‘Did the mage give you any warning as to the handling of this package, Karpolan?’

The merchant grimaced. ‘He said we were not to jostle too much. However, this last stretch of our journey was somewhat ... rough. I regret to say that some of the crate’s contents may well be broken.’

Fiddler smiled. ‘I am pleased to inform you that they have survived.’

Karpolan Demesand frowned. ‘You have not yet examined the contents – how can you tell?’

‘You’ll just have to trust me on that one, sir.’

Crokus closed the door once Fiddler had carried the crate inside. The sapper gingerly set the container down and prised open the lid. ‘Ah, Quick Ben,’ he whispered, eyes scanning the objects nestled within, ‘one day I shall raise a temple in your name.’ He counted seven cussers, thirteen masonry crackers and four flamers.

‘But how did that merchant get here?’ Crokus asked. ‘From Darujhistan! Hood’s breath, Fid!’

‘Don’t I know it.’ He straightened, glanced at the others. ‘I’m feeling good, comrades. Very good indeed.’

‘Optimism!’ Pust snarled in a tone close to bursting with disgust. The High Priest yanked at the wispy remnants of his hair. ‘While that foul monkey pisses terror into the lad’s lap! Optimism!’

Crokus now held the familiar out from him and stared disbelieving at the stream pouring down to splash the flagstones. ‘Moby?’ The creature was grinning sheepishly.

‘Soletaken, you mean!’

‘A momentary lapse,’ Apsalar said, eyeing the squirming creature. ‘The realization of what has come about. That, or an odd sense of humour.’

‘What are you babbling about?’ Pust demanded, eyes narrowing.

‘He thought he’d found the Path, thought that what called him here was the ancient promise of Ascendancy – and in a way, Moby was right in thinking that. The bhok’aral there in your hands, Crokus, is demonic. In true form, it could hold you as you now hold it.’

Mappo grunted. ‘Ah, I see now.’

‘Then why not enlighten us?’ Crokus snapped.

Apsalar nudged the corpse at her feet. ‘Tremorlor needed a new guardian. Need I be any clearer?’

Crokus blinked, looking again at Moby, the trembling creature in his hands. ‘My uncle’s familiar?’

‘A demon, at the moment somewhat intimidated by expectation, we might assume. But I’m sure the creature will grow into the role.’

Fiddler had been packing the Moranth munitions into his leather sack while this had been going on. Now he rose and gingerly swung the bag over a shoulder. ‘Quick Ben believed we’d find a portal somewhere in here, a warren’s gate—’

‘Linking the Houses!’ Pust crowed. ‘Outrageous audacity – this cunning mage of yours has charmed me, soldier. He should have been a servant of Shadow!’

He was, but never mind that. If your god’s of a mind to, he’ll tell you – though I wouldn’t hold my breath . . . ‘It’s time to find that portal—’