‘Captain Torvald Nom, this gaily clad gentleman is Madrun, and his ephemer-ally garbed companion is Lazan Door. Both hail from the north and so have no local interests that might conflict with their loyalties-a most important requirement, as you have been made aware, for Lady Varada of House Varada. Now, I have seen to their kit and assigned quarters. Captain, is something wrong?’
Torvald Nom shook his head. Then, before he could think-before his finely honed sense of propriety could kick in-he blurted out: ‘But where are their masks?’
The shaggy haired giant frowned. ‘Oh,’ he said, ‘that is most unfortunate. Reassure me once more, Studious, please.’
The castellan’s pause was long, and then one rag-tied hand fluttered. ‘Reputations, alas, are what they are, Madrun. Evidently, our captain here has travelledsome. One Eye Cat? Let us hope he never wandered close to that foul, treacherous den of thieves, murderers and worse ‘
‘Never been there,’ Torvald Nom said, hastily, licking his lips, ‘But the tales of the, er, the ones hired to oust the Malazan Fist… and, er, what happened after-wards-’
‘Outrageous lies,’ said Lazan Door in his breathy, wispy voice, ‘such as arc invariably perpetrated by those with a vested interest in the illusion of righteousness. All lies, Captain. Foul, despicable, ruinous lies. I assure you we completed our task, even unto pursuing the Fist and his cadre into the very heart of a mountain-’
‘You and Madrun Badrun, you mean. Studious Lock, on the other hand, was…’ And only then did Torvald Nom decide that he probably shouldn’t be speaking, probably shouldn’t be revealing quite the extent of his knowledge. ‘The tale I heard,’ he added, ‘was garbled, second and maybe even third hand, a jumble of details and who can separate truth from fancy in such things?’
‘Who indeed,’ said the castellan with another wave of one hand. ‘Captain, we must trust that the subject of our past misadventures will not arise again, in any company and in particular that of our two intrepid gate guards.’
‘The subject is now and for ever more closed,’ affirmed Torvald Nom. ‘Well, I’d best get to my office. To work on, um, shift scheduling-it seems we now have our night shift pretty much filled. As for the daytime-’
‘As stated earlier,’ cut in the castellan, ‘the necessity for armed vigilance during the day is simply non-existent. Risk assessment and so forth. No, Captain, we have no need for more guards. Four will suffice.’
‘Good, that will make scheduling easier. Now, it was a pleasure meeting you, Lazan Door, Madrun Badrun.’ And, with disciplined march, Torvald Nom crossed the compound, making for his tiny office in the barracks annexe. Where he shut the flimsy door and sat down in the chair behind the desk which, in order to reach it, demanded that he climb over the desk itself. Slumping down, hands holding up his head, he sat. Sweating.
Was Lady Varada aware of any of this… this background, back there where the ground still steamed with blood and worse? Well, she’d hired Studlock, hadn’t she? But that didn’t mean anything, did it? He’d crunched down his name, and even that name wasn’t his real name, just something the idiots in One Eye Cat gave him, same as Madrun Badrun. As for Lazan Door, well, that one might be real, original even. And only one of them was wearing a mask and that mask was some local make, generic, not painted with any relevant sigils or whatever. So, she might not know a thing! She might be completely blind, unsuspecting, unaware, unprepared, uneverything!
He climbed back over his desk, straightened and smoothed out his clothing as best he could. It shouldn’t be so hard, the captain seeking audience with the Mistress. Perfectly reasonable. Except that the official route was through the castellan, and that wouldn’t do. No, he needed to be cleverer than that. In fact, he needed to… break in. More sweat, sudden, chilling him as he stood between the desk and the office door, a span barely wide enough to turn round in.
So, Lazan Door and Madrun Badrun would be patrolling the compound. And Studious Lock the Landless, well, he’d be in his own office, there on the main floor. Or even in his private chambers, sitting there slowly unravelling or undressing or whatever one wanted to call it.
There was a window on the back wall of the annexe. Plain shutters and simple inside latch. From there he could clamber on to the roof, which was close enough to the side wall of the main building to enable him to leap across and maybe find a handhold or two, and then he could scramble up to the next and final level, where dwelt the Lady. It was still early so she wouldn’t be asleep or in any particular state of undress.