Gardens of the Moon (The Malazan Book of the Fallen #1) 54

“Close this up after me,” she said, from below, “and lock it. Wait to hear from either me or Irilta, got it?”

“Yes.” Crokus strode to the square hole in the floor and stared down at Meese. “We got it,” he said, grasping the door. and swinging it shut. Then he locked it.

“Crokus,” Apsalar asked, “why did you kill a guard?”

This was their first time alone since entering the city. Crokus glanced away. “It was an accident. I don't want to talk about it.” He crossed the room to the back window. “All these people trying to protect me,” he said. “Makes me uneasy. There's more going on than just an order for my arrest. Hood's Breath, the Thieves” Guild takes care of such things, that's why they get ten per cent of every job I do. No, none of it makes sense, Apsalar. And,” he said, as he unlatched the window, “I'm sick of everybody telling me what to do.”

She came to his side. “Are we leaving, then?”

“Damn right. It's already dusk so we'll take the rooftops.” He pulled and the window swung inward.

“Where?”

Crokus grinned. “I've got a great hiding-place in mind. Nobody will find us, not even my protectors. Once there, I can do what I want.”

Apsalar's brown eyes searched his face. “What do you want to do?” she asked softly.

He looked away, concentrating on propping up the window. “I want to talk to Challice D'Arle,” he said. “Face to face.”

“She betrayed you, didn't she?”

“Never mind that. Are you staying here?”

“No,” she said, surprised. “I'm coming with you, Crokus.”

The power of her Warren bristled on her body. Serrat scanned the area one more time, still seeing and sensing nothing. She was certain she was alone.

The Tiste And? tensed as the window in the attic beneath her creaked inward on rusty hinges. Knowing herself to be invisible, she leaned forward.

The lad's head popped out. He glanced at the alley below, the opposite rooftops and those to either side, then he looked up. His gaze passed right through Serrat, and she smiled.

It hadn't taken long to find him again. His only company, she could sense, was a young woman whose aura was harmless, astonishingly innocent. The other two women no longer occupied the attic. Excellent.

It would be that much easier. She stepped back as the Coin Bearer climbed through the window.

A moment later he scrambled on to the sloping rooftop.

Serrat decided that she would waste no time. Even as the Coin Bearer pushed himself to his feet, she sprang forward.

Her charge met an invisible hand, driving into her chest with bonejarring force. It pushed her back through the air, giving a final shove that sent her cartwheeling beyond the roof's edge. Her spells of invisibility and flight remained with her, even when she rebounded off a brick chimney, dazed and drifting.

Apsalar appeared on the roof's edge. Crokus crouched before her, daggers in hand and glaring all around him. “What's wrong?” she whispered, frightened.

Slowly, Crokus relaxed and turned a rueful grin her way. “Just nerves,” he said. “Thought I saw something, felt a wind. Looked like: Well, never mind.” He looked around again. “There's nothing here. Come on, then.”

“Where's this new hiding-place of yours?” Aspalar asked, as she gained the rooftop.

He faced east and pointed to the shadowed hills rising on the other side of the wall. “Up there,” he said. “Right under their very noses.”

Murillio clasped on his sword-belt. The longer he waited for Rallick to arrive the more certain he was that Ocelot had killed his friend. The only question that remained was whether Coll still lived. Maybe Rallick had done enough, wounded Ocelot sufficiently to prevent the Clan Master from completing the contract. I can hope, anyway.

They'd know at the Phoenix Inn, and each minute that passed made his Spartan room seem smaller, more cramped. If Coll lived, Murillio vowed to attempt Rallick's role in the plan. He checked his rapier. It'd been years since his last duel, and Turban Orr was said to be the city's best. His chances looked poor.

He collected his cape and fastened the collar around his neck. And who was this Circle Breaker with all the devastating news? How did this Eel justify involving himself or herself in their schemes? Murillio's eyes narrowed. Was it possible? That little round runt of a man?

He pulled on his doeskin gloves, muttering under his breath.

A scrape at the door caught his attention. A heavy sigh of relief escaped him. “Rallick, you old bastard,” he said, as he opened the door.