‘Precisely.’
‘You’ll make a good instructor.’
‘Not likely,’ he replied with a grimace, ‘but I have no aspirations to be one, ei shy;ther. It’s work, that’s all. Footwork, forms, balance and timing — the more serious stuff they can get from someone else.’
‘If you go in there talking like that,’ Cutter said, ‘you’ll never get hired.’
‘I’ve lost my ability to charm?’
Cutter sighed and rose from his chair. ‘I doubt it.’
‘What brought you back?’ Murillio asked.
The question stopped him. ‘A conceit, maybe.’
‘What kind of conceit?’
The city is in danger. It needs me. ‘Oh,’ he said, turning to the door, ‘the child shy;ish kind. Be well, Murillio — I think your idea is a good one, by the way. If Rallick drops by looking for me, tell him I’ll be back later.’
He took the back stairs, went through the dank, narrow kitchen, and out into the alley, where the chill of the night just past remained in the air. He did need to speak to Rallick Nom, but not right now. He felt slightly punch drunk. The shock of his return, he supposed, the clash inside himself between who he had once been and who he was now. He needed to get settled, to get the confusion from his mind. If he could begin to see clearly again, he’d know what to do.
Out into the city, then, to wander. Not quite running wild, was it?
No, those days were long gone.
The wound had healed quickly, reminding him that there had been changes — the powder of otataral he had rubbed into his skin only a few days ago, or so it seemed. To begin a night of murder now years past. The other changes, however, were proving far more disconcerting. He had lost so much time. Vanished from the world, and the world just went on without him. As if Rallick Nom had been dead, yes — no different from that, only now he was back, which wasn’t how things should be. Pull a stick from the mud and the mud closes in to swallow up the hole, until no sign remains that the stick ever existed.
Was he still an assassin of the Guild? Not at the moment, and this truth opened to him so many possibilities that his mind reeled, staggered back to the simpler no shy;tion of descending into the catacombs, walking up to Seba Krafar and announcing his return, resuming, yes, his old life.
And if Seba was anything like old Talo, he would smile and say welcome back, Rallick Nom. From that moment the chances that Rallick would make it back out alive were virtually nonexistent. Seba would see at once the threat standing before him. Vorcan had favoured Rallick and that alone was sufficient justifica shy;tion for getting rid of him. Seba wanted no rivals — he’d had enough of those if Krute’s tale of the faction war was accurate.
He had another option when it came to the Guild. Rallick could walk in and kill Seba Krafar, then announce he was interim Master, awaiting Vorcan’s return. Or he could stay in hiding for as long as possible, waiting for Vorcan to make her own move. Then, with her ruling the nest once again, he could emerge out of the woodwork and those missing years would be as nothing, would be without mean shy;ing. That much he shared with Vorcan, and because of that she would trust no one but Rallick. He’d be second in command, and how could he not be satisfied with that?
Oh, this was an old crisis — years old now. His thought that Turban Orr would be the last person he killed had been as foolish then as it was now.
He sat on the edge of the bed in his room. From the taproom below he could hear Kruppe expounding on the glories of breakfast, punctuated by some muted no doubt savage commentary by Meese, and with those two it was indeed as if nothing had changed. The same could not be said for Murillio, alas. Nor for Crokus, who was now named Cutter — an assassin’s name for certain, all too well suited to the man Crokus had become. Now who taught him to fight with knives like that? Something of the Malazan style — the Claw, in fact.
Rallick had been expecting Cutter to visit, had been anticipating the launch of a siege of questions. He would want to explain, wouldn’t he? Try to justify his de shy;cisions to Rallick, even when there was no possible justification. He didn’t listen to me, did he? Ignored my warnings. Only fools think they can make a differ shy;ence. So, where was he? With Murillio, I expect, holding off on the inevitable.
A brief knock at the door and Irilta entered — she’d been living hard of late, he could see, and such things seemed to catch up faster with women than with men — though when men went they went quickly. ‘Brought you breakfast,’ she said, carrying a tray over. ‘See? I remembered it all, right down to the honey-soaked figs.’
Honey-soaked figs? ‘Thank you, Irilta. Let Cro- er, Cutter know that I’d like to see him now.’
‘He went out.’
‘He did? When?’
She shrugged. ‘Not so long ago, according to Murillio.’ She paused for a hack shy;ing cough that reddened her broad face.
‘Find yourself a healer,’ Rallick said when she was done.
‘Listen,’ she said, opening the door behind her, ‘I ain’t got no regrets, Rallick. I ain’t expecting any god’s kiss on the other aide, and ain’t nobody gonna say of Irilta she didn’t have no fun when she was alive, no sir,’
She added something else but since she was in the corridor and closing the door Rallick didn’t quite catch it. Might have been something like ‘try chewin on that lesson some. .’, but then, she’d never been the edgy one, had she?
He looked down at the tray, frowned, then picked it up and rose.
Out into the corridor, balancing it one-handed while he lifted the latch of the next door along and walked into Murillio’s room.
‘This is yours,’ Rallick said. ‘Honey-soaked figs, your favourite.’
A grunt from Murillio on the bed. ‘Explains these strips of spiced jerky — you are what you eat, right?’
‘You’re not nearly as sweet as you think, then,’ Rallick said, setting the tray down. ‘Poor Irilta.’
‘Poor Irilta nothing — that woman’s crowded more into her years than all the rest of us combined, and so now she’s dying but won’t bother with any healer be shy;cause, I think, she’s ready to leave.’ He shook his head as he reached for the first glazed fig. ‘If she knew you were pitying her, she’d probably kill you for real, Ral shy;lick.’
‘Missed me, did you?’
A pause, a searching glance, then Murillio bit into the fig.
Rallick went and sat down in one of the two chairs crowding the room along with the bed. ‘You spoke to Cutter?’
‘Somewhat.’
‘I thought he’d come to see me.’
‘Did you now?’
‘The fact that he didn’t shouldn’t make me think he got scared, should it?’
Murillio slowly shook his head.
Rallick sighed. Then he said, ‘Saw Coll last night — so our plan worked. He got his estate back, got his name back, his self-respect. You know, Murillio, I didn’t think anything could work out so well. So. . perfectly. How in Hood’s name did we ever manage such a thing?’
‘That was a night for miracles all right.’
‘I feel. . lost.’
‘Not surprising,’ Murillio replied, reaching for another fig. ‘Eat some of that jerky — the reek is making me nauseated.’
‘Better on my breath?’
‘Well, I don’t see us kissing any time soon.’
‘I’m not hungry,’ Rallick said. ‘I was when I first woke up, I think, but that faded.’
‘Woke up — you slept all that time in the Finnest House? All tucked up in bed?’
‘On stone, just inside the door. With Vorcan lying right beside me, apparently. She wasn’t there when I came round. Just an undead Jaghut.’
Murillio seemed to think about that for a while, then said, ‘So, what now, Rallick Nom?’
‘Wish I knew.’
Baruk might need things done, like before.’
‘You mean like guarding Cutter’s back? Keeping an eye on Coll? And how long before the Guild learns I’m back? How long before they take me down?’