‘I still find it hard to fathom,’ Duiker said, ‘that the citizens of Darujhistan, fifteen hundred leagues distant, should even know of what’s happening here, much less care.’

Karpolan’s eyes thinned. ‘Ah, well, perhaps I exaggerated somewhat – the heat of the moment, I confess. You must understand – soldiers who not long ago were bent on conquering Darujhistan are now locked in a war with the Pannion ‘Domin, a tyranny that would dearly love to swallow the Blue City if it could. Dujek Onearm, once Fist of the Empire and now outlaw to the same, has become an ally. And this, certain personages in Darujhistan know well, and appreciate...’

‘But there is more to it,’ Coltaine said quietly.

Karpolan smiled a second time. ‘Is this water not sweet? Here, let me pour you another cup.’

They waited, watching the trader refill the three tin cups arrayed on the small table between them. When he was done, Karpolan sighed and sat back in the plush chair he had had removed from the carriage. ‘Dujek Onearm.’ The name was spoken half in benediction, half in wry dismay. ‘He sends his greetings, Fist Coltaine. Our office in Darujhistan is small, newly opened, you understand. We do not advertise our services. Not openly, in any case. Frankly, those services include activities that are, on occasion, clandestine in nature. We trade not only in material goods but in information, the delivery of gifts, of people themselves ... and other creatures.’

‘Dujek Onearm was the force behind this mission,’ Duiker said.

Karpolan nodded. ‘With financial assistance from a certain cabal in Darujhistan, yes. His words were thus: “The Empress cannot lose such leaders as Coltaine of the Crow Clan.’” The trader grinned. ‘Extraordinary for an outlaw under a death sentence, wouldn’t you say?’ He leaned forward and held out a hand, palm up. Something shimmered into existence on it, a small oblong bottle of smoky grey glass on a silver chain. ‘And, from an alarmingly mysterious mage among the Bridgeburners, this gift was fashioned.’ He held it out to Coltaine. ‘For you. Wear it. At all times, Fist.’

The Wickan scowled and made no move to accept it.

Karpolan’s smile was wistful. ‘Dujek is prepared to pull rank on this, friend—’

‘An outlaw pulling rank?’

Ah, well, I admit I voiced the same query. His reply was this: “Never underestimate the Empress.”‘