Rallick sighed. Then he said, 'Saw Coll last night so our plan worked. He got his estate back, got his name back, his self-respect. You know, Murillio, I didn't think anything could work out so well. So . . . perfectly. How in Hood's name did we ever manage such a thing?'

'That was a night for miracles all right.'

'I feel . . . lost.'

'Not surprising,' Murillio replied, reaching for another fig. 'Eat some of that jerky the reek is making me nauseated.'

'Better on my breath?'

'Well, I don't see us kissing any time soon.'

'I'm not hungry,' Rallick said. 'I was when I first woke up, I think, but that faded.'

'Woke up you slept all that time in the Finnest House? All tucked up in bed?'

'On stone, just inside the door. With Vorcan lying right beside me, apparently. She wasn't there when I came round. Just an undead Jaghut.'

Murillio seemed to think about that for a while, then said, 'So, what now, Rallick Nom?'

'Wish I knew.'

'Baruk might need things done, like before.'

'You mean, like guarding Cutter's back? Keeping an eye on Coll? And how long before the Guild learns I'm back? How long before they take me down?'

'Ah, the Guild. Well, I'd figured you'd just head straight in, toss a few dozen lifeless bodies around and resume your rightful place. With Vorcan back . . . well, it seems obvious to me what needs doing.'

'That was never my style, Murillio.'

'I know, but circ.u.mstances change.'

'Don't they just.'

'He'll be back,' Murillio said. 'When he's ready to talk to you. Keep in mind, he's gone and collected some new scars, deep ones. Some of them still bleeding, I think.' He paused, then said, 'If Mammot hadn't died, well, who knows what might have happened. Instead, he went off with the Malazans, to return Apsalar to her home oh, I see you have no idea what I'm talking about. All right, let me tell you the story of how that night ended after you left. Just eat that d.a.m.ned jerky, please!'

'You drive a d.a.m.ned hard bargain, friend.'

And for the first time that morning, he saw Murillio smile.

Her scent clung to the bedding, sweet enough to make him want to weep, and even some of her warmth remained, or maybe that was just the sun, the golden light streaming in from the window and carrying with it the vaguely disturbing sound of birds mating in the tree in the back yard. No need to be so frantic, little ones. There's all the time in the world. No need to be so frantic, little ones. There's all the time in the world. Well, he would be feeling that right now, wouldn't he? Well, he would be feeling that right now, wouldn't he?

She was working the wheel in the outer room, a sound that had once filled his life, only to vanish and now, at long last, return. As if there had been no sordid crimes of banditry and the slavery that came as reasonable punishment, as if there had been no rotting trench lying shackled alongside Teblor barbarians. No huge warrior hanging from a cross amidships, with Torvald trickling brackish water between the fool's cracked lips. No sorcerous storms, no sharks, no twisted realms to crawl in and out of. No dreams of drowning no, all that had been someone else's life, a tale sung by a half-drunk bard, the audience so incredulous they were moments from rage, ready to tear the idiot to pieces at the recounting of just one more unlikely exploit. Yes, someone else's life. The wheel was spinning, as it always did, and she was working clay and giving it form, symmetry, beauty. Of course, she never did her best work the day after a night of lovemaking, as if she'd used up something essential, whatever it was that fed creativity, and sometimes he felt bad about that. She'd laugh and shake her head, dismissing his concerns, spinning the wheel yet harder.

He'd seen, on the shelves of the outer room, scores of mediocre pots. Should this fact bother him? It might have, once, but no longer. He had vanished from her life no reason, however, for her to waste away in some lonely vigil or prolonged period of mourning. People got on with things, and so they should. Of course she'd taken lovers. Might still have them, in fact, and it had been something of a miracle that she'd been alone when he showed up he'd half expected some over-muscled G.o.dling with tousled golden locks and the kind of jaw that just begged to be punched to answer the door.

'Maybe he's visiting his mother,' Torvald mumbled.

He sat up, swung his legs round and settled feet on the woven mat covering the floor. Noticed that flat pillows had been sewn on to the mat, stuffed with lavender that crackled under his feet. 'No wonder her feet smell nice.' Anyway, he didn't mind what she'd been up to all that time. Didn't even mind if she was still up to a few things now, though those things might make things a little crowded. 'Things, right.'

The day had begun, and all he needed to do was settle up certain matters and then he could resume his life as a citizen of Darujhistan. Maybe visit a few old friends, some members of his estranged family (the ones who'd talk to him, anyway), see the sights that'd make him the most nostalgic, and give some thought to what he was going to do with the rest of his life.

But first things first. Pulling on his foreign-cut clothes (the clean set, that had dried in a rather wrinkled state, alas), Torvald Nom made his way to the outer room. Her back was to him as she hunched over the wheel, legs pumping the pedals. He saw the large bowl of clean water where it always was, went over and splashed his face. Was reminded that he needed a shave but now he could actually pay someone else to do such things. To the opportunistic shall come rewards. Someone had said that, once, he was sure.

'My sweetness!'

