‘So you say, with your shiny hair and pouty lips-and those breasts-just wait till you start dropping whelps, they’ll be at your ankles one day, big as they are-not the whelps, the breasts. The whelps will be in your hair-no, not that shiny hair on your head, well, yes, that hair, but only as a manner of speech. What was I talking about? Yes, I have to go out every day, climbing up and down that rope ladder, scrounging food-yes, that grass is edible, just chew it down. Chew and chew. Every day, armfuls of grasses, tubers, rhizan, cockroaches and bloodflies-’ Both Cutter and Apsalar put down their spoons.
‘-and me tripping over my tits. And then!’ She waved the ladle, flinging wet grass against a wall. ‘Those damned bhok’arala get into my hoard and steal all the yummy bits-every single cockroach and bloodfly! Haven’t you noticed? There’s no vermin in this ruin anywhere! Not a mouse, not a bug-what’s a thousand spiders to do?’
Cautiously, the two guests resumed eating, their sips preceded by close examination of the murky liquid in their spoons.
‘And how long do you plan to stay here? What is this, a hostel? How do you expect my husband and me to return to domestic normality? If it’s not you it’s gods and demons and assassins messing up the bedrooms! Will I ever get peace?’ With that she stomped from the room.
After a moment, Cutter blinked and sat straighter. ‘Assassins?’
‘Kalam Mekhar,’ Apsalar replied. ‘He left marks, an old Bridgeburner habit.’
‘He’s back? What happened?’
She shrugged. ‘Shadowthrone and Cotillion have, it seems, found use for us all. If I were to guess, Kalam plans on killing as many of Sha’ik’s officers as he can.’
‘Well, Mogora did raise an interesting question. Cotillion wanted us here, but why? Now what?’
‘I have no answers for you, Crokus. It would seem Cotillion’s interests lie more with you than with me. Which is not surprising.’
‘It isn’t? It is to me. Why would you say otherwise?’
She studied him for a moment, then her eyes shifted away. ‘Because I am not interested in becoming his servant. I possess too many of his memories, including his mortal life as Dancer, to be entirely trustworthy.’