The message had insisted he come dressed in local garb. Thus, Toc drew little attention as he strode to the counter.

The old man paused in his snacking and bowed with his head. “At your service, sir,” he said, wiping his hands.

“I believe a table has been reserved in my name,” Toc said. “I am Render Kan.”

The old man studied a wax tablet before him, then looked up with a smile. “Of course. Follow me.”

A minute later Toc sat at a table on a balcony overlooking the garden court. His only company was a decanter of chilled Saltoan wine, which arrived when he did, and he now sipped from a goblet, his lone eye surveying the people in the garden below.

A servant arrived and bowed before him. “Kind sir,” the man said, “I am to deliver the following message. A gentleman will soon join you who has been out of his depth yet not aware of it. He is, now.”

Toc frowned. “That's the message?”

“It is.”

“His own words?”

“And yours, sir.” The servant bowed again and departed.

Toc's frown deepened, then he sat forward, his every muscle tensing.

He turned to the balcony's entrance in time to see Captain Paran stride through. He was dressed in the manner of the local gentry, unarmed, and looking quite fit. Toc rose, grinning.

“Not unduly shocked, I hope,” Paran said, as he arrived. They sat down and the captain poured himself some wine. “Did the message prepare you?”

“Barely,” Toc replied. “I'm not sure how to receive you, Captain. Is this according to the Adjunct's instructions?”

“She believes me dead,” Paran said, his brow wrinkling. “And I was, for a time. Tell me, Toc the Younger, am I speaking to a Claw, or to a soldier of the Second?”

Toc's eye narrowed. “That's a tough question.”

“Is it?” Paran asked, his gaze intense and unwavering.

Toc hesitated, then grinned again. “Hood's Breath, no, it damn well isn't! All right, Captain, welcome to the defunct Second, then.”

Paran laughed, clearly relieved.

“Now what's all this about you being dead but not dead, Captain?”

Paran's humour vanished. He took a mouthful of wine and swallowed, looking away. “An attempted assassination,” he explained, grimacing. I should have died, if not for Mallet and Tattersail.”

“What? Whiskeyjack's healer and the sorceress?”

Paran nodded. “I've been recovering until recently in Tattersail's quarters. WhiskeyJack's instructions were to keep my existence secret the time being. Toc,” he leaned forward, “what do you know of the Adjunct's plans?”

Toc examined the garden below. Tattersail had known-she managed to keep it from everyone at the dinner. Remarkable. “Now,” said quietly, “you ask questions of a Claw.”

“I do.”

“Where's Tattersail?” Toc swung his gaze to the captain and held the man's eyes.

The captain jerked his head. “Very well. She travels overland-Darujhistan. She knows a T'lan Imass accompanies the Adjunct, and she believes Lorn's plan includes killing Whiskeyjack and his squad. I do not agree. My role in the mission was to keep an eye on one member of the sergeant's squad, and that person was to be the only one to die. She gave me the command after three years of service to her-it's a reward, and I can't believe she would take it from me. There, that is what I know. Can you help me, Toc?”

“The Adjunct's mission,” Toc said, after releasing a long breath, “as far as I'm aware of it, involves far more than just killing Sorry. The T'lan Imass is with her for something else. Captain,” Toc's expression was grim, “the days of the Bridgeburners are numbered. Whiskeyjack's name is damn near sacred among Dujek's men. This is something of which I couldn't convince the Adjunct-in fact she seems to think the opposite but if the sergeant and the Bridgeburners are eliminated, this army won't be pulled back in line, it will mutiny. And the Malazan Empire will be against High Fist Dujek with not a single commander who can match him. The Genabackan Campaign will disintegrate, and civil war may well sweep into the heart of the Empire.”

The blood had drained from Paran's face. “I believe you,” he said. “Very well, you've taken my doubts and made of them convictions. And they leave me with but one choice.”

“And that is?”

Paran turned the empty goblet in his hands. “Darujhistan,” he said. “With luck I'll catch Tattersail, and together we'll attempt to contact Whiskeyjack before the Adjunct does.” He glanced at Toc. “Evidently the Adjunct can no longer sense my whereabouts. Tattersail forbade me to accompany her, arguing that Lorn would be able to detect me, but she also let slip that my “death” had severed the bonds between me and the Adjunct. I should have made the connection sooner, but she: distracted me.”