Hissing in fury, the god slipped forward. A gesture and the three shadow-wraiths in his wake rushed forward, gathered round the motionless form of Kalam Mekhar. One rasped, 'He's dead.'
Shadowthrone snarled, pushed his servants aside and crouched down. '
Not yet,' he said after a moment. 'But oh so very close.' He lurched back a step. 'Pick him up, you damned idiots! We're going to drag him!'
'We?' one asked.
'Careful,' the god murmured. Then watched as the wraiths reached down, grasped limbs, and lifted the assassin. 'Good, now follow me, and quickly.'
To the gate, the barrier squealing as Shadowthrone pushed it aside.
Onto the rough path, its tilted stones and snarls of dead grass.
Mounds to either side, the humps beginning to steam. Dawn's arrival?
Hardly. No, the ones within… sensed him. The god allowed himself a small, dry laugh. Then ducked as it came out louder than he had intended.
Approaching the front door.
Shadowthrone halted, edged as close as he could to one side of the path, then waved the wraiths forward. 'Quickly! Drop him there, at the threshold! Oh, and here, you, take his long-knives. Back in the sheaths, yes. Now, all of you, get out of here – and stay on the path, you brainless worms! Who are you trying to awaken?'
Another step, closer to that dark, dew-beaded door. Lifting the cane.
A single rap with the silver head.
Then the god turned about and hurried down the path.
Reaching the gate, then spinning round as that door groaned open.
A huge armoured figure filled the portal, looking down.
Shadowthrone whispered, 'Take him, you oaf! Take him!'
Then, with infuriating slowness, the enormous guardian of the Deadhouse reached down, collected the assassin by the scruff of the neck, and dragged him across the threshold.
The god, crouched at the gate, watched as Kalam's feet vanished into the gloom.
Then the door slammed shut.
In time? 'No way of knowing. Not for a while… my, Shadowthrone's collection is most impressive, yes?' And he turned away, to see his wraiths fleeing down the street, even as a nearby tavern door thundered open.
And the god winced, ducking still lower. 'Uh oh, time to leave, I think.'
A swirl of shadows.
And then Shadowthrone was gone.
Master Sergeant Braven Tooth neared the entrance to Coop's. Not yet dawn. And the damned night was now quiet as a tomb. He shivered, as if he had just crossed the path of some hoary ghost, passing invisible yet pausing to give him a hungry glance.
Coop's door opened and closed, hard, the object of some anger, and Braven Tooth slowed.
An armoured monstrosity ascended into view.
Braven Tooth blinked, then grunted under his breath and approached.
'Evening, Temper.'
The helmed head turned to him, as if distracted by the Master Sergeant's sudden presence.
'Braven Tooth.'
'What brings you out?'
Temper seemed to sniff the air, then glanced across at the old Deadhouse. A softly clattering shrug as he said, 'Thought I'd take a walk.'
Braven Tooth nodded. 'I see you dressed appropriately.'
Both men stepped back as a woman emerged from a nearby alley and came right past them, descended the steps and vanished into the maw of Coop's.
'Now that was some swaying walk,' the Master Sergeant muttered in appreciation. But Temper's attention was on the cobbles, and Braven Tooth looked down.
She'd left footprints. Dark red.
'So, Temper. I suppose we can't hope that's mud, now can we?'
'I think not, Brav.'
'Well, think I'll plant myself in Coop's. You done with your walk?'
A final glance across at the Deadhouse, then the huge man nodded. 'So it seems.'
The two went down into the murky confines of the Hanged Man.
An auspicious guest had holed up in Coop's this night. Fist Aragan, who'd taken the cramped booth farthest from the door, in the darkest corner, where he sat alone, nursing a tankard of ale as bell after bell tolled outside, amidst a distant and sometimes not-so-distant chorus of riotous mayhem.
He was not alone in looking up, then holding his gaze fixed in admiration for the unknown black-haired Kanese woman who walked in moments before dawn. He watched from beneath hooded brows, as she headed to the bar and ordered Kanese rice wine, forcing Coop to scramble in desperate search before coming up with a dusty amber-hued glass bottle – in itself worth a small fortune.
Moments later Temper – weighed down in a heap of archaic armour – entered the tavern, followed by Master Sergeant Braven Tooth. And Aragan hunched down deep in his seat, averting his gaze.