Yet there seemed to be little conviction in the woman's tone, as if she was aware of a deeper truth, and was inviting Kalam to seek it for himself.
'The Red Blades,' said the Adjunct, 'ever have great need to assert their loyalty.' … their loyalty…
'Kalam Mekhar,' Tavore continued, stepping closer, her eyes now fixed on his own, 'I expect I will be permitted but a minimal escort of my own choosing. T'amber, of course, and, if you would accede, you.'
'Not an order, Adjunct?'
'No,' she answered quietly, almost tremulously. And then she waited.
Kalam looked away. Dragon's got Hood by the nose hairs… one of Fid's observations during one of his games. Years ago, now. Blackdog, was it? Probably. Why had he thought of that statement now? Because I know how Hood must have felt, that's why.
Wait, I can decide on this without deciding on anything else. Can't I?
Of course I can. 'Very well, Adjunct. I will be part of your escort.
We'll get you to Mock's Hold.'
'To the Hold, yes, that is what I have asked of you here.'
As she turned away, Kalam frowned, then glanced over at T'amber, who was regarding him flatly, as if disappointed. 'Something wrong?' he asked the young woman.
'There are times,' she said, 'when the Adjunct's patience surpasses even mine. And, you may not know this, but that is saying something.'
Froth Wolf edged closer to the jetty.
On the other side of the same stone pier, the longboat scraped up against the slimy foundation boulders. Lines were made fast to the rings set in the mortar, and Lostara Yil watched as one of the more nimble Red Blades hauled himself upward from ring to ring, trailing a knot-ladder. Moments later, he had reached the top of the jetty, where he attached the ladder's hooks to still more rings.
Tene Baralta was the first to ascend, slowly, awkward, using his one arm and grunting with each upward heave on the rungs.
Feeling sick to her stomach, Lostara followed, ready to catch the man should he falter or slip.
This is a lie. All of it.
She reached the top, clambered upright and paused, adjusting her weapon belt and her cloak.
'Captain,' Tene Baralta said, 'form up to await the Adjunct.'
She glanced to the right and saw a contingent of Imperial Guard pushing through the milling crowd, an officer in their midst.
Tene Baralta noticed them as well. 'Not enough, as I suspected. If this mob smells blood…'
Turning to the company of Red Blades, Lostara kept her face impassive, even as a sneering thought silently slithered through her mind:
Whatever you say, Fist. Just don't expect me to believe any of this.
At that moment a deeper roaring sound filled the air, and the sky above the bay suddenly blazed bright.
Banaschar squinted through the haze of smoke, scanning the crowd, then he grunted. 'He's not here,' he said. 'In fact, I haven't seen him in days… I think. How about you, Master Sergeant?'
Braven Tooth simply shrugged, his only reponse to Mudslinger's question.
The soldier glanced at Gentur, his silent companion, then said, 'It's just this, Master Sergeant. First we lose them, then we hear something about him, and we put it together, you see?'
The hairy old man bared his teeth. 'Oh yeah, Mudslinger. Now go away before I tie a full cask to your back and send you round the harbourfront at double-time.'
'He can't do that, can he?' Gentur asked his fellow soldier.
But Mudslinger had paled. 'You never forget, do you, sir?'
'Explain it to your friend. But not here. Try the alley.'
The two soldiers backed off, exchanging whispers as they made their way back to their table.
'I always like to think,' Banaschar said, 'that a nasty reputation is usually mostly undeserved. Benefit of the doubt, and maybe I've got some glimmer of faith in humanity clawing its way free every now and again. But, with you, Braven Tooth, alas, such optimism is revealed for the delusion it truly is.'
'Got that right. What about it?'
'Nothing.'
They heard shouting in the street outside, a clamour of voices that then died away. This had been going on all evening. Roving bands of idiots looking for someone to terrorize. The mood in the city was dark and ugly and getting worse with every bell that chimed, and there seemed to be no reason for it, although, Banaschar reminded himself, that had now changed.
Well, maybe there was still no reason as such. Only, there had arrived… a target.
'Someone's poking with a knife,' Braven Tooth said.
