Gardens of the Moon

The councilman staggered to one side, his sword clanging on stones as he clutched at the gushing wound in his neck. The motion was reflex, for he was already dead from the wound in his heart.



He toppled.



Rallick stepped back, weapons once again hidden beneath his cloak. “A thousand other deaths,” he whispered, so low that only Baruk and Rake heard him, “would not have satisfied me. But I'll settle for this one.” Baruk stepped close and made to speak, but then, at a gesture from Rake, he turned to see Estraysian D'Arle approaching.



The councilman's heavy eyes held Rallick. “I might suspect,” he said “given your style, that we have witnessed an assassination. Of course, even the Guild of Assassins is brash enough to commit public murder. Therefore I've no choice but to keep such suspicions to myself. And leave it at that. Good evening, gentlemen.” He whirled and strode away.



“I think,” Rake said, his masked face swinging to the assassin, “that that was a rather uneven match.”



A rush of people closed in around Turban Orr's body. Voices shouted in dismay.



Baruk studied the cool satisfaction on Rallick's face. “It's done, Rallick. Go home.”



A large, rounded woman in a bright green, gold-trimmed robe joined them. Unmasked, she smiled broadly at Baruk. “Greetings,” she said. “Interesting times, yes?” A personal servant stood at her side, bearing a padded tray on which squatted a water-pipe.



Rallick stepped back with a slight bow, then left.



Baruk sighed. “Greetings, Derudan. Permit me to introduce Lord Anomander Rake. Lord, the witch Derudan.”



“Forgive the mask,” Rake said to her. “It is best that it remain on, however.”



Smoke streamed down from Derudan's nose. “My compatriots share my growing unease, yes? We feel the approaching storm, and while Baruk continues to reassure us, still the misgivings, yes?”



“Should it prove necessary,” Rake said, “I will attend to the matter personally. I do not believe, however, that our greatest threat is the one beyond the city's walls. A suspicion, Witch, no more.”



“I think,” Baruk said tentatively, “that we would like to hear these suspicions of yours, Rake.”



The Tiste And? hesitated, then shook his head. “Unwise. The matter is presently too sensitive to be broached. I shall remain here for now, however.”



Derudan waved dismissively at Baruk's angry growl. “True, the T'orrud Cabal is unused to feeling helpless, yes? True also, dangers abound, and any might prove a feint, a diversion, yes? Cunning is the Empress. For myself, I affirm the trust between us, Lord.” She smiled at Baruk. “We must speak, you and I, Alchemist,” she said, linking arms with him.



Rake bowed to the woman. “A pleasure meeting you, Witch.” He watched the witch and the alchemist walk away, the servant scurrying at Derudan's heel.



Kruppe intercepted a servant burdened with delicious-looking savouries.Taking two handfuls at random, he turned back to resume his conversation with Crokus. He stopped. The lad was nowhere in sight.



The crowd milled about on the terrace, some upset although the majority appeared simply confused. Where was Lady Sinital? they asked.



Some, grinning, changed the question to: Who's she with? Already a new wave of anticipation rose among the nobles. They circled like vultures, waiting for their faltering hostess.



Smiling beatifically behind the cherub mask, Kruppe raised his eyes slowly to the balcony overlooking the patio, in time to see a figure appear as a dark, feminine silhouette behind the shutters. He licked sticky sugar from his fingers, smacking his lips. “There are times, Kruppe murmurs, when celibacy born of sad deprivation becomes a boon, nay, a source of great relief. Dear Murillio, prepare for a storm.”



Sinital pushed apart two slats of the shutters and looked down. “You were right,” she said. “They have indeed retired to the terrace. Odd, with that storm coming. I should get dressed.” She returned to the bed and began to collect her clothing, which lay scattered all around it. “And what about you, Murillio?” she asked. “Don't you think your companion below is wondering where you are, dear lover?”



Murillio swung his legs over the bedside and pulled on his tights. “I think not,” he said.



Sinital shot him a curious look. “Who did you come with?”



“Just a friend,” he answered, buttoning his shirt. “I doubt you'd recognize the name.”



At that moment the door's lock snapped and the door itself slammed inward.