‘I kill trespassers,’ he said.

Haut nodded. ‘We shall warn any who come near. Korya Delath, this is Varandas. I thought he was dead.’

‘Hoped, I’m sure,’ said Varandas, stepping forward. ‘A wondrous fire,’ he observed. ‘I need only glance upon it to see the path to our demise. Well lit every stride we take, until sudden darkness falls. But then, to live is to stumble, and to stumble is to plunge headlong and ever forward. Is it any wonder death takes so many of us?’

‘But not you,’ Haut said. ‘Not yet, in any case. Sit then, if you must intrude upon our peace, and pour out the wine.’

‘She is too young to drink—’

‘She has known wine from her mother’s tit.’

‘—too young to drink to, I was going to say. As for broaching the bottle, are you still so useless with your hands, Haut, that you need help with so simple a task?’

Korya snorted.

Varandas glanced at her, as if judging her anew. ‘That’s a woman’s laugh.’

‘She is Tiste,’ explained Haut. ‘She might be a thousand years old and you’d know it not.’

‘Surely she isn’t.’

‘No, but that was not my point. Useless with my hands I might be, but I note the persistent inefficacy of your wits, Varandas, telling me that your affliction of stupidity is indeed eternal.’

‘I do claim stupidity as an illness,’ Varandas said with a nod, ‘and have written a fine treatise arguing my point. Badly, of course.’

‘I’ve not read it.’

‘No one has. I am satisfied to think of writing as a desire worth having, whereas its practical exercise is a turgid ordeal I leave to lesser folk, since I have better things to do with the sentient fragments of my brain.’

‘Thus the argument of a thousand useless geniuses, each one quick to venture an opinion, particularly a negative one, since by their own negativity they can justify doing nothing but complain.’

‘Good company one and all,’ said Varandas, taking up the bottle and inspecting its unmarked clay body. ‘I pronounce this singular in quality.’

‘So it is,’ agreed Haut.

‘Have you anything else?’

‘No.’

‘Oh well.’ He plucked free the stopper and poured, filling each of the goblets to the brim.

‘You would have us spill upon our hands?’

Varandas sat back. ‘No, I would have us simply observe them and so appreciate the perfection of my measure.’

‘I fear Korya was able to gauge that some time ago.’

‘Oh?’

‘Your diaper is too small, Varandas.’

‘That is a matter of opinion, Haut. I will not apologize for the prodigiousness of my famous prowess. Now, let us embark on sticky hands and the smacking of lips and such. Tiste, do precede us.’

‘As far as I know,’ said Korya, reaching for the first goblet, ‘my mother’s tit was not full of wine. I refuse to be responsible for my master’s opinions.’

Varandas regarded her. ‘Her mood is foul, Haut. How do you put up with it?’