Baruk rose and turned. He hissed a vehement curse. Vorcan's body was gone. 'She's fled.' He hurried over to the Tiste Andii woman, he bent down and examined her. She was dead. 'I will soon know your name,' he whispered, 'and I will remember it.'

'I have to go!' Crokus announced.

Baruk wondered at the sudden panic in the boy's face.

'I mean,' Crokus continued, 'if everything's over here, that is.'

'I believe it is,' the alchemist answered. 'I thank you, Crokus, for your skill at throwing bricks.'

The boy went to the door. He paused, then tossed a coin into the air. He caught it, and grinned tightly. 'Just lucky, I suppose.' Then he was gone.

Captain Paran crouched beside Coil's bed. 'Still asleep,' he said, rising and facing Whiskeyjack. 'Go ahead.'

Kalam and the two saboteurs had arrived minutes earlier. So far, the sergeant mused, no losses, though the captain's armour had taken a beating and the look in his face when he'd entered the room with Lorn's body in his arms warned Whiskeyjack away from probing Paran's state of mind too deeply. The Adjunct's body now occupied a second bed, motionless and pale, a strange ironic smile curving her bloodless lips.

The sergeant studied everyone in the small room, the faces he knew so well all watching him, waiting. His gaze held on Sorry, or Apsalar as she now called herself. Whatever Mallet had done to her, she was a changed woman from the one he'd known. Less, and somehow more as well. Even Mallet was unsure of what he'd done. Certain memories, skills had been freed, and with them a brutal knowledge. The pain was there in the woman's eyes, a pain layered in years of horror – yet it seemed that she had it under control, that she'd found a way, a strength, to live with what she'd been. Her only words upon meeting him had been: 'I wish to return home, Sergeant.'

He had no objection, though he wondered how she planned to cross two continents and the ocean between them. Whiskeyjack reached for the wrapped forearm bones lying on the table. 'Yes, sir,' he said, in answer to Paran's command.

The hot sweaty air in the room thickened with tension. Whiskeyjack hesitated. There'd been a battle in Darujhistan's streets, and Quick Ben had confirmed the Galayn lord's death. In fact, the black wizard seemed still in shock. The sergeant sighed under his breath and massaged his newly healed leg, then drove the forearm's blade into the tabletop.

Contact was immediate. High Fist Dujek's gravelly voice filled the room. 'About time, Whiskeyjack! Don't bother telling me about the Galayn lord – Tayschrenn's in a coma or something. Everyone in Headquarters heard his scream. So Anomander Rake took out the beast. What else?'