‘Of course you are, Shurq.’
‘And I want Ublala. I want him now.’
‘I understand-’
‘No you don’t. I said I want him now. But that’s impossible. So you’ll have to do.’
‘Me? Oh dear. Does it bite?’
‘Only one way to find out, Tehol Beddict. Get out of those stupid clothes.’
‘So long as you don’t poke my eye out.’
‘Don’t make me – oh, right. I’ll be careful. I promise.’
‘Just so long as you understand, Shurq, I normally don’t do this with my employees. Especially dead ones.’
‘I don’t see why you had to bring that up. It’s not like I can help it.’
‘I know. But it’s, uh, well
‘Creepy?’
‘You’re lovely and all that, I mean, Selush was brilliant – the best work she’s ever done.’
‘Think how I feel, Tehol? Errant knows, you’re no Ublala.’
‘Why, thank you.’
‘Now, take your clothes off. I’m sure it won’t take long anyway.’
The street was mostly unobstructed, allowing Moroch Nevath to make good time on his approach to the old palace. His horse would probably never fully recover from the journey down from High Fort. There was a Bluerose trainer in the palace, he had heard – although he had never seen the man – who was said to heal horses. If he found the time, he might hunt him down.
A figure stepped into the street ahead.
Recognizing the man, Moroch reined in. ‘Turudal Brizad.’
‘Finadd. I barely recognized you.’
‘You’re not alone in that, First Consort. Now, I am off to report to the Preda.’
‘You will find her in the throne room. Finadd, I may have need of you shortly.’
Moroch scowled. ‘For what?’
The man smiled. ‘Specifically, your skill with the sword.’
‘Who do you want me to kill, Brizad? Some irate husband, an outraged wife? I think Gerun Eberict would better suit your requirements in such matters.’
‘I wish it were that simple, Finadd. Ideally, I would seek out Brys oeddict, but he has other tasks before him-’
‘So do I.’
‘The Preda will assign you to protection of the Royal Household, such as it is-’
‘That is the task of the King’s Champion.’
‘Yes. Meaning you will find yourself with some time on your hands.’
Moroch’s scowl deepened. ‘I intend to accompany the Preda when she marches, First Consort.’
Turudal sighed. ‘You are no longer trusted, Finadd. You failed both the prince and the queen. It would have been preferable had you diec in the endeavour at High Fort.’
‘I was injured. Separated from my charges. I could not even find ther once the battle commenced-’
‘Tragic, Finadd, but such stones make no splash on a frozen lake. What I offer you is an opportunity for redemption, for your name to be hailed in history. I am certain, Moroch Nevath, that you will receive no comparable offer from anyone else.’
The Finadd studied the man standing before him. He’d always made Moroch’s skin crawl. Too slick, too perfumed. Too smug. Now more than ever. ‘There is nothing you can offer me-’
‘Finadd, I want you to kill a god.’
Moroch sneered, said nothing.
Turudal Brizad smiled, then said, ‘The god of the Jheck. And where can you find this god? Why, here in the city. Waiting for the arrival of its savage worshippers.’
‘How do you know all this?’
‘Kill the god, Moroch Nevath, and the Tiste Edur will lose their allies.’
‘We will speak more on this,’ the Finadd said in a growl. ‘But for now, I must go.’
‘Of course. You have my sympathies, by the way. I know you could have done nothing to save Quillas or Janall-’
‘Save your breath, First Consort.’ Moroch snapped the reins, sending his horse forward, forcing Turudal Brizad to step aside hastily to avoid being knocked down.
Bugg found Kettle hunched against the door of the tower. She was shivering, knees drawn up, her head down.
‘Child?’
A muffled reply. ‘Go away.’
He crouched beside her. ‘How bad is it?’
‘I’m hungry. My stomach hurts. The bites itch.’
‘You’re alive, then.’ He saw her head nod. ‘And you’d rather be dead.’ Another nod. ‘We need to get you some new clothes. Some food, and water. We need to find you shelter – you can’t stay here any longer.’