She half turned and grinned at him. 'Look how bad this is, Tor. See what you've done?'

'It's the temper, of course-'

'It's tired thighs,' she said.

'A common complaint?' he asked, walking alongside the shelves and leaning in to study a stack of misaligned plates.

'Pretty rare, actually. What you think you're seeing up there, husband, isn't. It's the new style everyone wants these days. Symmetry is dead, long live the clumsy and crooked. Every n.o.ble lady wants a poor cousin in the country, some aunt or great-aunt with stubby fingers who makes crockery for her kin, in between wringing chicken necks and husking gourds.'

'That's a complicated lie.'

'Oh, it's never actually stated, Tor, only implied.'

'I was never good at inferring what's implied. Unless it's implicitly inferred.'

'I've had precisely two lovers, Tor, and neither one lasted more than a few months. Want their names?'

'Do I know them?'

When she didn't reply he glanced over and found her looking at him. 'Ah,' he said wisely.

'Well, so long as you don't start squinting at everyone who comes in here or says h.e.l.lo to me on the street if that's going to be the case, then I'd better tell you-'

'No, no, darling. In fact, the mystery is . . . intriguing. But that won't survive my actually knowing.'

'That's true. Which is why I won't be asking you about anything. Where you've been, what you've done.'

'But that's different!'

Her brows rose.

'No, really,' Torvald said, walking over. 'What I told you last night, I wasn't exaggerating.'

'If you say so.'

He could see that she didn't believe him. 'I am stung. Crushed.'

'You'd better get going,' Tiserra said, returning once more to the lump of clay on the wheel. 'You've got a debt to clear.'

'The loot's not sticky?'

'It's all clean as can be, I made sure. Unless Gareb's scratched secret sigils on every coin he owned he won't know either way. He might suspect, though.'

'I've got a good tale to explain all that, if necessary,' Torvald said. 'Foreign investments, unexpected wealth, a triumphant return.'

'Well, I'd tone down the new version, Tor.'

He regarded her, noting her amus.e.m.e.nt, and said nothing. What was the point? That giant whose life I saved more than once, his name was Karsa Orlong. Do you think I could make up a name like that, Tis? And what about these shackle scars? Oh, it's the new style among the highborn, enforced humility and all that. That giant whose life I saved more than once, his name was Karsa Orlong. Do you think I could make up a name like that, Tis? And what about these shackle scars? Oh, it's the new style among the highborn, enforced humility and all that.

Oh, it didn't matter anyway. 'I don't plan on meeting Gareb in person,' he said as he walked to the front door. 'I'll work through Scorch and Leff.'

The lump of wet clay slid off the wheel and splatted on the wall, where it clung for a moment, then oozed down to glom on to the floor.

Surprised, Torvald turned to his wife and saw the expression that he hadn't seen in . . . in . . . well, in quite a while. 'Wait!' he cried. 'That partnership is over with, I swear it! Darling, they're just acting as my go-between, that's all-' 'You start scheming with those two again, Torvald Nom, and I'll take out a contract on you myself.'

'They always liked you, you know.'

'Torvald-'

'I know, my love, I know. Don't worry. No more scheming with Scorch and Leff. That's a promise. We're rich now, remember?'

'The problem with lists,' Scorch said, 'is all the names on 'em.'

Leff nodded. 'That's the problem, all right. You got it dead on there, Scorch. All them names. They must've had some kind of meeting, don't you think? All the loansharks in some crowded, smoky room, lounging about with nubile women dropping grapes in their mouths, and some scribe with stained lips scratching away. Names, people down on their luck, people so stupid they'd sign anything, grab the coin no matter how insane the interest. Names, you got it, Scorch, a list of fools. Poor, dumb, desperate fools.'

'And then,' Scorch said, 'when the list is done, out it goes, for some other poor, dumb, desperate fools to take on.'

'Hey now, we ain't poor.'

'Yes we are. We been poor ever since Torvald Nom vanished on us. He was the brains admit it, Leff. Now, you tried being the brains ever since and look where it's got us, with a d.a.m.ned list and all those names.'

Leff raised a finger. 'We got Kruppe, though, and he's already given us six of 'em.'

'Which we pa.s.sed on and you know what that means? It means thugs kicking in the door in the middle of the night, delivering threats and maybe worse. People got hurt 'cause of us, Leff. Bad hurt.'

'They got hurt because they couldn't pay up. Unless you decide to run, and I do mean run, as in out of the city, as in hundreds of leagues away to some town or city with no connections to here, but people don't do that and why not? Because they're all caught up, tangled in the nets, and they can't see their way clear because they got husbands and wives and children and maybe it's hard but at least it's familiar, you know what I mean?'

'No.'

Leff blinked. 'I was just saying-'

'What did they think they were doing, to get caught up in nets swimmin' the lake? Besides, not all of it's loans, is it? There's blackmail, too, which gives me a thought or two-'

'No way, Scorch. I don't want in on anything like that.'

'I'm just suggesting we talk to Tor about it, that's all. See what he conjures up in the way of plans and such.'

