Baruk looked up, then twisted in his chair to regard his guest, who was busy preening herself on his map-table. ‘Crone, the inconsistencies in this text are infuriating.’

The Great Raven cocked her head, beak gaping for a moment in laughter, then said, ‘So what? Show me a written history that makes sense, and I will show you true fiction. If that is all you want, then look elsewhere! My master concluded that Dillat’s nonsense would make a fine gift for your collection. If you are truly displeased, there are plenty of other idiocies in his library, those that he bothered to extract from Moon’s Spawn, that is. He left whole rooms crammed with the rubbish, you know.’

Baruk blinked slowly, struggling to keep his horror from his voice as he said, ‘No, I did not know that.’

Undeceived, Crone cackled. Then she said, ‘My master was most amused at the notion of falling to his knees and crying out to the Hundred Gods-’

‘Thousand. The Thousand Gods.’

‘Whatever.’ A duck of the head and the wings half spread. ‘Or even making a vow to battle Osserc. Their alliance fell apart because of a growing mutual dis¬like. The disaster with Draconus probably delivered the death-blow. Imagine, falling for a woman’s wiles-and a daughter of Draconus at that! Was Osserc not even remotely suspicious of her motives? Hah! The males among every species in existence are so… predictable!’

Baruk smiled. ‘If I recall Fisher’s Anomanaris, Lady Envy managed pretty much the same with your master, Crone.’

‘Nothing he was unaware of at the time,’ the Great Raven said with a strange clucking sound to punctuate the statement. ‘My master has always understood the necessity of certain sacrifices.’ She fluffed up her onyx feathers. ‘Consider the outcome, after all!’

Baruk grimaced.

‘I’m hungry!’ Crone announced.

‘I didn’t finish my supper,’ Baruk said. ‘On that plate-’

‘I know, I know! What do you think made me hungry in the first place? Sit in wonder at my patience, High Alchemist! Even as you read on interminably!’

‘Eat now and quickly, old friend,’ Baruk said, ‘lest you die of malnutrition.’

‘You were never such a careless host before,’ the Great Raven observed, hop¬ping over to the plate and spearing a sliver of meat. ‘You are troubled, High Al¬chemist.’

‘By many things, yes. The Rhivi claim that the White Face Barghast have disappeared. Utterly.’

‘Indeed,’ Crone replied. ‘Almost immediately after the fall of Coral and the Tiste Andii investiture.’

‘Crone, you are a Great Raven. Your children ride the winds and see all.’

‘Perhaps.’

‘Why then will you not tell me where they went?’

‘Well, the Grey Swords as you know marched south, down to Elingarth,’ Crone said, circling the plate in short hops. ‘And there they purchased ships.’ A pause and cock of the head. ‘Could they see the wake before them? Did they know to follow? Or is there perhaps a great hole in the world’s ocean, drawing every ship into its deadly maw?’

‘The White Face took to the seas? Extraordinary. And the Grey Swords followed them.’

‘None of this is relevant, High Alchemist.’

‘Relevant to what?’

‘Your unease, of course. You fling queries at your poor bedraggled guest in order to distract yourself.’

It had been months since Crone’s previous visit, and Baruk had come to believe, with some regret, that his cordial relations with the Son of Darkness were drawing to a close, not out of any dispute, simply the chronic ennui of the Tiste Andii. It was said the permanent gloom that was Black Coral well suited the city’s denizens, both Andii and human.

‘Crone, please extend to your master my sincerest thanks for this gift. It was most unexpected and generous. But I would ask him, if it is not too forward of me, if he is reconsidering the Council’s official request to open diplomatic relations between our two cities. Delegates but await your master’s invitation, and a suitable site has been set aside for the construction of an embassy-not far from here, in fact.’

‘The estate crushed by a Soletaken demon’s inglorious descent,’ Crone said, pausing to laugh before spearing another chunk of food, ‘Aagh, this is vegetable! Disgusting!’

‘Indeed, Crone, the very same estate. As I said, not far from here.’

‘Master is considering said request, and will continue considering it, I suspect’

‘For how much longer?’

‘I have no idea.’

‘Does he have concerns?’

The Great Raven, leaning over the plate, tilted her head and regarded Baruk for a long moment.

Baruk felt vaguely sickened and he looked away. ‘So, I have reason to be…

troubled.’

‘Master asks: when will it begin?’

The High Alchemist eyed the stack of loosely bound parchment that was Anomander’s gift, and nodded. But he did not answer.

‘Master asks: do you wish for assistance?’

Baruk winced.

‘Master asks,’ Crone went on, relentless, ‘would said assistance better serve you if it was covert, rather than official?’

Gods below.

‘Master asks: should sweet Crone stay the night as Barak’s guest, awaiting answers to these queries?’

Clattering at the window. Barak swiftly rose and approached it.

‘A demon!’ cried Crone, half spreading her enormous wings.

‘One of mine,’ said Baruk, unlatching the iron frame and then stepping back as Chillbais clambered awkwardly into view, grunting as he squeezed through. ‘Master Barak!’ he squealed. ‘Out! Out! Out!’

Barak had felt ill a moment earlier. Now he was suddenly chilled in his very bones. He slowly shut the window, then faced the Great Raven. ‘Crone, it has be¬gun.’

The demon saw her and bared needle fangs as he hissed, ‘Grotesque monstrosiy!’

Crone made stabbing motions with her beak. ‘Bloated toad!’

‘Be quiet, both of you!’ Barak snapped. ‘Crone, you will indeed stay the night as my guest. Chillbais, find somewhere to be. I have more work for you and I will collect you when it’s time.’

Flickering a forked tongue out at Crone, the squat demon waddled towards the fireplace. It clambered on to the glowing coals, then disappeared up the chimney. Black clouds of soot rained down, billowing out from the hearth.

Crone coughed. ‘Ill-mannered servants you have, High Alchemist.’

But Baruk was not listening. Out.

Out!

That lone word rang through his mind, loud as a temple bell, drowning out everything else, although he caught a fast-fading echo…

‘… stalwart ally, broken and with blood on his face…’

Anomander would tell no lie, nor live one, and would that deafness could bless him in the days and nights beyond the black rains of Black Coral. Alas, this was not to be.

And so we choose to hear nothing ‘

Of the dreaded creak, the slip and snap

Of wooden wheels, the shudder on stone

And the chiding rattle of chains, as if

Upon some other world is where darkness

Beats out from a cursedly ethereal forge

And no sun rises above horizon’s rippled

Cant-some other world not ours indeed-

Yes bless us so, Anomander, with this

Sanctimony, this lie and soft comfort,

And the slaves are not us, this weight

But an illusion, these shackles could break

With a thought, and all these cries and

Moans are less than the murmurs

Of a quiescent heart-it’s all but a tale,

My friends, this tall denier of worship

And the sword he carries holds nothing,

No memory at all, and if there be a place

In the cosy scheme for lost souls

Pulling onward an uprooted temple

It but resides in an imagination flawed

And unaligned with sober intricacy-

Nothing is as messy as that messy world

And that comfort leaves us abiding