Baruk reached down and plucked at the frayed edge of his robe. «I see,» he said, in a low voice. «Pale had its wizards.»

Rake frowned. «Indeed.»

«Yet,» Baruk continued, «when the battle was begun in earnest, your first thought was not for the alliance you made with the city but for the well-being of your Moon.»

«Who told you this?» Rake demanded.

Baruk looked up and raised both hands. «Some of those wizards managed to escape.»

«They're in the city?» Rake's eyes had gone black.

Seeing them, Baruk felt sweat break out beneath his clothes. «Why?» he asked.

«I want their heads,» Rake replied casually. He refilled his goblet and took a sip.

An icy hand had slipped around Baruk's heart and was now tightening. His headache had increased tenfold in the last few seconds. «Why?»

he asked again, the word coming out almost as a gasp.

If the Tiste And? knew of the alchemist's sudden discomfort he made no sign of it. «Why?» He seemed to roll the word in his mouth like wine, a light smile touching his lips. «When the Moranth army came down from the mountains, and Tayschrenn rode at the head of his wizard cadre, and when word spread that an Empire Claw had infiltrated the city,» Rake's smile twisted into a snarl,» the wizards of Pale fled.» He paused, as if reliving memories. «I dispatched the Claw when they were but a dozen steps inside the walls.» He paused again, his face betraying a flash of regret. «Had the city's wizards remained, the assault would have been repelled. Tayschrenn, it seemed, was preoccupied with: other imperatives. He'd saturated his position-a hilltop-with defensive wards. Then he unleashed demons not against me but against some of his companions. That baffled me but, rather than allow such conjurings; to wander at will, I expended vital power destroying them.» He sighed and said, «I pulled the Moon back mere minutes from its destruction. I left it to drift south and went after those wizards.»

«After them?»

«I tracked down all but two.» Rake gazed at Baruk. «I want those two, preferably alive, but their heads will suffice.»

«You killed those you found? How?»

«With my sword, of course.»

Baruk recoiled as if struck. «Oh,» he whispered. «Oh.

«The alliance,» Rake said, before draining his goblet.

«I'll speak to the Cabal on this matter,» Baruk answered, rising shakily to his feet. «Word of the decision will be sent to you soon.» He stared at the sword strapped to the Tiste And?» s back. «Tell me, if you get those wizards alive, will you use that on them?»

Rake frowned. «Of course.»

Turning away, Baruk closed his eyes. «You'll have their heads, then.»

Behind him Rake laughed harshly. «There's too much mercy in your heart, Alchemist.»

The pale light beyond the window signified the dawn. Within the Phoenix Inn only one table remained occupied. Around it sat four men, one asleep in his chair with his head lying in a pool of stale beer. He snored loudly. The others were playing cards, two red-eyed with exhaustion while the last one studied his hand and talked. And talked.

«And then there was the time I saved Rallick Nom's life, at the back of All Eve's Street. Four, no, five nefarious hoodlums had backed the boy to a wall. He was barely standing, was Rallick, gushing blood from a hundred knife wounds. Clear to me was the grim fact that it couldn't last much longer, that tussle. I come up on them six assassins from behind, old Kruppe with fire dancing on his fingertips-a magical spell of frightful violence. I uttered the cantrip in a single breath and lo! Six piles of ash at Rallick's feet. Six piles of ash aglitter with the coin from their wallets-hah! A worthy reward!»

Murillio leaned his long, elegant frame close to Crokus Younghand. «Is this possible?» he whispered. «For a turn to last as long as Kruppe's?»

Crokus grinned wearily at his friend. «I don't mind, really. It's safe in here, and that's what counts for me.»

«Assassin's war, bosh!» Kruppe said, leaning back to mop his brow with a wilted silk handkerchief. «Kruppe remains entirely unconvinced. Tell me, did you not see Rallick Nom in here earlier? Spoke long with Murillio here, the lad did. As calm as ever, was he not?»

Murillio grimaced. «Nom gets like that every time he's just killed somebody. Lay down a card, dammit! I've early appointments to attend to.»

Crokus asked, «So what was Rallick talking to you about?»

Murillio's answer was a mere shrug. He continued glaring at Kruppe.

The small man's pencil-thin eyebrows rose. «Is it Kruppe's turn?»

Closing his eyes, Crokus slumped in his chair. He groaned. «I saw three assassins on the rooftops, Kruppe. And the two that killed the third went after me, even though it's obvious I'm no assassin.»

«Well,» said Murillio, eyeing the young thief's tattered clothing and the cuts and scrapes on his face and hands, «I'm inclined to believe you.»

«Fools! Kruppe sits at a table of fools.» Kruppe glanced down at the snoring man. «And Coll here is the biggest of them all. But sadly gifted with self-knowledge. Hence his present state, from which many profane truths might be drawn. Appointments, Murillio? Kruppe didn't think the city's multitude of mistresses awoke so early in the day. After all, what might they see in their mirrors? Kruppe shivers at the thought.»

Crokus massaged the bruise hidden beneath his long, brown hair. He winced, then leaned forward. «Come on, Kruppe,» he muttered. «Play a card.»

«My turn?»

«Seems self-knowledge doesn't extend to whose turn it is,» Murillio commented drily.

Boots sounded on the stairs. The three turned to see Rallick Nom descending from the first floor. The tall, dark-skinned man looked rested.

He wore his day cloak, a deep royal purple, clasped at the neck by a silver clamshell brooch. His black hair was freshly braided, framing his narrow, clean-shaven face. Raffick. walked up to the table and reached down to grasp Coll's thinning hair. He raised the man's head from the pool of beer and bent forward to study Coll's blotched face. Then he gently set down the man's head, and pulled up a chair.

«Is this the same game as last night?»

«Of course,» Kruppe replied. «Kruppe has these two men backed to the very wall, in danger of losing their very shirts! It's good to see you again friend Rallick. The lad here,» Kruppe indicated Crokus with a limp hand fingers fluttering, «speaks endlessly of murder above our heads. A veritable downpour of blood! Have you ever heard such nonsense Rallick, Kruppe's friend?»

Rallick shrugged. «Another rumour. This city was built on rumours.»

Crokus scowled to himself. It seemed that no one was willing to answer questions this morning. He wondered yet again what the assassin and Murillio had been talking about earlier; hunched as they'd been over a dimly lit table in one corner of the room, Crokus had suspected some sort of conspiracy. Not that such a thing was unusual for them, though most times Kruppe was at its centre.

Murillio swung his gaze to the bar. «Sulty!» he called out. «You awake?

There was a mumbled response from behind the wooden counter, the Sulty, her blonde hair dishevelled and plump face looking plumper, stood up. «Yah,» she mumbled. «What?»

«Breakfast for my friends here, if you please.» Murillio climbed to his feet and cast a critical, obviously disapproving eye over his clothing. The soft billowing shirt, dyed a bright green, now hung on his lanky frame wilted and beer-stained. His fine tanned leather pantaloons were crease and patchy. Sighing, Murillio stepped away from the table. «I must bath and change. As for the game, I surrender consumed by hopelessness Kruppe, I now believe, will never play his card, thus leaving us trapped in the unlikely world of his recollections and reminiscences, potentially for ever. Goodnight, one and all.» He and Rallick locked gazes, the Murillio gave a faint nod.