A new tension filled the air. The sapper sensed it even as sleep pulled at him, alluring with its promise of temporary escape. After a moment he pushed it away with another sigh and opened his eyes. ‘Quick Ben’s knowledge of the Holy Desert is, uh, vast. When we last rode the Holy Desert – as we rode out, in fact – he spoke of the Vanished Roads. Like the one we found, an ancient road that sleeps beneath the sands and appears only occasionally – if the winds are right, that is. Well, one of those roads leads to Tremorlor—’

Crokus cut in, ‘Which is?’

‘A House of the Azath.’

‘Like the one that arose in Darujhistan?’

‘Aye. Such buildings exist – or are rumoured to exist – on virtually every continent. No-one knows their purpose, though it does seem that they are a lodestone to power. There’s the old story that the Emperor and Dancer ...’ Oh, Hood, Kellanved and Dancer, Ammanas and Cotillion, the possible linkage with Shadow . . . this temple . . . Fiddler shot Iskaral Pust a sharp look. The High Priest sported an avid grin, his eyes glittering. ‘Uh, the legend goes that Kellanved and Dancer once occupied one such House, in Malaz City—’

‘Deadhouse,’ Icarium said from the doorway. ‘The legend is true.’

‘Aye,’ Fiddler muttered, then shook himself. ‘Well enough. In any case, it’s Quick Ben’s belief that such Houses are all linked to one another, via gates of some sort. And that travel between them is possible – virtually instantaneous travel—’

‘Excuse me,’ Icarium said, stepping into the room with an air of sudden attentiveness. ‘I have not heard the name Quick Ben. Who is this man purporting to possess such arcane knowledge of the Azath?’

The sapper fidgeted under the Jhag’s intent gaze, then scowled at himself and straightened slightly. ‘A squad mage,’ he answered, making it clear he did not intend to elaborate.

Icarium’s eyes went oddly heavy. ‘You put much weight on a squad mage’s opinions.’

‘Aye, I do.’

Crokus spoke. ‘You mean to find Tremorlor to use the gate to take us to Malaz City. To this Deadhouse. Which would leave us—’

‘A half-day’s sail from the Itko Kanese coast,’ Fiddler said, meeting Apsalar’s eyes. ‘And home to your father.’

‘Father?’ Mappo asked, frowning. ‘You now confuse me.’

‘We’re delivering Apsalar back home,’ Crokus explained. ‘To her family. She was possessed by Cotillion, stolen away from her father, her life—’

‘Her life as what?’ Mappo asked.

‘A fishergirl.’

The Trell fell silent, but Fiddler thought he knew Mappo’s unspoken thoughts. After what she’s been through, she’s going to settle for a life dragging nets?

Apsalar herself said nothing.