‘So one of them just decided to walk up and talk to you. That seems either incredibly brave or profoundly stupid.’
‘The former,’ said Barathol. ‘About what you’d expect from a Bridgeburner, deserter or otherwise.’
Scillara twisted round, quite deliberately, to study the two women and the red-bearded man at the table on the other side of the plaza. And did not flinch from the steady regard they then fixed on her.
Amused, Barathol waited until Scillara slowly swung back and reached for her jar of wine, before saying, ‘Speaking of brave…’
‘
‘Oh, I just don’t go for that kowtowing stuff.’
‘I know.’
‘So do they, now.’
‘Right. Shall we join them, then?’
Scillara suddenly grinned. ‘Tell you what, let’s buy them a pitcher, then watch and see if they drink from it.’
‘Gods, woman, you play sharp games.’
‘Nah, it’s just flirting.’
‘With what?’
Her smile broadened, and she gestured over a nearby server.
‘Now what?’ Antsy demanded.
‘Guess they’re thirsty,’ Picker said.
‘It’s that quiet one who worries me,’ Antsy continued. ‘He’s got that blank look, like the worst kinda killer.’
‘He’s a simpleton, Antsy,’ said Blend.
‘Worst kinda killer there is.’
‘Oh, really. He’s addled, a child’s brain-look how he looks round at everything. Look at that silly grin.’
‘It’s probably an act, Blend. Tell her, Pick, it’s an act. That’s your Claw, right there, the one that’s gonna kill us starting with me, since I ain’t never had no luck, except the pushin’ kind. My skin’s all clammy already, like I was practising being a corpse. It’s no fun, being a corpse-take it from me.’
‘That explains the fingernails,’ Blend said.
Antsy frowned at her.
The server who had just been at the other table now arrived, delivering a large clay jar. ‘Wine,’ she said. ‘Compliments of them three o’er there.’
Picker snorted. ‘Oh, that’s cute. And now they want to see if we drink from it. Get that wench back here, Blend. Buy them a bottle of white apricot nectar. Returning the favour, like.’
Blend rolled her eyes. ‘This could get expensive,’ she said as she rose.
‘I ain’t drinkin’ from nothing I didn’t buy myself,’ Antsy said. ‘We shoulda brought Bluepearl, he could’ve sniffed out whatever. Or Mallet. They got poisons so secret here there’s no taste, no smell, the one drop that kills ya don’t even feel wet. Why, all you need to do is look in its direction!’
‘What in Hood’s name are you going on about, Antsy?’
‘You heard me, Pick-’
‘Pour me some of this wine, then. Let’s see if they got good taste.’
‘I ain’t touching that jar, could be powdered with something-’
‘Only if the wench was in on it. If she wasn’t and there was, she’d be dead, right?’
‘She don’t look too healthy to me.’
‘You’d look pretty rough too with all the cysts she’s got on her head and neck.’
‘Some Daru poisons show up as knobby lumps-’
‘Gods below, Antsy!’ Picker reached across and collected the jar, filled her goblet. Drank down a mouthful of the amber liquid. ‘There.’Not half bad. We got better in our cellar, I’m pleased to say.’
Antsy was studying her with slightly bulging eyes.
Blend returned, sank into a slouch in her chair. ‘On its way,’ she said. ‘How was the wine, Pick?’
‘Passing. Wants some?’
‘All this trudging back and forth has worked up a fierce thirst, so fill it up, darling.’
‘You’re both suicidal,’ Antsy said.
‘We’re not the ones feeling clammy, are we?’
‘There are some poisons,’ Picker said, ‘that kill the person next to the one who took it.’
The ex-sergeant lurched back in his chair. ‘Damn you-I heard of those-you killed me!’
‘Calm down,’ Blend interjected. ‘She was teasing you, Antsy. Honest. Right, Picker?’
‘Well
‘If you don’t want his knife in your throat, Pick, tell him quick.’
‘Aye, a jibe. A jest. Teasing, nothing more. Besides, if you’re naturally clammy, you’re immune.’