'She's right. Cracks appeared, Kalam. She's obviously a natural Talent in the ways of sorcery. Come on, friend, the girl's found what we've been looking for. Let's move on it.'

Sorry pulled up the hood around her head. 'I am not accompanying you,' she said. 'You'll know the man when you see him. I suspect it is his task to make his profession obvious. Perhaps the Guild is anticipating you. In any case, find the Phoenix Inn.'

'What the hell are you up to?' Kalam demanded.

'I will be completing an assignment for the sergeant.' She turned and left the hut.

Kalam's shoulders slumped and he let out a long breath.

'She's the one we thought her to be,' Quick Ben said quietly. 'So far, so good.'

'In other words,' the assassin growled, 'if I'd attacked her I'd be a dead man right now.'

'Exactly. We'll take her out, when the time's right. But for now we need her.'

Kalam nodded.

'Phoenix Inn?'

'Damn right. And when we get there the first thing I'm doing is buying a drink.'

Quick Ben smiled. 'Agreed.'

Rallick looked up as the heavy-set man entered the bar. His black skin marked him a southerner, which in itself was not unusual. What caught Rallick's attention, however, was the horn-handled, silver-pommelled long-knives tucked into the man's narrow belt. Those weapons were anything but southern, and stamped on the pommels was a cross-hatched pattern, recognizable to all within the trade as the mark of an assassin.

The man swaggered into the room as if he owned it, and none of the locals he shouldered aside seemed inclined to disagree with him. He reached the bar and ordered an ale.

Rallick studied the dregs in his own tankard. Obviously the man wanted to be marked, precisely by someone like Rallick Nom, a Guild assassin. So, who was the bait, then? This didn't fit.

Ocelot, his Clan Leader, was convinced, along with everyone else in the Guild, that Empire Claws had come into the city and now waged war against them. Rallick wasn't so sure. The man standing at the bar could as easily be Seven Cities as a traveller from Callows. He had the look of Malazan Empire about him. Was he Claw? If so, why show himself? Up until now the enemy hadn't left a single clue, or a single eye-witness, as to their identity. The brazenness he now observed either didn't fit, or marked a reversal of tactics. Had Vorcan's order to go to ground triggered it?

Alarm bells rang in Rallick's head. None of this felt right.

Murillio leaned close to him. 'Something wrong, friend?'

'Guild business,' Rallick replied. 'You thirsty?'

Murillio grinned. 'An offer I can't refuse.'