, uh, we were making a delivery – us guards, we're shareholders-'

'I know how the Trygalle Trade Guild works. A delivery, you said.'

'Yes, to Coltaine. During the Chain of Dogs.'

'That was some time ago.'

'Yes. I'm sorry, the pain, it hurts to talk.'

'It'll hurt more if you don't.'

The Pardu grimaced, and it was a moment before Apsalar realized it had been a smile. 'I do not doubt you, Shadow Dancer. Yes, there was more.

Altar stones.'

'What?'

'Cut stones, to line a holy pool…'

'Here in Ehrlitan?'

The woman shook her head, winced, then said, 'No. Y'Ghatan.'

'Are you on your way there, or returning?'

'Returning. Outward journeys are through warrens. We're… uh… resting.'

'So Karpolan Demesand's interest in a Shadow Dancer is just passing.'

'He likes to know… everything. Information buys us advantages. Noone likes rearguard on the Ride.'

'The Ride.'

'Through the warrens. It's… hairy.'

I imagine it would be. 'Tell your master,' Apsalar said, 'that this Shadow Dancer does not appreciate the attention.'

The Pardu nodded.

Apsalar straightened. 'I am done with you.'

The woman flinched back, up against the wall, her left forearm rising to cover her face.

The assassin looked down on the guard, wondering what had set her off.

'We understand that language now,' Telorast said. 'She thinks you are going to kill her, and you are, aren't you?'

'No. That should be obvious, if she's to deliver a message to her master.'

'She's not thinking straight,' Curdle said. 'Besides, what better way to deliver your message than with two corpses?'

Apsalar sighed, said to the Pardu, 'What brought you to this place? To Mebra's?'

Muffled from behind the forearm, the woman replied, 'Purchasing information… but he's dead.'

'What information?'

'Any. All. Comings and goings. Whatever he was selling. But you've killed Mebra-'

'No, I did not. By way of peace between me and your master, I will tell you this. An assassin of the Nameless Ones murdered Mebra. There was no torture involved. A simple assassination. The Nameless Ones weren't looking for information.'

The Pardu's lone visible eye, now above the guarding wrist, was fixed on her. 'The Nameless Ones? Seven Holies protect us!'

'Now,' Apsalar said, drawing her knife, 'I need some time.' With that she struck the woman with the pommel of her knife, hard against the temple, and watched the Pardu's eye roll up, the body slump over.

'Will she live?' Telorast demanded, slinking closer.

'Leave her alone.'

'She may wake up not remembering anything you told her.'

'It doesn't matter,' Apsalar replied, sheathing her knife. 'Her master will glean all he needs to know anyway.'

'A sorceror. Ah, they travel the warrens, they said. Risky. This Karpolan Demesand must be a formidable wielder of magic – you have made a dangerous enemy.'

'I doubt he will pursue this, Telorast. I let his shareholders live, and I have provided him with information.'

'And what of the tablets?' Curdle asked.

Apsalar turned. 'What tablets?'

'The ones hidden under the floor.'

'Show me.'

The shade drifted towards Mebra's naked corpse. 'Under him. A secret cache, beneath this pavestone. Hard clay, endless lists, they probably mean nothing.'

Apsalar rolled the body over. The stone was easily pried loose, and she wondered at the carelessness of the searchers. Then again, perhaps Mebra had had some control over where he would die. He had been lying directly over it. A rough pit had been excavated, and it was crowded with clay tablets. In one corner sat a damp burlap sack filled with soft clay, and a half-dozen bone scribers bound in twine.

She rose and retrieved the lantern. When it had struck the wall, the shutter had closed – the flame within remained. She pulled the top ring to draw up the hinged shutters part-way. Returning to the secret cache, she collected the topmost dozen tablets then sat cross-legged beside the pit within the small circle of light, and began reading.