Lady Sinital had returned to the councilman's side. Both now leaned on the railing studying the dark garden below. The woman was silent for a time, then she said, “He has Council ties?”

“If he has, the evidence is buried deep.” Lim flashed a grin. “And if he hasn't, then that might change-this very night.”

Politics, Rallick snarled silently. And power. The bitch spreads her legs to the Council, offering a vice few can ignore. Rallick's hands twitched.

He would kill this night. Not a contract: the Guild had no part in this.

The vendetta was personal. She was gathering power around her, insulating herself, and Rallick thought he understood why. The ghosts of betrayal would not leave her alone.

Patience, he reminded himself, as he took aim. For the last two years the life of Lady Sinital had been one of indolence, the riches she had stolen had served to whet her every greed, and the prestige as sole owner of the estate had done much to grease the hinges of her bedroom door.

The crime she'd committed had not been against Rallick but, unlike her victim, Rallick had no pride to halt vengeance.

Patience, Rallick repeated, his lips moving to the word as he sighted down the crossbow's length. A quality defined by its reward, and that reward was but moments away.

“A fine looking hound,” Councilman Turban Orr said, as he handed Roald his cloak.

In the room Baruk was the only one capable of discerning the aura of illusion surrounding the black hunting dog lying curled on the rug before the fireplace. The alchemist smiled and gestured to a chair. “Please be seated, Councilman.”

“I apologize for disturbing you so late at night,” Orr said, as he lowered himself into the plush chair. Baruk sat down opposite him, Crone between them. “It's said,” Orr continued, “that alchemy flowers best in deep darkness.”

“Hence you gambled on my being awake,” Baruk said. “A well-placed wager, Councilman. Now, what would you have of me?”

Orr reached down to pat Crone's head.

Baruk looked away to keep himself from laughing.

“The Council votes in two days,” Orr said. “With a proclamation of neutrality such as we seek, war with the Malazan Empire will be averted-so we believe, but there are those in the Council who do not. Pride has made them belligerent, unreasonable.”

“As it does us all,” murmured Baruk.

Orr leaned forward. “The support of Darujhistan's sorcerers would do much to favour our cause,” he said.

“Careful,” Crone rumbled. “This man now hunts in earnest.”

Orr glanced down at the dog.

“A bad leg,” Baruk said. “Pay it no mind.” The alchemist leaned back in his chair and plucked at a loose thread on his robe. “I admit to some confusion, Councilman. You appear to be assuming some things I cannot countenance.” Baruk spread his hands and met Orr's eyes. “Darujhistan's sorcerers, for one. You could travel the Ten Worlds and not find a more spiteful rabid collection of humanity. I don't suggest that they are all like this-there are those whose only interest, indeed, obsession, lies in the pursuit of their craft. Their noses have been buried in books so long they could not even tell you what century this is. The others find bickering their only true pleasure in life.”

A smile had come to Orr's thin lips as Baruk spoke. “But,” he said with a cunning gleam in his dark eyes, “there is one thing they all acknowledge.”

“Oh? What is that Councilman?”

“Power. We're all aware of your eminence among the city's mages, Baruk. Your word alone would bring others.”

“I'm flattered that you would think so,” Baruk replied. “Unfortunately, therein lies your second erroneous assumption. Even if I had such influence as you suggest,” Crone snorted and Baruk flicked a savage glare at her, then continued, “which I do not, for what possible reason would I support such a wilfully ignorant position as yours? A proclamation of neutrality? Might as well whistle against the wind, Councilman. What purpose would it serve?”

Orr's smile had tightened. “Surely, Lord,” he purred, “you have no wish to share the same fate as the wizards of Pale?”

Baruk frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Assassinated by an Empire Claw. Moon's Dawn was entirely on its own against the Emnire.”

“Your information contradicts mine,” Baruk said stiffly, then cursed himself.

“Lean not too heavily on this one,” Crone said smugly. “You are both wrong.”