Toll the Hounds

The foreman was staring back and forth between them with all the dumb bewilderment of an ox.



‘I do, sir, but as I said, I was not there to witness the event-’



‘You call me a liar, then?’



‘Excuse me?’ Gods below, ten years past and he would have handled this with perfect grace and mocking equanimity, and all that was ruffled would be smoothed over, certain debts accepted, promises of honouring those debts not even needing explicit enunciation. Ten years past and-



‘You are calling me a liar.’



‘No, I do not recall doing so, Councillor. If you say Turban Orr was assassinated, then so be it. As for my somehow conspiring to bring it about, well, that is itself a very dangerous accusation.’ Oh, he knew where this was leading. He had known for some time, in fact. It was all there in Gorlas Vidikas’s eyes-and Murillio now recalled where he had last seen this man, and heard of him. Gorlas enjoyed duelling. He enjoyed killing his opponents. Yes, he had attended one of this bastard’s duels, and he had seen-



‘It seems,’ said Gorlas, ‘we have ourselves a challenge to honour here.’ He gave a short laugh. ‘When you retracted your accusation, well, I admit I thought you were about to tuck your tail between your legs and scuttle off down the road. And perhaps I would’ve let you go at that-it’s Hanut’s obsession, after all. Not mine.’



Murillio said nothing, understanding how he had trapped himself, with the foreman to witness the fact that the demand for a duel had come from him, not Gorlas Vidikas. He also understood that there had been no chance, none at all, that Gorlas would have let him go. Naturally,’ continued the councillor, ‘I have no intention of withdrawing my accusation-so either accept it or call me out, Murillio. I have vague recollections that yon were one judged a decent duellist.’ He scanned the track to either side. ‘This place seems well suited. Now, a miserable enough audience, granted, but-’



‘Excuse me,’ cut in the foreman, ‘but the day’s shift bell is about to sound. The crews can get a perfect view, what with you two on the ridgeline-if you’d like.’



Gorlas winked over at Murillio as he said, ‘By all means we shall wait, then.’



The foreman trundled down the path into the pit, to ensure that the crew captains were told what was going on. They’d enjoy the treat after a long day’s work in the tunnels.



As soon as the foreman was out of earshot, Gorlas grinned at Murillio. ‘Now, anything more we should talk about, now that we’ve got no witness?’



‘Thank you for the invitation,’ Murillio said, tightening the straps of his glove. ‘Turban Orr didn’t deserve an honourable death. Hanut is your friend? Tell me, do you enjoy sleeping with vipers, or are you just stupid?’



‘If that was an attempt to bring me to a boil, it was pathetic. You truly think I don’t know all the tricks leading up to a duel? Gods below, old man. Still, I am pleased by your admission-Hanut will be delighted to hear that his suspicions were accurate. More important, he will find himself in my debt.’ And then he cocked his head. ‘Of course, the debt will be all the greater if I let you live. A duel unto wounding-leaving your fate in Hanut’s hands. Yes, that would be perfect. Well, Murillio, shall it be wounding?’



‘If you like,’ Murillio said.



‘Are your boots pinching?’



‘No.’



‘You seem in discomfort, Murillio, or is that just nerves?’



Bells clanged in the pit below. Distant shouts, and out from the tunnel mouths spewed filthy figures looking barely human at this distance. Runners raced down the lines. Word was getting out.



‘What’s this Harllo boy to you, anyway?’



Murillio glanced back to Gorlas. ‘You married Estraysian D’Arle’s daughter, didn’t you? She’s made herself very… popular, of late, hasn’t she? Alas, I am starting to understand why-you’re not much of a man, are you, Gorlas?’



For all the councillor’s previous bravado, he paled in the late afternoon light.



‘It’s terrible, isn’t it,’ Murillio went on, ‘how every sordid detail, no matter how private and personal, so easily leaves the barricaded world of the wellborn and races like windblown seeds among all us common folk, us lowborn. Why, whatever happened to decency?’



The rapier rasped its way out of the sheath and the point lifted towards Murillio. ‘Draw your weapon, old man.’



Krute of Talient stepped inside. He saw Rallick Nom standing by the window, but it was shuttered closed. The man might as well be standing facing a wall. Oh, he was a strange one indeed, stranger now than he’d ever been before. All that si-lence, all that sense of something being very much… wrong. In his head? Maybe, And that was a worrying thought-that Rallick Nom might not be right any more,