‘In your time, perhaps.’
Xethel was weaving her long thin fingers together, perhaps in unease. ‘Please do not think badly of me, but I must go.’
‘But I have so many questions,’ Wu said.
Xethel laughed again, though rather nervously this time. ‘Then I name you Amman-an-ash. The One Who Would Know Everything.’ She nodded in Dancer’s direction. ‘And you I name Coth-tel-ish-ath. The One Who Watches and Judges.’
The baying burst so close upon them that even Xethel winced, her bony shoulders hunching. ‘Now,’ Dancer snarled.
But Wu was eyeing the arch, a finger at his lips. ‘Interesting. It looks to have been sealed from this side…’
‘Now!’
The little mage rolled his eyes. ‘Oh, very well.’ He tucked the walking stick under his arm. ‘Let’s see if I can remember…’
Gravel clattered nearby and both men turned their heads. Atop the dune behind them stood a massive canine, nearly the size of a pony. It was short-haired, and dirty cream in hue. It stared down at them with an almost quizzical tilt of its wide head, as if confused as to why they weren’t running.
Wu gaped. The walking stick fell to the dirt. ‘On it,’ he gasped. Dancer faced the creature and drew his heaviest fighting knives, though he had little hope of his chances. Xethel was backing away, peering round frantically, obviously sensing the beast, but not able to see it.
With a chuff like a bull’s cough, the animal charged. Dancer had only one idea. A technique he’d heard of where one leapt over the head of a beast and stabbed downwards. It needed momentum, so he immediately charged as well, pumping his arms, blades held in reverse grip. His footing was poor in the yielding sand, but there was nothing to be done about that. He watched the creature’s head rising and falling as it hurtled towards him, drool flying from its maw and its bright eyes seeming to glow with bloodlust.
His sense of timing told him it was now or die and so he leapt, but everything turned and twisted in a strange way while he was in mid-air and he came down hard on wet sand that shushed beneath him. He gasped for breath. It was dark, and a cold wind was blowing, and on that wind he thought he heard a diminishing howl of daemonic frustration and rage.
He lay peering up at clouds and familiar stars peeping through their ragged gaps. Malaz. Coughing and splashing sounded nearby and he raised his head. Wu was attempting to rise in the surf while the waves splashed up to his chest. He came staggering over to stand brushing at his sodden clothes.
‘There!’ he announced. ‘More reliable, yes?’
‘You? Reliable?’
Wu extended a hand that he took to help pull himself up. Together, they headed for the bar. Water was dripping from Wu’s sleeves and his boot squelched as he walked. ‘You really charged that beast?’ he said.
‘Going to be torn to pieces anyway.’
Wu was nodding, hands now behind his back. ‘True, true. There must be a way, though…’ and he walked on in silent thought.
They pushed open the door to find the bar empty of customers but for three drunks. Surly was at the counter and a few of the Napan hands were cleaning up, sweeping and clearing tables.
‘Where have you been?’ Surly demanded from across the room. ‘And you’re getting the floor wet.’
‘Went for a wash,’ Wu answered.
‘About time,’ one of the Napan bouncers next to the door muttered under his breath. The one called Grinner.
Dancer hid his own grin, while Wu pretended he hadn’t heard. He bustled across the floor, making for the stairs. ‘I’ll be in my office should I be needed.’
‘Needed?’ Surly murmured, leaning up against the counter, her arms crossed.
Following Wu, Dancer had just reached the stairs when the door smashed open and more people came charging in. He spun to see five men and one woman – and he recognized the woman. It was the diminutive, black-haired courier with the silver earrings.
She pointed straight at him, a blade in her gloved fist. ‘Told you it was a small island! Get ’im!’ Her men charged. Dancer whipped his knives from his baldrics and shifted to cover Wu.
In that instant all the Napans moved. Grinner, at the door, lashed out to punch the woman in the side of the head and Dancer saw her eyes roll white as she fell.
Three of the toughs came charging across the room. Two remained at the door. One thrust at Grinner but in such close quarters Grinner caught his arm with one hand, took hold of the man’s belt with the other, lifted him overhead and smashed him down on a table. The other slashed at Choss, who slipped the cut and rammed his elbow into the man’s throat: he fell, clutching his neck.
The lean Napan, Tocaras, swept up a chair and lobbed it at a scar-faced thug, dropping him. Shrift threw a heavy knife, pommel first, that bounced from the skull of another attacker, while Surly, leaping an entire table, struck the last in his side with one extended heel. Dancer heard the man’s ribs breaking as he fell unconscious.
He lowered his blades, blinking in the sudden silence. Damned impressive. Who are these Napans?
The door to the kitchen was thrown open and the gigantic cook, Urko, emerged holding an unconscious man under each arm. ‘What in Mael’s name is going on?’ he demanded.
Surly sent him a hand signal of some kind, said, ‘It’s handled.’
The man grunted, satisfied, then looked perplexed. ‘Well, what do I do with these two?’
From over Dancer’s shoulder, Wu supplied, ‘Just set them out with the rest of the trash.’
Dancer saw the man cast a glance to their hostess, Surly, for confirmation. The woman nodded, and he grunted his compliance. Dancer looked at Wu, but the mage seemed oblivious of the finer points of the exchange; the fellow made little shooing gestures with his hands, said, ‘I’ll leave you to clean up then, shall I, Surly?’
The wiry woman rolled her eyes in disgust. Wu waved Dancer up the stairs. ‘Let us discuss things.’
Dancer clenched his lips against saying anything there in front of everyone, sheathed his blades, and followed.
Inside the office he shut the door behind him and leaned against it. Wu was pacing back and forth tapping the tips of his fingers together, obviously very agitated.
‘Did you see that?’ Dancer demanded.
Wu turned on him, his tiny eyes glittering and bright. ‘Yes! Amazing! I have the best henchmen ever!’
Dancer looked to the ceiling and crossed his arms, sighing. ‘I don’t think they’re your henchmen.’
‘Whatever. Chain of command, Dancer. Chain of command. Now we can set to work.’
‘Work?’
‘Yes. Tackling Geffen, of course. We have the personnel.’
Dancer blew out a breath. This guy’s miles ahead of the cart, let alone the horse. ‘Let’s not rush over any cliff here…’
Looking vexed, Wu sat behind the desk. ‘Then what would you suggest?’
Dancer motioned back behind his shoulder. ‘I’ll have a word.’
Wu raised his brows. ‘Ah. Excellent idea. Take your time. I must think.’