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He balled the handkerchief and flung it on to Calot's lap. «Now, we're all here. Good. Regular business first. Hairlock, you finished jawing with the boys below?»
Hairlock stifled a yawn. «Some sapper named Fiddler took me in, showed me around.» He paused to pluck lint from his brocaded sleeve, then met Dujek's eyes. «Give them six or seven years and they might have reached the city walls by then.»
«It's pointless,» Tattersail said, «which is what I put in my report.» She squinted up at Dujek. «Assuming it ever made it to the Imperial Court.»
«Camel's still swimming,» Calot said.
Dujek grunted-as close as he ever got to laughing. «All right, cadre, listen carefully. Two things.» A faint scowl crossed his scarred features.
«One, the Empress has sent a Claw. They're in the city, hunting down Pale's wizards.»
A chill danced up Tattersail's spine. No one liked having the Claws around. Those Imperial assassins-Laseen's favoured weapon-kept their poisoned daggers sharp for anyone and everyone, Malazans included.
It seemed Calot was thinking the same thing, for he sat up sharply. «If they're here for any other reason:»
«They'll have to come through me first,» Dujek said, his lone hand reaching down to rest on the pommel of his longsword.
He has an audience, there in the other room. He's telling the man commanding the Claw how things stand. Shedunul bless him.
Hairlock spoke. «They'll go to ground. They're wizards, not idiots.»
It was a moment before Tattersail understood the man's comment. Oh, right. Pale's wizards.
Dujek glanced down at Hairlock, gauging, then he nodded. «Two, we're attacking Moon's Spawn today.»
In the other compartment, High Mage Tayschre
Hairlock snorted. «Keep the melodrama to a minimum, Tayschre
Ignoring Hairlock's comment, the High Mage continued, «The Empress has lost her patience with Moon's Spawn-»
Dujek cocked his head and interrupted, his voice softly grating. «The Empress is scared enough to hit first and hit hard. Tell it plain, Magicker. This is your front line you're talking to here. Show some respect, dammit.»
The High Mage shrugged. «Of course, High Fist.» He faced the cadre.
«Your group, myself and three other High Mages will strike Moon's Spawn within the hour. The North Campaign has drawn most of the edifice's inhabitants away. We believe that the Moon's lord is alone. For almost three years his mere presence has been enough to hold us in check. This morning, my colleagues, we will test this lord's mettle.»
«And hope to hell he's been bluffing all this time,» Dujek added, a scowl deepening the lines on his forehead. «Any questions?»
«How soon can I get a transfer?» Calot asked.
Tattersail cleared her throat. «What do we know about the Lord of Moon's Spawn?»
«Scant little, I'm afraid,» Tayschre
Hairlock leaned forward and deliberately spat at the floor in front of Tayschre
Tattersail's migraine worsened. She realized she was holding her breath, slowly forced it out as she gauged Tayschre
«An archmage,» Tayschre
Hairlock bared his teeth. «The Tiste And? are Mother Dark's first children. You've felt the tremors through the Warrens of Sorcery, Tayschre
«I know nothing of the sort,» the High Mage snapped, losing his calm at last. «Perhaps you'd care to enlighten us, Hairlock, and then I can begin inquiries as to your sources.»
«Ahh!» Hairlock bolted forward in his chair, an eager malice in his taut face. «A threat from the High Mage. Now we're getting somewhere. Answer me this, then. Why only three other High Mages? We've hardly been thi
Whatever was building between Hairlock and Tayschre
«Caladan Brood,» Calot murmured. «I swear I've heard that name somewhere before. Odd that I've never given it much thought.»
Tattersail's eyes narrowed on Tayschre
The High Mage met her gaze, flat and,calculating. «The need,» he said, turning to the others, «for justifications has passed. The Empress has commanded, and we must obey.»
Hairlock snorted a second time. «Speaking of twisting arms,» he sat back, still smiling contemptuously at Tayschre
«Enough!» Tayschre
The lanterns had dimmed. Calot used the handkerchief in his lap to wipe tears from his cheeks.
Power, oh, damn, my bead feels ready to crack wide open.
«Very well,» Hairlock whispered, «let's lay it out on the table. I'm sure the High Fist will appreciate you putting all his suspicions in the proper order. Make it plain, old friend.»
Tattersail glanced at Dujek. The commander's face had closed up, his sharp eyes narrow and fixed on Tayschre
Calot leaned against her. «What the hell's going on, «Sail?»
«No idea,» she whispered, «but it's heating up nicely.» Though she'd made her comment light, her mind was whirling around a cold knot of fear. Hairlock had been with the Empire longer than she had-or Calot.
He'd been among the sorcerers who'd fought against the Malazans in Seven Cities, before Aren fell and the Holy Falah'd were scattered, before he'd been given the choice of death or service to the new masters. He'd joined the 2nd's cadre at Pan'potsun-like Dujek himself he'd been there, with the Emperor's old guard, when the first vipers of usurpation had stirred, the day the Empire's First Sword was betrayed and brutally murdered. Hairlock knew something. But what?
«All right,» Dujek drawled, «we've got work to do. Let's get at it.»
Tattersail sighed. Old Onearm's way with words. She swung a look on the man. She knew him well, not as a friend-Dujek didn't make friends-but as the best military mind left in the Empire. If, as Hairlock had just implied, the High Fist was being betrayed by someone, somewhere, and if Tayschre