The giant’s helm grated as it lowered its head to peer at him.
Kellanved hurriedly yanked away the walking stick. ‘Your pardon.’ He wriggled his fingers towards the front door. ‘I was just wondering … if we leave … if we can leave … will we be able to return?’
The helm rose as the giant seemed to dismiss them.
Dancer and Kellanved exchanged glances and the mage shrugged. ‘Well, only one way to find out, yes?’
Dancer raised a hand. ‘Wait. Are you saying you brought us in here fully aware of the possibility that we may never – ever – leave again? Prisoners for the rest of our lives?’
Kellanved backed away towards the door. He fluttered his hands. ‘Now, let’s not get ahead of ourselves.’
Unbelievable! Dancer reached to catch the fellow by his wide collar, but at that moment Kellanved lifted the latch behind him, pushed open the door, and tumbled out on to the broad slate landing. Dancer strode forward, meaning to throttle him where he lay. One step took him across the threshold, and the door slammed shut behind his back, battering him on to his stomach. He scrambled quickly to his feet and stood over Kellanved, furious. ‘You could’ve told me!’
The mage was peering up the walkway. He pointed. ‘Not in front of the neighbours.’
Dancer looked up, blinking at the bright daylight: a few kids on the street stood frozen, gaping at them, as did pedestrians in the small crossroads further away. He pulled Kellanved to his feet. ‘You’re lucky.’
The mage straightened his worn and tattered shirt, vest, and jacket. ‘There. You see? No problem at all.’ And he started up the walkway, swinging his stick, and humming to himself.
Dancer could only shake his head. Unbelievable. Completely unbelievable.
*
When they entered Smiley’s everyone jumped. The Napans, plus others who must be local hires, even exchanged nervous glances. Dancer peered round, a touch perplexed. ‘What is it?’
Grinner, clearing his throat, was the first to sit down again. ‘Nothing,’ he said, but he kept eyeing them sidelong. An old veteran with him, possibly Talian by his greying straight black hair, approached and bowed to Kellanved.
‘Magister, I am Nedurian – I have enlisted with your representative, Surly.’
Kellanved fluttered his fingers in response. ‘Very good. We need more talents. Especially ex-legion.’
The fellow looked a touch startled, but bowed again, returning to his table.
Surly emerged from the kitchen. She stood regarding them for some time with her arms crossed, as if to say, Well well, look who’s come dragging themselves back.
She approached, her lips twisted in disapproval, and Dancer almost felt contrite – as if he’d been out on a bender. She looked them up and down, said, ‘Some show twelve days ago.’
Dancer’s brows rose. Twelve days? Ye gods. Much longer than I thought.
‘Thank you,’ Kellanved said smugly, and Dancer wanted to hit him. The mage started for the stairs, walking stick tapping the stone floor. ‘I’ll be in my office if you wish to talk.’
Dancer watched him go. Hiding in your office, you mean. He faced Surly, but frowned then, and glanced to a figure sitting far to the back. Having his attention, the figure stood, and Dancer could not believe whom he was seeing.
The man approached and Dancer looked him up and down. ‘What in the name of all the gods are you doing here?’
It was their righteous friend from Li Heng, Dassem, and he glanced to the stairs. ‘I have business to discuss with your partner.’
‘With us, you mean.’
The man took a steadying breath, and seeing that gesture Dancer understood just how extraordinarily important the business was to him. ‘With the two of you, then. In private.’
Dancer nodded. ‘Very well.’ He gestured Dassem to the stairs. ‘Let’s talk.’ He nodded to Surly, Later, but as she watched them go she was scowling her dissatisfaction even more.
When they entered the office, Kellanved was standing at the window, rocking back and forth on his heels. He turned when Dancer shut the door, and nodded to Dassem. ‘What brings you to Malaz Island? Changed your mind?’
‘In a way,’ the man answered stiffly. ‘A service for a service.’
‘This being?’
The fellow was very uncomfortable. Obviously not used to explaining himself, he cleared his throat and said, ‘I have something I wish to place in the Deadhouse.’
‘It’s not some kind of damned storage closet,’ Dancer snorted, going to a small table to pour himself a glass of wine.
Kellanved was slowly shaking his head in thought. ‘Well … it sort of is, actually. And in return?’
‘In return I shall serve you.’
Dancer spluttered on his drink. He eyed the swordsman, wiping his shirt front. ‘You, serve us?’
Dassem’s eyes narrowed, as if he’d detected some sort of insult. ‘My word is good…’
Kellanved raised his hands placatingly. ‘Please do not misunderstand. We do not doubt your word. It is just that … our goals may not be aligned.’
‘I care nothing for your goals. I will serve you.’
Dancer eyed Kellanved, raising a brow.
The mage tapped his walking stick to the floorboards, rocked back and forth again. ‘Well, this is all very hypothetical anyway. We may not even be able to re-enter the House.’
Dassem took hold of the door latch. ‘Then let us see.’
Kellanved and Dancer exchanged glances once more and Dancer shrugged. The mage pointed his stick to the door. ‘Very well…’
*
Dassem led them to the edge of town. Here, at an old dwelling constructed of flat fieldstones, he brought out a bundle and laid it in a cart. A bearded old man in rags lived in the shack, and kept bowing to Dassem the entire time.
When they left, Dassem pulling the cart, Dancer couldn’t help glancing back. The oldster was on his knees in the dirt, hands raised in prayer.
‘An adherent of Hood,’ Dassem explained.
Kellanved led the way to the House. Dancer brought up the rear, behind the cart. His neck kept itching as it did when he was under observation and he turned his head to see a slim young lad in dark clothes following them at a distance. He frowned, but continued on, glancing back every so often to keep track of the young fellow. He didn’t like the smug smile on his face – as if he were privy to some amusing secret known only to him.
At the House, Dassem gently picked up the fat roll of blankets and carried it in both arms. Kellanved opened the little iron gate. They walked up the stone path, Dancer in the rear. When Kellanved paused on the broad landing before the door, Dancer looked back and saw the pale lad at the fieldstone wall. The smile was gone. He appeared rather sour now.