Kalam bowed to the group, then approached the table. Another servant, this one younger than the doorman by only a few years, appeared with a fresh jug and a goblet, hesitating until the assassin settled on where he would sit – opposite the merchant couple. He set the goblet down and poured Kalam a half-measure, then backed away.
The merchant showed durhang-stained teeth in a welcoming smile. 'Down from the north, then?'
The wine was some kind of herbal concoction, too sweet and cloying for the climate. Kalam set the goblet down, scowling. 'No beer in this hold?'
The merchant's head bobbed. 'Aye, and chilled at that. Alas, only the wine is free, courtesy of our host.'
'Not surprised it's free,' the assassin muttered. He gestured to the servant. 'A tankard of beer, if you please.'
'Costs a sliver,' the servant said.
'Highway robbery, but my thirst is master.' He found a clipped Jakata and set it on the table.
'Has the village fallen into the sea, then?' the merchant asked. 'On your way down from Ehrlitan, how stands the bridge?'
Kalam saw a small velvet bag on the tabletop in front of the merchant's wife. Glancing up, he met her pitted eyes. She gave him a ghastly wink.
'He'll not add to your gossip, Berkru darling. A stranger come in from the storm, is all you'll learn from this one.'
One of the guardsmen raised his head. 'Got something to hide, have ya? Not guarding a caravan, just riding alone? Deserting the Ehrlitan Guard, or maybe spreading the word of Dryjhna, or both. Now here ya come, expecting the hospitality of the Master – Malazan born and bred.'
Kalam eyed the men. Four belligerent faces. Any denial of the sergeant's accusations would not be believed. The guards had decided he belonged in the dungeon for the night at least, something to break the boredom. Yet the assassin was not interested in shedding blood. He laid his hands flat on the table, slowly rose. 'A word with you, Sergeant,' he said. 'In private.'
The man's dark face turned ugly. 'So you can slit my throat?'
'You believe me capable of that?' Kalam asked in surprise. 'You wear chain, you've a sword at your belt. You've three companions who no doubt will stay close – if only to eavesdrop on the words we exchange between us.'
The sergeant rose. 'I can handle you well enough on my own,' he growled. He strode to the back wall.