'Far more subtle than, say, a coin, don't you think?' The man's smile turned mocking. 'Most,' he said, swinging his head to study the ghastly edifice of the gate, 'don't pause here. It's said there was a cult, once, in the habit of drowning victims in bogs ... I imagine Hood finds them aesthetically pleasing.'

'Hardly surprising,' the woman drawled, 'that Death has no taste.'

Paran tried to sit up, but his limbs refused the command. He dropped his head back, feeling the strange loam yield to its weight. 'What has happened?' he rasped.

'You were murdered,' the man said lightly.

Paran closed his eyes. 'Why, then, have I not passed through Hood's Gate, if that is what it is?'

'We're meddling,' the woman said.

Oponn, the Twins of Chance. And my sword, my untested blade purchased years ago, with a name I chose so capriciously— 'What does Oponn want from me?'

'Only this stumbling, ignorant thing you call your life, dear boy. The trouble with Ascendants is that they try to rig every game. Of course, we delight in ... uncertainty.'

A distant howl stroked the air.

'Oops,' the man said. 'Come to make certain of things, I'd say. We'd best leave, sister. Sorry, Captain, but it seems you'll pass through that Gate after all.'

'Maybe,' the woman said.

Her brother rounded on her. 'We agreed! No confrontation! Confrontation's messy. Unpleasant. I despise discomfiting scenes! Besides, the ones who come don't play fair.'

'Then neither do we,' the sister snapped. She turned to the gate, raised her voice, 'Lord of Death! We would speak with you! Hood!'

Paran rolled his head, watched as a bent, limping figure emerged from the Gate. Wearing rags, the figure slowly approached. Paran squinted – an old woman, a child with drool on its chin, a deformed young girl, a stunted, broken Trell, a desiccated Tiste Andii—

'Oh, make up your mind!' the sister said.

The apparition cocked a death's head, the grin of its teeth stained muddy yellow. 'You have chosen,' it said in quavering voice, 'unimaginatively.'

'You are not Hood.' The brother scowled.

Bones shifted under creaking skin. 'The lord is busy.'

'Busy? We do not take kindly to insults,' the sister said.

The apparition cackled, then stopped abruptly. 'How unfortunate. A mellifluous, deep-throated laugh would be more to my liking. Ah well, in answer: nor does my lord appreciate your interruption of this natural passage of a soul.'

'Murdered at the hand of a god,' the sister said. 'That makes him fair game.'

The creature grunted, shuffled close to look down at Paran. The eye sockets glimmered faintly, as if old pearls hid within the shadows. 'What, Oponn,' it asked, as it studied Paran, 'do you wish of my lord?'

'Nothing from me,' the brother said, turning away.

'Sister?'