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

“Understood, Adjunct,” Whiskeyjack replied curtly. “What are your orders?”

“I am serious in this, Sergeant,” she warned. “And I don't care how angry this makes you. Now, I suggest we retire to more private surroundings.” She rose. “Your men can remain here.”

Whiskeyjack stood. “Of course, Adjunct. We have the back room. If you will follow me.”

Lorn reached down to the bed's top blanket. “There is blood here, Sergeant.” She turned to regard the man as he closed the door.

He faced her. “One of my men had a brush with a Tiste And? assassin-mage. He'll recover.”

“Highly unlikely, Sergeant. The Tiste And? are all with Caladan Brood in the north.” Her eyes widened in disbelief. “You don't mean to suggest that the Lord of Moon's Spawn himself has left his fortress? To do what? Hunt down Malazan spies? Don't be absurd.”

Whiskeyjack scowled. “Corporal Kalam and my squad mage had a rooftop engagement with at least half a dozen Tiste And?. That my men survived makes it highly unlikely that the Moon's lord was anywhere in the vicinity, doesn't it, Adjunct? Put it together. The Moon stations itself just south of the city. Its lord strikes an alliance with Darujhistan's rulers, and their first task is to wipe out the local Assassins” Guild. Why? To prevent people like us from contacting them and offering a contract. And, so far, it's worked.”

Lorn thought for a time, then she said, “So if the Guild cannot be contacted, why not do the assassinations yourselves? Your Corporal Kalam ranked among the best in the Claw before his: his falling out. Why not take out the city's rulers?”

The man folded his arms across his chest and leaned against the wall beside the door. “We've been considering that, Adjunct. And we're a step ahead of you. Right now, one of my men is negotiating for us to work as private strong-arms for a highbrow F?te this evening. Everybody who's anybody is supposed to attend-Council members, High Mages, the works. My saboteurs have enough left-over munitions to make it a party this city will have a hard time forgetting.”

Lorn struggled against a growing sense of frustration. As much as she'd intended to take command of things, it seemed that this Whiskeyjack had been doing just fine up until now, given the circumstances. She suspected she could not have done things any better, though she still doubted the story about the Tiste And?. “Why on earth,” she asked finally, “would an estate hire a bunch of strangers as guards?”

“Oh, there'll be city soldiers there as well. But none of them is a Barghast.” Whiskeyjack smiled cynically. “Titillation factor, Adjunct. It's what makes the nobility drool. Look there, a big tattooed barbarian glowering down at them. Exciting, yes?” He shrugged. “It's a risk, but one worth taking. Unless, of course, you have a better idea, Adjunct?”

She heard the challenge in his tone. Had she thought about it, she would have realized long before now that her title and power would not intimidate this man. He'd stood at Dassem Ultor's side, arguing tactics with the Sword of the Empire in the midst of battle. And it seemed that demotion to sergeant had failed to break this man-that much she'd gathered from the Bridgeburners” reputation at Pale. He would not hesitate to challenge her every command if he found reason to do so.

“Your plan is sound,” she said. “Tell me the name of this estate.”

“Some woman named Lady Sinital. I don't know the family name, but everybody seems to know her. Said to be a real looker, with influence in the Council.”

“Very well,” Lorn said, adjusting her cloak. “I'll return in two hours, Sergeant. There are other matters I must attend to. Be certain that all is ready-detonation procedures included. If you don't get hired, we'll have to find another way of being at that f?te.” She strode to the door.

“Adjunct?”

She turned.

Whiskeyjack walked to the back wall and pulled aside a tattered hanging. “This tunnel emerges into another house. From it you can enter the Daru District.”

“Unnecessary.” Lorn was irritated by his condescending tone.

As soon as she was gone Quick Ben scrambled from the tunnel.

“Dammit Sergeant” he muttered. “You almost had her walking in on me!”

“No chance,” Whiskeyjack observed. “In fact, I made certain she wouldn't use it. Anything from Kalam?”

Quick Ben paced the small room. “Not yet. But he's about to run out of patience.” He turned to the sergeant. “So? Do you think she was fooled?”