Gardens of the Moon (The Malazan Book of the Fallen #1)

Gardens of the Moon (The Malazan Book of the Fallen #1) Page 186

Silverfox Outrider Hurlochel, 6th Army

As rallick nom approached the phoenix inn from the alleyway, a large, beefy woman stepped out from a shadowed niche and conronted him. He raised an eyebrow. “You want something, Meese?”

“Never mind what I want.” She grinned invitingly. “You've known about that for years. Anyway, I come to tell ya something, Nom. So relax.”

He crossed his arms and waited.

s a Meese glanced back up the alley, then hunched close to the assassin.

“There's someone in the bar. Been asking for ya. By name.”

Startled, Rallick straightened. “What's he look like?” he asked casually.

“Like a soldier outa uniform,” Meese replied. “Never seen him around before. So what do ya think, Nom?”

He looked away. “Nothing. Where's he sitting?”

Meese grinned again. “At Kruppe's table. Home ground. Now ain't that fine?”

Rallick stepped past the woman and headed towards the inn. As she moved to follow he held out his hand. “A minute between us, Meese,” he said, without turning. “Where's Irilta?”

“Inside,” she said, behind him. “Good luck, Nom.”

“Luck's never free,” Rallick muttered, as he turned the corner and climbed the steps.

He stood still just within the door and surveyed the crowd. A few strangers, not enough to cause him concern, however. His gaze slid across to a man sitting at Kruppe's table. He almost had to take a second look, so nondescript was he. Then Rallick strode straight for him, the crowd parting as he went-something he'd never noticed before.

Amused, he held his eyes on the stranger until he was noticed. They locked gazes, though the man made no move other than to take a sip from his tankard then set it down carefully on the table.

Rallick pulled out a chair and dragged it opposite. “I'm Rallick Nom.”

There was something solid about this person, a kind of assurance that was calming. Rallick felt himself relaxing in spite of his habitual caution.

The man's first words changed that, however.

“The Eel has a message for you,” he said quietly. “Direct, by word of mouth only. Before I deliver it, though, I'm to give you some background-as only I can.” He paused to drink from the tankard, then resumed.

“Now, Turban Orr has hired another dozen hunters. What are they hunting? Well, me, for one. Your problem is that he's going to be harder to reach. The Eel approves of your effort's concerning Lady Sinital. Coll's return is desired by all who value integrity and honour within the Council. If you require anything, ask now and it's yours.”

Rallick's eyes had hardened. “Never knew Murillio had such a big mouth,” he said.

The man shook his head. “Your compatriot has revealed nothing. Nor have you. It is the Eel's business. Now, what do you require?”

“Nothing.”

“Good.” The stranger nodded, as if he'd expected that reply and was pleased. “Incidentally, Turban Orr's efforts to pass the proclamation have been: impeded. Indefinitely. The Eel wishes to thank you for your unwitting role in that. Nevertheless, the councilman explores other options. He has been watched closely. Hence our fortunate discovery that is at the heart of the Eel's message to you. Last night, beneath Despot's Barbican, Turban Orr met with a representative of the Assassins” Guild-how he managed that was quite a feat, considering how difficult your comrades have been to find. In any case, a contract was tendered by Turban Orr.” The man waited for the shock to wear off Rallick's face, then continued. “Tendered by Turban Orr, as I said, but not on his own behalf. Rather, Lady Sinital has decided that Coll's death should be a fact in the real world as it is on paper.”

“Who?” Rallick rasped. “Who was the contact?”

“I'm coming to that. First, it was accepted, for the payment was substantial. They are aware that Coll is presently outside Darujhistan. They simply await his return.”

“The assassin's name.”

“Ocelot.” The man rose. “The Eel wishes you success in all your ventures, Rallick Nom. Thus the message ends. Good evening.” He turned to leave.

“Wait.”

“Yes?”

“Thank you,” Rallick said.

The stranger smiled, then left.

The assassin took the man's seat, and leaned against the wall. He waved at Sulty, who had a pitcher of ale and a tankard waiting. She hurried over. Behind her strode, at a more leisurely pace, Irilta and Meese. They sat down without preamble, each with her own tankard.