'You knew all that?'
Tayschrenn half-smiled. 'The ship he hired was mine. Alas, he was unaware of that detail.'
'I knew it!' Shadowthrone hissed. 'You never left the cult!'
'The Worm of Autumn is the harbinger of death, and death comes to us all. Us mortals, that is. How can one leave the acceptance of that?
What would be the point?'
'This empire was mine! Not D'rek's! Not yours!'
'Emperor, your paranoia always disturbed me more than your acquisitiveness. In any case, Laseen now rules… for the moment.
Unless,' he squinted at the god, 'you are planning a triumphant return?'
'To save everyone from themselves? I think not. Hate is the world's most pernicious weed… especially when people like you do nothing.'
'Every garden I have tended is either dead or wild, Emperor.'
'Why did you agree to be Quick Ben's shaved knuckle in the hole, Tayschrenn?'
The High Mage blinked in surprise.
'And why didn't he call on you when I sent him into that nightmare?'
'I would have been disappointed indeed,' Tayschrenn slowly said, 'had he called on me so soon. As I said earlier, Emperor, I hold to the long view on matters of this realm.'
'Why didn't D'rek kill you?'
'She tried.'
'What?'
'I talked her out of it.'
'Abyss take me, how I hate you!'
'Even gods must learn to control their tempers,' Tayschrenn said, ' lest they set a bad example.'
'You said that to D'rek?'
'I am saying that to you, Shadowthrone.'
'My temper is fine! I am perfectly calm – seething with fury and hatred, mind you, but calm!'
Neither spoke for a time after that, until the god murmured, 'My poor Wickans…'
'They are not as vulnerable as you fear, Emperor. They will have Nil and Nether. They will have Temul, and when Temul is old, decades from now, he will have a young warrior to teach, whose name shall be Coltaine.' He clasped his hands behind his back, frowning down at the smoke-wreathed city as the first greying of dawn approached. 'If you would fear,' he said, 'fear for your own child.'
'I fear nothing-'
'Liar. You heard Temper step out of Coop's – and you fled.'
'Expedience!'
'Unquestionably.'
'You're in a nest of vipers here – I am happy to leave you to it.'
Tayschrenn sketched a modest bow. 'Emperor. Please convey my greetings to Cotillion.'
'Tell him yourself, if you dare.'
'It was not me who stole Kalam from him – tell me, does the assassin live?'
'He's in the Deadhouse – isn't that answer enough?'
'Not really.'
'I know!' Shadowthrone cackled in glee, then vanished like mist in the wind.
The morning was bright, the sun already warm, as the Master Investigator paused outside the Imperial Domicile in the city of Kartool. He adjusted his uniform, ensuring that every wrinkle was smoothed away. Then he licked the palms of his hands and carefully, tenderly, eased back his unruly hair – unruly in his own mind, at least. A last glance down at his boots, reassured by their unmarred polish, then he smartly ascended the steps and entered the squat building.
A nod rather than an answering salute to the guards stationed just within, then down the hallway to the door of the Commander's office. A knock, sharp and sure, and, upon hearing a muffled invitation to enter, he opened the door and marched inside, halting before the desk, behind which sat the Commander.
Who now looked up, and scowled. 'All right, you pompous ass, let's have it.'
The slight deflation was involuntary on the Master Investigator's part, but he managed to mask it as best as possible. 'I have the following to report, sir, regarding the investigation I rigorously undertook on the mysterious deaths of the acolytes and priests of the temple dedicated to D'rek on the Street of-'
'Will you shut up! You want to report your conclusions, yes? Then do just that!'
'Of course, sir. Given lack of evidence to the contrary, sir, only one conclusion is possible. The devotees of D'rek have, one and all, committed a thorough orgy of suicide in the span of a single night.'
Lizard eyes regarded him for an uncomfortably long time. Then he said, 'Sergeant Hellian, the original investigator, said precisely the same thing.'
'Clearly a perceptive woman, sir.'
'A drunk. I shipped her to the Fourteenth.'