As a child, he'd thought the wheel magical in how it spun slowly as the year rolled by, coming into the new year aligned precisely with the dawn whether there was cloud in the sky or not. Mammot had since explained to him that the wheel was in fact a machine. It had been a gift to Darujhistan over a thousand years ago, by a man named Icarium. It was Mammot's belief that Icarium had Jaghut blood. By all accounts he'd ridden a Jaghut horse, and a Trell strode at his side – clear evidence, Mammot asserted, to add to the wonder of the wheel itself, for the Jaghut were known to have been skilled at such creations.

Murillio wondered at the significance of the names each year bore. The close association of the Five Tusks with Moon's Tears held prophecy, according to the Seers. The Boar Tennerock's tusks were named Hate, Love, Laughter, War and Tears. Which Tusk would prove dominant in the year? The new year's name provided the answer. Murillio shrugged. He viewed such astrology with a sceptical eye. How could a man of a thousand years ago – Jaghut or otherwise – have predicted such things?

Still, he admitted to more than a few qualms. The arrival of Moon's Spawn threw the new year's title into a different light, and he knew that the local scholars – particularly those who moved in the noble circles – had become an agitated and short-tempered lot. Quite unlike their usual patronizing selves.

Murillio turned a corner on his approach to the Phoenix Inn, and collided with a short, fat man in a red coat. Both grunted, and three large boxes that the man had been carrying fell between them, spilling out their contents.

'Aye, why, Murillio! Such fortune as Kruppe is known for! Thus does your search end, here in this dank, dark street where even the rats shun the shadow. What? Is something the matter, friend Murillio?'

He stared down at the objects on the cobbles at his feet. Slowly, Murillio asked, 'What are these for, Kruppe?'

Kruppe stepped forward and frowned down at the three expertly carved masks. 'Gifts, friend Murillio, of course. For you and Rallick Nom. After all,' he looked up with a beatific smile, 'the Lady Simtal's Fete demands the finest in workmanship, the subtlest of design perfectly mated with ironic intent. Don't you think Kruppe's taste is sufficiently expensive? Do you fear embarrassment?'

'You'll not distract me this time,' Murillio growled. 'First of all, there are three masks here, not two.'

'Indeed!' Kruppe replied, bending down to pick one up. He brushed spatters of mud from the painted face. 'This is Kruppe's own. Well chosen, Kruppe pronounces with certain aplomb.'

Murillio's eyes hardened. 'You're not coming, Kruppe.'

'Well, of course Kruppe will attend! Do you think Lady Simtal would ever show herself if her long-time acquaintance, Kruppe the First, was not in attendance? Why, she'd wither with shame!'