‘Mmm. Mmmm.’
‘Would that be “Master”?’ Faint asked.
The youth nodded, drew a deep breath, and tried again. ‘Negotiation, for a delivery, yes?’
‘Master Quell is peremptorily predispossessed,’ Glanno Tarp said.
‘Predisposed, he means,’ Faint explained. ‘What needs delivering, and where?’
‘Not what. Who. Don’t know where.’
‘Tell you what,’ Faint said, ‘go get the who and bring him or her here and we’ll take it from there, all right? There now, watch your step on your way out.’
Bobbing head, hurried departure.
‘Since when you did the negotiating?’ Reccanto asked her, squinting.
‘You know,’ Faint observed, ‘any half-decent Denul healer could fix your bad eyes, Ilk.’
‘What’s it to you?’
‘What it is to me is you nearly lopped my head off, you damned blind idiot-do I look like a snarling corpse?’
‘Sometimes. Anyway, I figured it out at the last moment-’
‘After I ducked and kicked you between the legs.’
‘Right, corpses ain’t that smart, so now that’s settled. I was asking you a question.’
‘He was,’ chimed in Glanno Tarp. ‘Look at us, we’re short maybe six, seven-we can’t be going nowhere any time soon.’
‘Maybe not, but maybe it’ll be a quick, easy one.’
The others all stared at her.
Faint relented. ‘Fine. Besides, I was just standing in for Quell, who might never leave that closet.’
‘Could be he’s dead,’ Sweetest Sufferance suggested.
‘Internally explodicated,’ said Glanno Tarp, ‘and don’t think I’m going in for a look.’
‘There goes the rat!’ hissed Reccanto Ilk.
They looked, watched, breathless.
A pause, nose twitching, then a scurry of small steps. Close now, close enough to flinch back at the reeking breath.
’Two councils it falls over dead.’
‘Be more precise-it’s gonna fall over dead some day, ain’t it?’
‘Gods below!’
The rat held its ground, edged a mite closer. Then gathered itself, stretched out its neck, and began drinking from the pool of slime with tiny, flickering laps of its slivery tongue.
‘That’s what I was thinking it was gonna do,’ said Sweetest Sufferance.
‘Liar.’
‘So now he ain’t never going to wake up,’ said Reccanto, ‘and I’m going to die here of thirst.’
The closet door creaked open and out staggered Master Quell, not looking at all refreshed. He hobbled over. ‘That papaya’s stuck-1 need a healer-’
‘Or a fruit seller,’ Faint said. ‘Listen, could be we got us a new contract.’
Quell’s eyes bugged slightly, then he spun round and staggered back into the closet.
‘Now see what you did!’ snapped Reccanto.
‘It’s not my papaya, is it?’
So early in the morning, the streets of Darujhistan, barring those of markets, were ghostly, strewn with rubbish and yet somehow magical. The sun’s golden hght stroked every surface with a gentle artist’s hand. The faint mists that had drifted in from the lake during the night now retreated once more, leaving the air crisp. In the poorer quarters, shutters opened on upper storeys and moments later the contents of chamber pots sailed out, splashing the alleys and any hapless denizen still lying drunk to the world, and moments later rats and such crept out to sample the fresh offerings.
The dolorous High Priest led Mappo Runt away from the temple quarter and down into the Lakefront District, skirting Second Tier Wall before cutting across towards the Gadrohi District-in essence taking the Trell back the way he had come the night before. As they walked, the city awoke around them, rubbed sleep from its eyes, then gawked at the shambling priest and his enormous, barbaric companion.
They eventually arrived upon a narrow, sloped street in which sat a massive, ornate carriage of a sort that Mappo had seen before, though he could not for the moment recall where. Six horses stood in their traces, looking bored. Someone had dumped feed all round them, and there was enough fresh dung scattered about to suggest that the animals had been left there a while.
The priest directed Mappo towards a nearby tavern. ‘In there,’ he said. ‘The Trygalle Trade Guild has made a specialty of journeys such as the one you require. Of course, they are expensive, but that is hardly surprising, is it?’