'It had the smell of Empire about it,' Rake muttered, his gaze on the smouldering patch that had begun to eat its way into the roof. 'One of Tayschrenn's conjurings, I should think.' A savage grin flashed. 'Pity to have disturbed his sleep this night.'

'Dashtal was struck by a poisoned quarrel,' Serrat said. 'One of the Guild's assassins managed that.' She hesitated. 'Lord. We were hard pressed in Brood's campaign. We're in need of rest. Mistakes were made this night. Some of the Guild slipped through our fingers and, had you not answered my request, we would have suffered more casualties destroying this demon.'

Rake placed his hands on his hips and surveyed the morning sky. After a moment he sighed. 'Ah, Serrat. Don't think me insensitive. But the Guild Master must be flushed. This Guild must be shut down.' He eyed his lieutenant. 'This Claw you encountered, do you think a meet was being established?'

'Not a meet,' Serrat answered. 'A trap.'

Rake nodded. 'Good.' He paused, his eyes matching Serrat's with a shade of violet. 'Return to Moon's Spawn, then. Have the High Priestess herself attend to Jekaral.'

Serrat bowed. 'Thank you, Lord.' She turned and gestured to the others.

'Oh,' Rake said, raising his voice to address his cadre of assassin-mages, 'one last thing. You've done well, exceptionally well. You've earned a rest. Three days and nights are yours to do with as you please.'

Serrat bowed again. 'We will mourn, Lord.'

'Mourn?'

'The poisoned quarrel killed Dashtal. The poison was the product of an alchemist, Lord. One of some ability. It contained paralt.'

'I see.'

'Will you return with us?'

'No.'

The lieutenant bowed a third time. As one, the eight Tiste Andii raised their hands, then vanished.

Rake glanced down at the sizzling patch just as it ate through the roof and fell into darkness. There came a faint crash from below. Lord Anomander Rake swung his gaze back to the sky, then sighed.

Sergeant Whiskeyjack rocked his chair on to its back two legs and anchored it against the crumbling wall. The small, dingy room reeked of urine and damp. Two single beds, wood-framed with burlap mattresses stuffed with straw, ran along the wall to his left. The three other rickety chairs had been pulled up around the lone table in the room's centre. Above the table hung an oil lantern, which shone down on Fiddler, Hedge and Mallet as they sat playing cards.