‘True,’ Bauchelain admitted. ‘Although, I reluctantly point out, he sought to kill you.’

‘No need for dismay,’ the Malazan responded. ‘I was not greatly inconvenienced.’

‘And that is what I find most astonishing. There was no sign of chaotic poison in your sorcery, Quick Ben. You can imagine the plethora of questions I would like to ask.’

There was a groan from the corridor.

‘And, I confess,’ Bauchelain continued, ‘that curiosity is a rather obsessive trait of mine, often resulting in regrettable violence to the one being questioned, particularly when he or she is not as forthcoming as I would like. Now, six, seven warrens—’

‘Six.’

‘Six warrens, then – all at once – your claim to finding little inconvenience in the effort strikes me as bravado. Therefore, I conclude that you are, shall we say it bluntly: used up.’

‘You make it clear that my welcome is at an end,’ Quick Ben said, sighing as he set down the goblet.

‘Not necessarily. You need only tell me everything, and we can continue in this civil fashion.’

‘I’m afraid that won’t be possible,’ the Malazan replied. ‘None the less, I will inform you that the entity poisoning the warrens is the Crippled God. You will have to consider ... retaliation ... against him. Rather sooner than you might think.’

‘Thank you. I’ll not deny I am impressed by your mastery of six warrens, Quick Ben. In retrospect, you should have held back on at least half of what you command.’ The man made to rise.

‘But, Bauchelain,’ the wizard replied, ‘I did.’

The divan, and the man on it, fared little better when struck by the power of a half-dozen bound warrens than had the wall and Korbal Broach moments earlier.

Quick Ben met Emancipor Reese in the smoky hallway leading to the estate’s front doors. The servant had wrapped a cloth around the lower half of his face, his eyes streaming as he squinted at the wizard.

‘Your masters require your attention, Emancipor.’

‘They’re alive?’

‘Of course. Although smoke inhalation—’

The servant pushed past Quick Ben. ‘What is wrong with all of you?’ he barked.

‘What do you mean?’ the Malazan asked after him.

Emancipor half turned. ‘Ain’t it obvious? When you swat a wasp to the ground, you then use your heel, right? Otherwise, you’re liable to get stung!’

‘Are you encouraging me to kill your masters?’

‘You’re all Hood-damned idiots, that’s what you are! Clean this up, Mancy! Scrub that down! Bury this in the garden! Pack those trunks – we’re leaving in a hurry! It’s my curse – no-one kills them! You think I like my job? Idiots! You think—’

The old man was still roaring as Quick Ben retreated outside.

Talamandas awaited him on the threshold. ‘He’s right, you know—’

‘Quiet,’ the wizard snapped.