Her hands twitched oddly, most fetchingly, in fact, and then surrender cas-caded in her lovely eyes, thus providing Iskaral Pust with the perfect image to res-urrect late at night under his blankets with Mogora snoring through all the spider balls filled with eggs lodged up her nose.
‘You will indeed be silent, Iskaral Pust. The one with whom I must speak does not tolerate fools, and I will make no effort to intercede should you prove fatally obnoxious.’ She paused and shook her head. ‘Then again, I cannot imagine you being anything but obnoxious. Perhaps I should retract my warning, in the hope that you will give such offence as to see you instantly obliterated. Whereupon I can then evict those foul bhokarala and your equally foul wife.’ Sudden surprise. ‘Listen to me! Those thoughts were meant to be private! Yours is a most exe-crable influence, Iskaral Pust.’
‘Soon we shall be as peas in a pod! Those spiny, sharp pods that stick to every-
thing especially crotch hair if one is forced to wee in the bushes.’ He reached out for her. ‘Hand in hand gliding down the streets!’
She seemed to recoil, but of course that was only his delicate and fragile self-esteem and its niggling worries, quickly buried beneath the plastering of yet another ingratiating smile on his face.
They escaped the temple through a little used side postern gate, slamming it shut just in time to avoid the squall of bhokarala excitedly pursuing them down the corridor.
Wretched sunshine in the streets, Sordiko Qualm seemingly indifferent to such atmospheric disregard-why, not a single cloud in sight! Worse than Seven Cities, with not a crevasse to be found anywhere.
Miserable crowds to thread through, a sea of ill-tempered faces snapping round at the gentle prod of his elbows and shoulders as he hurried to keep pace with the long-legged High Priestess. ‘Long legs, yes! Ooh. Ooh ooh ooh. Look at them scythe, see the waggle of those delicious-’
‘Quiet!’ she hissed over a shapely shoulder.
‘Shadowthrone understood. Yes he did. He saw the necessity of our meeting, her and me. The consummation of Shadow’s two most perfect mortals. The fated sto-rybook love-the lovely innocent woman-but not too innocent, one hopes-and the stalwart man with his brave smile and warm thews. Er, brave thews and warm smile. Is “thews” even the right word? Muscled arms and such, anyway. Why, I am a mass of muscles, am I not? I can even make my ears flex, when the need presents itself-no point in showing off. She despises the strutting type, being delicate and all . And soon-’
‘Watch that damned elbow, runt!’
‘And soon the glory will be delivered unto us-’
‘-a damned apology!’
‘What?’
A hulking oaf of a man was forcing himself into Iskaral Pust’s path, his big flat face looking like something one found at the bottom of a nightsoil bucket. ‘I said I expect a damned apology, y’damned toad-faced ferret!’
Iskaral Pust snorted. ‘Oh, look, a hulking oaf of a man with a big flat face look-ing like something one finds at the bottom of a nightsoil bucket wants me to apologize! And I will, good sir, as soon as you apologize for your oafishness and your bucket-face-in fact, apologize for existing!’
The enormous apish hand that reached for his throat was so apish that it barely possessed a thumb, or so Iskaral Pust would later report to his wide-eyed murmuring audience of bhokarala.
Naturally, he ignored that hand and did some reaching out of his own, straight into the oaf’s crotch, where he squeezed and yanked back and forth and tugged and twisted, even as the brute folded up with a whimper and collapsed like a sack of melons on to the filthy cobbles, where he squirmed most pitifully.
Iskaral Pust stepped over him and hurried to catch up to Sordiko Qualm, who seemed to have increased her pace, her robes veritably flying out behind her.
‘The rudeness of some people!’ Iskaral Pust gasped,
They arrived at the gates of a modest estate close to Hinter’s Tower. The gates were locked and Sordiko Qualm tugged on a braided rope, triggering chiming Irom somewhere within.
They waited.
Chains rattled on the other side of the gates, and a moment later the solid doors creaked open, streams of rust drifting down from the hinges.
‘Not many visitors, I take it?’
‘From this moment on,’ said Sordiko Qualm, ‘you will be silent, Iskaral Pust.’
‘I will?’
‘You will.’
Whoever had opened the gates seemed to be hiding behind one of them, and the High Priestess strode in without any further ceremony. Iskaral Pust rushed in behind her to avoid being locked out, as both gates immediately began closing. As soon as he was clear he turned to upbraid the rude servant. And saw, working a lever to one side, a Seguleh.
