Murillio remained standing, his gaze on the tower. «What of Hinter himself? Does his wraith number among them?»

«No. The madman sleeps within, or so it's said. The wraiths are trapped in the sorcerer's nightmares-he holds on to them, and even Hood cannot draw them to his cold bosom. Do you wish to know where those wraiths have come from, Murillio?» Rallick grinned. «Enter the tower, and you'll discover it first hand.»

Murillio had been about to go into the tower when Rallick had surprised him. «Thanks for the warning,» he snapped sarcastically, gathering his cloak and sitting down.

Rallick waved the mosquitoes from his face. «Well?»

«I have them,» Murillio said. «Lady Orr's most trusted hand-servant delivered them this afternoon.» He removed from inside his cloak a bamboo tube tied in blue ribbon. «Two invitations to Lady Sinital's F?te, as promised.»

«Good.» The assassin looked quickly at his friend. «You've not seen Kruppe's nose twitch?»

«Not yet. Ran into him this afternoon. Seems Crokus is making some bizarre demands. Of course,» Murillio added, scowling, «who can tell when Kruppe's caught wind of something? In any case, I've seen nothing to suggest the slippery little gnome suspects we're up to anything.»

«What was that you said about Crokus making bizarre demands?»

«A peculiar thing, that,» Murillio mused. «When I dropped by the Phoenix Inn this afternoon Kruppe was delivering to the lad the pickings from his last job. Now, surely Crokus hasn't abandoned Kruppe as his fence-we all would've caught wind of that.»

«That was from an estate, wasn't it? Whose?» Rallick asked.

«D'Arle's,» Murillio answered, then his eyebrows rose. «Kiss of Gedderone! The D'Arle maiden! The ripe one with the cheeks-she's being shown at damn near every gathering, all the frilly lads leaving a trail for the mop-boys. Oh, my! Our young thief is perchance smitten, and now keeps her baubles for himself. Of all the hopeless dreams a boy could have, he's reached for the worst.»

«Maybe,» Rallick said quietly. «Maybe not. A word to his uncle. .»

Murillio's pained expression lifted. «A nudge in the right direction? Yes, finally! Marnmot will be pleased-»

«Patience,» Rallick interjected. «Turning a thieving child into a man of standing and learning will require more work than a swooning heart will manage.»

Murillio frowned. «Well, forgive me for being so excited at the prospect of saving the lad's life.»

Rallick's smile was soft. «Never regret such pleasure,» he said.

Catching the assassin's tone, Murillio sighed, the sharp edges of his sarcasm sinking away. «It's been many years since we had so many things of hope to strive for,» he said quietly.

«The path to one will be bloody,» Rallick said. «Don't forget that. But, yes, it's been a long time. I wonder if Kruppe even remembers such days.»

Murillio snorted. «Kruppe's memory is revised hourly. All that holds him together is fear of being discovered.»

Rallick's eyes darkened. «Discovered?»

His friend seemed far away but then he collected himself and smiled.

«Oh, worn suspicions, no more. He's a slippery one, is Kruppe.»

Rallick chuckled at Murillio's mocking syntax. He studied the pond before them. «Yes,» he agreed, after a time, «he's the slippery one, all right.» He stood. «Krute will be wanting to close up. The Round's asleep by now.»

«Right.»

The two men left the terrace, methane mists swirling around their legs.

As they reached the path Murillio turned for a look at the tower's doorway, wondering if he could see the gibbering wraiths, but all he saw beneath the sagging arch was a wall of darkness. In some strange way he found that more disturbing than any horde of lost souls he might imagine.

Bright morning sunlight flowed in from the broad windows of Baruk's study, and a warm wind slipped into the room carrying the smells and noises from the street below. The alchemist, still dressed in his nightclothes, sat on a high stool at the map table. He held a brush in one hand, dipping it now and again into an ornate silver inkwell.

The red ink had been watered down. He painted wash on the map, covering the areas now held by the Malazan Empire. Fully one half of the map-the north half-was red. A small clear strip just south of Blackdog Forest marked Caladan Brood's forces, flanked on either side by two smaller patches indicating the Crimson Guard. The red wash surrounded these clear spots and extended down to engulf Pale, ending on the north edge of the Tahlyn Mountains.

The street noises had become quite loud, Baruk noted, as he leaned close to the map to paint the red tide's southern border. Construction work, he concluded, hearing the squeal of winches and a voice bellowing at passers-by. The sounds died away, then there came a loud crack!

Baruk jumped, his right forearm jerking out and knocking over the inkwell. The red ink poured across his map.

Cursing, Baruk sat back. His eyes widened as he watched the spreading stain cover Darujhistan and continue south to Catlin. He stepped down from the stool, reaching for a cloth to wipe his hands, more than a little shaken by what could easily be taken as an omen. He walked across the chamber to the window, bent forward and looked down.

A crew of workers was busy tearing up the street directly below. Two burly men swung picks while three others formed a line passing the shattered cobblestones to a growing pile on the pavement. The foreman stood nearby, his back to a wagon, studying a parchment scroll.

Baruk frowned. «Who's in charge of road maintenance?» he wondered aloud.

A soft knock diverted his attention. «Yes?»

His servant, Roald, took a single step into the room. «One of your agents has arrived, Lord.»

Baruk flicked a glance at the map table. «Have him wait a moment, Roald.»

«Yes, Lord.» The servant stepped back and closed the door.

The alchemist walked over to the table and rolled up the ruined map.

From the hallway came a 1"-ua voice- i6kkovieA'b-Y a murmur. Baruk slid the map on to a shelf and turned in time to see the agent enter, on his trail a xxx. Waving at Roald to leave, Baruk gazed down at the gaudily dressed man. «Good day, Kruppe.»

Roald stepped out and softly shut the door.

«More than good, Baruk, dear friend of Kruppe. Truly wonderful! Have you partaken of the morn's fresh air?»

Baruk glanced at the window. «Unfortunately,» he said,» the air outside my window has become rather dusty.»

Kruppe paused. His arms returned to his sides, then he reached into a sleeve and withdrew his handkerchief. He patted his brow. «Ah, yes, the road workers. Kruppe passed them on his way in. A rather belligerent lot, thinks Kruppe. Indeed, rude, but hardly exceptional for such menial labourers.»

Baruk gestured to a chair.

With a beatific smile Kruppe sat. «Such a hot day,» he said, eyeing the carafe of wine on the mantelpiece.

Ignoring this, Baruk strode to the window then turned his back to it.

He studied the man, wondering if he would ever catch a glimpse of what lay beyond Kruppe's cherubic demeanour. «What have you heard?» he asked softly.

«What has Kruppe heard? What hasn't Kruppe heard!»

Baruk raised an eyebrow. «How about brevity?»

The man shifted in the chair and mopped his forehead. «Such heat.»

Seeing Baruk's expression harden, he continued, «Now, as for news.» He leaned forward, his voice falling to a whisper. «'Tis muttered in corners in the bars, in dark doorways of dank streets, in the nefarious shadows of nocturnal night, in-»

«Get on with it!»

«Yes, of course. Well, Kruppe has caught wind of a rumour. An assassin's war, no less. The Guild is taking losses, «tis said.»

Baruk turned back to the window, his eyes on the street below. «And where do the thieves stand?»