'Nobody saw or heard nothing.'
'Looks like. Well, that's good.'
'Isn't it. So, we go below now, right? Throw up our hands and say nothing.'
'Not nothing. We say we couldn't find her nowhere.'
'Right, that's what I mean. Nothing is what I mean, I mean, about her going over the side, that sort of nothing.'
A new voice from behind them: 'You two, what are you doing on deck?'
Both corporals turned. 'Nothing,' they said in unison.
'Get below, and stay there.'
They hurried off.
****
'Three ashore,' the young, foppishly attired figure said, his eyes fixed on the knuckle dice where they came to a rest on the weathered stone.
His twin stood facing the distant, looming bulk of Mock's Hold, the night's wind caressing the gaudy silks about her slim form.
'You see how it plays out?' her brother asked, collecting the dice with a sweep of one hand. 'Tell me truly, have you any idea – any idea at all – of how mightily I struggled to retain our card during that horrendous game? I'm still weak, dizzy. He wanted to drag us out, again and again and again. It was horrifying.'
'Heroic indeed,' she murmured without turning.
'Three ashore,' he said again. 'How very… unexpected. Do you think that dreadful descent above Otataral Island was responsible? I mean, for the one that's even now on its way?' Straightening, he moved to join his sister.
They were standing on a convenient tower rising from the city of Malaz, south of the river. To most citizens of the city, the tower appeared to be in ruins, but that was an illusion, maintained by the sorceror who occupied its lower chambers, a sorceror who seemed to be sleeping. The twin god and goddess known as Oponn had the platform – and the view – entirely to themselves.
'Certainly possible,' she conceded, 'but is that not the charm of our games, beloved?' She gestured towards the bay to their right. 'They have arrived, and even now there is a stirring among those abject mortals in those ships, especially the Silanda. Whilst, in the fell Hold opposite, the nest slithers awake. There will be work for us, this night.'
'Oh yes. Both you and me. Pull, push, pull, push.' He rubbed his hands together. 'I can hardly wait.'
She faced him suddenly. 'Can we be so sure, brother, that we comprehend all the players? All of them? What if one hides from us?
Just one… wild, unexpected, so very terrible… we could end up in trouble. We could end up… dead.'
'It was that damned soldier,' her brother snarled. 'Stealing our power! The arrogance, to usurp us in our very own game! I want his blood!'
She smiled in the darkness. 'Ah, such fire in your voice. So be it.
Cast the knuckles, then, on his fate. Go on. Cast them!'
He stared across at her, then grinned. Whirled about, one hand flinging out and down – knuckles struck, bounced, struck again, then spun and skidded, and finally fell still.
The twins, breathing hard in perfect unison, hurried over and crouched down to study the cast.
And then, had there been anyone present to see them, they would have witnessed on their perfect faces bemused expressions. Frowns deepening, confusion reigning in immortal eyes, and, before this night was done, pure terror.
The non-existent witness would then shake his or her head. Never, dear gods. Never mess with mortals.
****
'Grub and three friends, playing in a cave. A Soletaken with a stolen sword. Togg and Fanderay and damned castaways…'
Trapped since Fiddler's reading in a small closet-sized cabin on the Froth Wolf, Bottle worked the finishing touches on the doll nestled in his lap. The Adjunct's commands made no sense – but no, he corrected with a scowl, not the Adjunct's. This – all of this – belonged to that tawny-eyed beauty, T'amber. Who in Hood's name is she?' Oh, never mind. Only the thousandth time I've asked myself that question. But it's that look, you see, in her eyes. That knowing look, like she's plunged through, right into my heart.
And she doesn't even like men, does she?
He studied the doll, and his scowl deepened. 'You,' he muttered, 'I've never seen you before, you know that? But here you are, with a sliver of iron in your gut – gods but that must hurt, cutting away, always cutting away inside. You, sir, are somewhere in Malaz City, and she wants me to find you, and that's that. A whole city, mind you, and I' ve got till dawn to track you down.' Of course, this doll would help, somewhat, once the poor man was close enough for Bottle to stare into his eyes and see the same pain that now marked these uneven chips of oyster shell. That, and the seams of old scars on the forearms – but there were plenty of people with those, weren't there? 'I need help,' he said under his breath.