Murillio remained standing, his gaze on the tower. “What of Hinter himself? Does his wraith number among them?”

“No. The madman sleeps within, or so it's said. The wraiths are trapped in the sorcerer's nightmares-he holds on to them, and even Hood cannot draw them to his cold bosom. Do you wish to know where those wraiths have come from, Murillio?” Rallick grinned. “Enter the tower, and you'll discover it first hand.”

Murillio had been about to go into the tower when Rallick had surprised him. “Thanks for the warning,” he snapped sarcastically, gathering his cloak and sitting down.

Rallick waved the mosquitoes from his face. “Well?”

“I have them,” Murillio said. “Lady Orr's most trusted hand-servant delivered them this afternoon.” He removed from inside his cloak a bamboo tube tied in blue ribbon. “Two invitations to Lady Sinital's F?te, as promised.”

“Good.” The assassin looked quickly at his friend. “You've not seen Kruppe's nose twitch?”

“Not yet. Ran into him this afternoon. Seems Crokus is making some bizarre demands. Of course,” Murillio added, scowling, “who can tell when Kruppe's caught wind of something? In any case, I've seen nothing to suggest the slippery little gnome suspects we're up to anything.”

“What was that you said about Crokus making bizarre demands?”

“A peculiar thing, that,” Murillio mused. “When I dropped by the Phoenix Inn this afternoon Kruppe was delivering to the lad the pickings from his last job. Now, surely Crokus hasn't abandoned Kruppe as his fence-we all would've caught wind of that.”

“That was from an estate, wasn't it? Whose?” Rallick asked.

“D'Arle's,” Murillio answered, then his eyebrows rose. “Kiss of Gedderone! The D'Arle maiden! The ripe one with the cheeks-she's being shown at damn near every gathering, all the frilly lads leaving a trail for the mop-boys. Oh, my! Our young thief is perchance smitten, and now keeps her baubles for himself. Of all the hopeless dreams a boy could have, he's reached for the worst.”

“Maybe,” Rallick said quietly. “Maybe not. A word to his uncle. .”

Murillio's pained expression lifted. “A nudge in the right direction? Yes, finally! Marnmot will be pleased-”

“Patience,” Rallick interjected. “Turning a thieving child into a man of standing and learning will require more work than a swooning heart will manage.”

Murillio frowned. “Well, forgive me for being so excited at the prospect of saving the lad's life.”

Rallick's smile was soft. “Never regret such pleasure,” he said.

Catching the assassin's tone, Murillio sighed, the sharp edges of his sarcasm sinking away. “It's been many years since we had so many things of hope to strive for,” he said quietly.

“The path to one will be bloody,” Rallick said. “Don't forget that. But, yes, it's been a long time. I wonder if Kruppe even remembers such days.”

Murillio snorted. “Kruppe's memory is revised hourly. All that holds him together is fear of being discovered.”

Rallick's eyes darkened. “Discovered?”

His friend seemed far away but then he collected himself and smiled.

“Oh, worn suspicions, no more. He's a slippery one, is Kruppe.”

Rallick chuckled at Murillio's mocking syntax. He studied the pond before them. “Yes,” he agreed, after a time, “he's the slippery one, all right.” He stood. “Krute will be wanting to close up. The Round's asleep by now.”

“Right.”

The two men left the terrace, methane mists swirling around their legs.

As they reached the path Murillio turned for a look at the tower's doorway, wondering if he could see the gibbering wraiths, but all he saw beneath the sagging arch was a wall of darkness. In some strange way he found that more disturbing than any horde of lost souls he might imagine.

Bright morning sunlight flowed in from the broad windows of Baruk's study, and a warm wind slipped into the room carrying the smells and noises from the street below. The alchemist, still dressed in his nightclothes, sat on a high stool at the map table. He held a brush in one hand, dipping it now and again into an ornate silver inkwell.

The red ink had been watered down. He painted wash on the map, covering the areas now held by the Malazan Empire. Fully one half of the map-the north half-was red. A small clear strip just south of Blackdog Forest marked Caladan Brood's forces, flanked on either side by two smaller patches indicating the Crimson Guard. The red wash surrounded these clear spots and extended down to engulf Pale, ending on the north edge of the Tahlyn Mountains.