'And who might they be?' Tavore asked.
'K'Chain Che'Malle, Adjunct. Long-Tails or Short-Tails. Or both.'
'And why would they be using the Imperial Warren?'
'I don't know,' Quick Ben admitted. 'But I have some notions.'
'Let us hear them.'
'It's an old warren, effectively dead and abandoned, although, of course, not nearly as dead or abandoned as it first seems. Now, there is no known warren attributed to the K'Chain Che'Malle, but that does not mean one never existed.'
'You believe the Imperial Warren was originally the K'Chain Che'Malle warren?'
The High Mage shrugged. 'It's possible, Adjunct.'
'What else?'
'Well, wherever the fortresses are going, they don't want to be seen.'
'Seen by whom?'
'That I don't know.'
The Adjunct studied the High Mage for a long moment, then she said, 'I want you to find out. Take Kalam and Gesler's squad. Return to the Imperial Warren.'
The assassin slowly nodded to himself, not at all surprised at this insane, absurd command. Find out? Precisely how? 'Have you any suggestions,' Quick Ben asked, his voice now strangely lilting, as it always was when he struggled against speaking his mind, 'on how we might do that?'
'As High Mage, I am certain you can think of some.'
'May I ask, why is this of particular importance to us, Adjunct?'
'The breaching of the Imperial Warren is important to all who would serve the Malazan Empire, would you not agree?'
'I would, Adjunct, but are we not engaged in a military campaign here?
Against the last rebel leader in Seven Cities? Are you not about to lay siege to Y'Ghatan, wherein the presence of a High Mage, not to mention the empire's most skilled assassin, might prove pivotal to your success?'
'Quick Ben,' Tavore said coolly, 'the Fourteenth Army is quite capable of managing this siege without your assistance, or that of Kalam Mekhar.'
All right, that clinches it. She knows about our clandestine meeting with Dujek Onearm and Tayschrenn. And she does not trust us. Probably with good reason.
'Of course,' Quick Ben said, with a modest bow. 'I trust the Burned Tears can resupply our soldiers, then. I request we be permitted to rest until dawn.'
'Acceptable.'
The High Mage turned away, his eyes momentarily meeting Kalam's own.
Aye, Quick, she wants me as far away from her back as possible. Well, this was the Malazan Empire, after all. Laseen's empire, to be more precise. But Tavore, it's not me you have to worry about…
At that moment a figure emerged from the darkness, approaching from one side of the road. Green silks, graceful motion, a face very nearly ethereal in the moonlight. 'Ah, a midnight assignation! I trust all matters of grave import have already been addressed.'
Pearl. Kalam grinned at the man, one hand making a gesture that only another Claw would understand.
Seeing it, Pearl winked.
Soon, you bastard.
Tavore wheeled her horse round. 'We are done here.'
'Might I ride double with one of you?' Pearl asked the assembled Fists.
None replied, and moments later they were cantering up the road.
Pearl coughed delicately in the dust. 'How rude.'
'You walked out here,' Quick Ben said, 'you can walk back in, Claw.'
'It seems I have no choice.' A fluttering wave of a gloved hand. 'Who knows when we'll meet again, my friends. But until then… good hunting…' He walked off.
Now how much did he hear? Kalam took a half-step forward, but Quick Ben reached out and restrained him.
'Relax, he was just fishing. I sensed him circling closer – you had him very nervous, Kal.'
'Good.'
'Not really. It means he isn't stupid.'
'True. Too bad.'
'Anyway,' Quick Ben said, 'you and me and Gesler have to come up with a way to hitch a ride on one of those fortresses.'
Kalam turned his head. Stared at his friend. 'That wasn't a joke, was it?'
'I'm afraid not.'
Joyful Union was basking in the sun as it dined, ringed in by stones, with Bottle lying close by and studying the way it fed as the scorpion snipped apart the capemoth he had given it for breakfast, when a military issue boot crunched down on the arachnid, the heel twisting.
Bottle jerked back in dumbfounded horror, stared up at the figure standing over him, a surge of murderous intent filling his being.