'a.s.suming Tor ever shows up.'

'He will, you'll see, Leff. He was our partner, wasn't he? And he's back.'

The conversation ended abruptly, for no reason obvious to either of them, and they stood looking at each other for a dozen heartbeats. They were opposite the entrance to the Phoenix Inn. It was morning, when they did their best thinking, but that had a way of dying quick, so that by late afternoon they would find themselves sitting somewhere, sluggish as tortoises in a hailstorm, arguing about nothing in particular with monosyllabic brevity and getting angrier by the moment.

Without another word they both went into the Phoenix Inn.

Clumped inside, looking round just to be sure then heading over to where sat Kruppe, plump hands upraised and hovering like hooded snakes, then striking down to one of dozens of pastries heaped on numerous platters in front of him. Fingertip fangs spearing hapless sweets right and left, each one moving in a blur up to his mouth, gobbled up in a shower of crumbs one after another.

Mere moments later and half the offerings were gone. Kruppe's cheeks bulged, his jam-smeared lips struggling to close as he chewed and frantically swallowed, pausing to breathe loudly through his nose. Seeing Scorch and Leff approaching, he waved mutely, gesturing them into their seats.

'You're going to explode one day, Kruppe,' said Leff.

Scorch stared with his usual expression of rapt disbelief.

Kruppe finally managed to swallow everything down, and he raised his hands once more, left them to hover whilst he eyed his two guests. 'Blessed partners, is this not a wondrous morning?'

'We ain't decided yet,' Leff said. 'We're still waiting for Torvald he had a runner find us down at the docks and said he'd meet us here. He's already changing things all round, like maybe he don't trust us. It's a blow, I tell you, Kruppe. A real blow.'

'Conflagration of suspicions climbing high into yon blue sky is quite unnecessary, shifty-eyed friends of wise Kruppe. Why, infamous and almost familiar offspring of House Nom is true to his word, and Kruppe a.s.serts with vast confidence that the first name is about to be struck from dire list!'

'First? What about the six-'

'You've not heard? Oh, my. Each had flown, only moments before the cruel night-beaters closed in. Most extraordinary ill-luck.'

Scorch clawed at his face. 'G.o.ds, we're back where we began!'

'That's impossible, Kruppe! Someone must've tipped 'em off!'

Kruppe's gnarled brows lifted, then waggled. 'Veracity of your discoveries is not in doubt, you will be pleased to hear. Thusly, you have succeeded in your task with said six, whilst they who compiled the list have, alas, not quite matched your rate of success. And so, how many remain? Twelve, yes? Not counting sleep-addled Torvald Nom, that is.'

'He ain't no sleep-addered or whatever,' Scorch said. 'In fact, he looked just fine yesterday.'

'Perhaps glorious reunion has sapped all verve, then. Kruppe a.s.sumed sleep-addered indeed, given the man's hapless and ineffectual perusal of this taproom ah, at last he sees us!'

And both Scorch and Leff twisted round in their chairs to see Torvald Nom sauntering up and, noting the man's broad smile, they were instantly relieved and then, just as quickly, nervous.

'My apologies for being late,' Torvald said, dragging up another chair. 'I got a shave and the old woman threw in the buffing of my nails for free said I was surprisingly handsome under all those whiskers and if that's not a good start to a day then what is? True, she was about a thousand years old, but hey, compliments don't have to be pretty, do they? And you're Kruppe. You must be who else in this city tries to eat with his nose when his mouth is filled? I'm Torvald Nom.'

'Sit, newfound friend. Kruppe is generous enough this morning to disregard dubious observation regarding his eating habits and the habits of his orifices. Kruppe further observes that you, while once a poor dest.i.tute man, have suddenly acquired impressive wealth, so finely attired and groomed are you, and that with great relief friends Scorch and Leff are soon to pay a most propitious visit to one Gareb the Lender. And on this of all days, one suspects Gareb to be most gracious at repayment of said debt, yes?'

Torvald stared at Kruppe, evidently speechless with admiration.

Kruppe's left hand darted down, captured a puff pastry that indeed might have been trying to escape, and pushed it whole into his mouth. Beaming, he chewed.

'You got the money?' Leff asked Torvald.

'What? Oh. Here,' and he drew out a pouch. 'In full. Kruppe, you are witness to this, so don't try anything, Leff. Nor you either, Scorch. Walk it straight over to Gareb's. Get the chit saying I'm cleared, too. Then come straight back here and I'll buy you all lunch.'

Scorch was looking back and forth between Torvald and Kruppe, and finally of the latter he asked, 'What was that you said about Gareb?'

Kruppe swallowed, licked his lips, and said, 'Why, only that a dastardly thief broke into his estate last night and stole his entire h.o.a.rd. The poor man! And 'tis said the thief stole much more than that why, the wife's dignity, too, or at least her innocence in so far as non-marital intercourse is concerned.'

'Hold on,' Leff said. 'The thief slept with Gareb's wife? Where was Gareb?'