‘That’s just it, though, isn’t it? A few years ago and she’d be strapping on the armour and counting quarrels-we’d have to chain her down to keep her from charging off-’

‘You don’t get it, do you, Blend?’

‘What?’

‘Years ago, as you say, she was a soldier-so were you. A soldier lives with cer-tain possibilities. Needs to keep in mind what might happen at any time. But you’re all retired now. Time to put all that away. Time to finally relax.’

‘Fine. It takes a while to get it all back-’

‘Blend, Picker’s the way she is right now because she almost lost you.’

In the silence that followed that statement, Blend’s mind was awhirl. ‘Then…’

‘She can’t bear to come in here and see you the way you are. So pale. So weak.’

‘And that’s what keeping her from hunting the killers down? That’s ridicu-lous. Tell her, from me, Scillara, that all this going soft shit is, urn, unattractive. Tell her, if she’s not ready to start talking vengeance, then she can forget about me. We’ve never run from anything in our lives, and as soon as I’m back on my feet, I plan on a rat hunt the likes of which the Guild has never seen.’

‘All right.’

‘Is this what all the arguing’s about? Her and Antsy?’

A nod.

‘Find me a High Denul healer, will you? I’ll pay whatever it takes.’

‘Fine. Now eat.’

The corpse still smelled of fermented peaches. Laid out on a long table in one of the back rooms, the Seguleh might have been sleeping one off, and Picker ex-pected the ghastly warrior’s serenely closed eyes to flicker open at any moment. The thought sent shivers through her and she glanced over once more at Duiker.

‘So, Historian, you’ve done some thinking on this, some jawing with that bard and that alchemist friend of yours. Tell us, what in Hood’s name are all these pickled Seguleh doing in the cellar?’

Duiker frowned, rubbed at the back of his neck, and would not meet Picker’s hard stare. ‘Baruk didn’t take the news well. He seemed… upset. How many casks have you examined?’

‘There’s twelve of the bastards, including this one. Three are women.’

Duiker nodded. ‘They can choose. Warriors or not. If not, they cannot be chal-lenged. Seems to relate to infant mortality.’

Picker frowned. ‘What does?’

‘Denul and midwifery. If most children generally survive, then mothers don’t need to birth eight or ten of them in the hopes that one or two make it-’

‘Well, that’s the way it is everywhere.’

‘Of course,’ Duiker continued as if he had not heard her statement, ‘some cul-tures have an overriding need to increase their population base. And this can im-pose strictures on women. There’s a high attrition rate among the Seguleh. A duelling society by its very nature cuts down the survival rate once adulthood is reached. Young warriors in their prime-probably as deadly as a war, only this is a war that never ends. Still, there must be periods-cycles, perhaps-when young women are freed up to choose their own path.’

Picker’s eyes settled on the corpse on the table while Duiker spoke. She tried to imagine such a society, wherein like bhederin cows all the women stood moaning as their tails were pushed to one side almost as soon as the last calf dropped out bleating on to the ground. It was madness. It was unfair. ‘Good thing even Seguleh women wear masks,’ she muttered.

‘Sorry, what?’

She scowled across at the historian. ‘Hides all the rage.’

‘Oh, well, I don’t know that the non-warrior women do-it never occurred to me to ask. But I see your point.’

‘But is that enough?’ she asked. ‘Do so many warriors kill each other that it’s necessary to demand that of the women?’

Duiker glanced at her, then away again.

The bastard’s hiding some suspicions.

‘I don’t know, Picker. Could be. Their savagery is infamous.’

‘How long do you think these ones have been down there? In the cellar, I mean, in those casks?’

‘The seals are templar. Baruk suggests that the cult persisted, in some residual form, long after its presumed extinction.’

‘Decades? Centuries?’

He shrugged.

‘But what are they doing here in Darujhistan anyway? Those islands are right off the south end of the damned continent. Nearly a thousand leagues between them and this city.’