Kalam leaned back and regarded the man. He could have been anywhere between thirty and sixty, depending on his life's toll. Deeply weathered skin was visible beneath the iron-streaked snarl of beard. The dark eyes roved restlessly and had yet to fix on the assassin. The man was dressed in baggy, threadbare rags. 'You force the question,' the assassin said. 'Who are you and what's your story?'
The man straightened up. 'You think I tell that to just anyone?'
Kalam waited.
'Well,' the man continued. 'Not everyone. Some people get rude and stop listening.'
An unconscious patron at a nearby table toppled from his chair, his head crunching as it struck the flagstones. Kalam, the stranger and the serving woman — who had just reappeared with two tin mugs — all watched as the drunk slid down on grease and vomit to join the central heap.
It turned out one of the rats had been just playing at being dead, and it popped free and clambered onto the patron's body, nose twitching.
The stranger opposite the assassin grunted. 'Everyone's a philosopher.'
The serving woman delivered the drinks, her peculiar shuffle to their table displaying long familiarity with the pitched floor. Eyeing Kalam, she spoke in Dhebral. 'Your friends in the back have asked for soap.'
'Aye, I imagine they have.'
'We got no soap.'
'I have just realized that.'
She wandered away.
'Newly arrived, I take it,' the stranger said. 'North gate?'
'Aye.'
'That's quite a climb, with horses yet.'
'Meaning the north gate's locked.'
'Sealed, along with all the others. Maybe you arrived by the harbourside.'
'Maybe.'
'Harbour's closed.'
'How do you close Aren Harbour?'
'All right, it's not closed.'
Kalam took a mouthful of ale, swallowed it down and went perfectly still.
'Gets even worse after a few,' the stranger said.
The assassin set the tankard back down on the table. He struggled a moment to find his voice. 'Tell me some news.'
'Why should I?'
'I've bought you a drink.'
'And I should be grateful? Hood's breath, man, you've tasted it!'
'I'm not usually this patient.'
'Oh, very well, why didn't you say so?' He finished the first tankard, picked up the new one. 'Some ales grow on you. Some grow
'I have slit uglier throats than yours,' the assassin said.
The man paused, his eyes flicking for the briefest of moments to skitter over Kalam, then he set his tankard down. 'Kornobol's wives locked him out last night — the poor bastard was left wandering the streets till one of the High Fist's patrols picked him up for breaking curfew. It's becoming common practice. Wives all over the city are having revelations. What else? Can't get a decent fillet without paying an arm and a leg for it — there's more maimed beggars than ever crowding the streets where the markets used to be. Can't buy a reading without Hood's Herald poking up on the field — tell me, do you think it's even possible that the High Fist is casting someone else's shadow like they say? Of course, who can cast a shadow hiding in the palace wardrobe? Fish ain't the only slippery things in this city, let me tell you. Why, I've been arrested four times in the last two days, had to identify myself and show my Imperial charter, if you can believe it. Turned out lucky, though, since I found my crew in one of those gaols. With Oponn's smile I'll have them out come tomorrow — got a deck to scrub and believe you me, those drunken louts will be scrubbing till the Abyss swallows the world. What's worse is the way some people step right around that charter, make demands of a person so he's left with an aching head delivering messages beneath common words, as if life's not complicated enough — any idea how a hold groans when it's full of gold? And now you're going to say, "Well, Captain, it just so happens that I'm looking to buy passage back to Unta," and I'll say, "The gods are smiling upon you, sir! It just so happens that I'm sailing in two days' time, with twenty marines, the High Fist's treasurer and half of Aren's riches on board — but we've room, sir, oh, yes indeed. Welcome aboard!"'
Kalam was silent for a dozen heartbeats, then he said, 'The gods are smiling indeed.'
The captain's head bobbed. 'Smooth and beguiling, them smiles.'
'Who do I thank for this arrangement?'
'Says he's a friend of yours, though you've never met — though you will aboard my ship,
'His name?'
'Salk Elan, he called himself. Says he's been waiting for you.'
'And how did he know I would come to this inn? I did not know of its existence an hour ago.'
'A guess, but an informed one. Something about this being the first one you come to down from the gate in the necropolis. Too bad you weren't here last night, friend, it was even quieter, at least until the wench fished a drowned rat out of that keg over yonder. Too bad you and your friends missed this morning's breakfast.'
