The breath hissed from the Pardu woman, the only sound to be heard within the common room.

Suddenly sweating, Kalam looked down at the cards. Six surrounded a single, and that single card – he knew with certainty – was his. The Rope, Assassin of Shadow. The six cards encircling it were all of one House. King, Herald, Mason, Spinner, Knight, Queen . . . High House Death, Hood’s House all arrayed . . . around the one who carries the Holy Book of Dryjhna. ‘Ah, well,’ Kalam sighed, glancing up at the Pardu woman, ‘I guess I sleep alone tonight.’

The Red Blade Captain Lostara Yil and her companion soldier were the last to leave Ladro Keep, over an hour after their target had departed on his stallion, riding south through the dusty wake of the sandstorm.

The forced proximity with Kalam had been unavoidable, but just as he was skilled at deception, so too was Lostara. Bluster could be its own disguise, arrogance a mask hiding an altogether deadlier assurance.

The Deck of Dragons’ unexpected fielding had revealed much to Lostara, not only about Kalam and his mission. The Keep’s sergeant had shown himself by his expression to have been a co-conspirator – yet another Malazan soldier prepared to betray his Empress. Evidently, Kalam’s stop at the Keep had not been as accidental as it appeared.

Checking their horses, Lostara turned as her companion emerged from the Keep. The Red Blade grinned up at her. ‘You were thorough, as always,’ he said. ‘The commander led me a merry chase, however. I found him in the crypt, struggling to climb into a fifty-year-old suit of armour. He was much thinner in his youth, it seems.’

Lostara swung herself into the saddle. ‘None still breathing? You’re certain you checked them all? What of the servants in the back hallway – I went through them perhaps too quickly.’

‘You left not a single heart still beating, Captain.’

‘Very good. Mount up. That horse of the assassin’s is killing these ones – we shall acquire fresh horses in Intesarm.’

‘Assuming Baralta got around to arranging them.’ Lostara eyed her companion. ‘Trust Baralta,’ she said coolly.

‘And be glad that – this time – I shall not report your scepticism.’

Tight-lipped, the man nodded. ‘Thank you, Captain.’

The two rode down the keep road, turning south on the coastal road.

The entire main floor of the monastery radiated in a circular pattern around a single room that was occupied by a circular staircase of stone leading down into darkness. Mappo crouched beside it.

‘This would, I imagine, lead down to the crypt.’

‘If I recall correctly,’ Icarium said from where he stood near the room’s entrance, ‘when nuns of the Queen of Dreams die the bodies are simply wrapped in linen and placed on recessed ledges in the crypt walls. Have you an interest in perusing corpses?’