‘There’s one spell, that bursts the victim from the inside out. Has to do with pressure, with violently altering it, even taking it away entirely. Or, as this looks like, increasing it outside the body a hundredfold. This man was killed by implosive pressure, as if he’d been hit by a mage using High Serc.’

‘All right.’

‘Not all right, Captain. All wrong, in fact.’ Quick Ben looked up at the Moranth officer. ‘Circle the truth, you said. OK. Talk.’

‘Tiste Edur.’

The name – oh, yes. Twist spoke of them. Some old war . . . a shattered warren—

‘Agreed. Though I’ve never seen one before.’

‘He did not die here.’

‘You’re right, he didn’t. And he didn’t drown, either.’

The Moranth nodded. ‘He did not drown. Nor was he killed by sorcery – for the smell is wrong.’

‘Aye, no taint of magic. Keep circling.’

‘The Blue Moranth, who ply the seas and sink nets into the deep trenches – their catch arrives upon the deck already dead. This effect concerns the nature of pressure.’

‘I imagine it does.’

‘This man was killed by the reverse. By appearing, suddenly, in a place of great pressure.’

‘Aye.’ Quick Ben sighed. He glanced out over the river. ‘There’s a trench, a crevasse, out there – you can see it by the current’s upstream pull out in the middle. Ortnal’s Cut reaches this far, unseen, cracking the river bed. That trench is deep.’

‘Hold it,’ Paran said. ‘You’re suggesting that this Tiste Edur appeared, suddenly, somewhere down in that underwater trench. The only way that could be true is if he’d opened a warren in order to get there – that’s a seriously complicated means of suicide.’

‘Only if he’d intended to do as he did,’ Quick Ben replied. ‘Only if he was the one who opened the warren in the first place. If you want to kill someone – nastily – you throw them, push them, trip them – whatever – into an inimical portal. I think this poor bastard was murdered.’

‘By a High Mage of Sere?’

‘More like a High Mage of Ruse – the Path of the Sea. Captain, the Malazan Empire is a seafaring empire, or at least its roots are seafaring. You won’t find a true High Mage of Ruse in all the empire. It’s the hardest warren to master.’ Quick Ben turned to the Moranth. ‘And among your Blue Moranth? Your Silver or Gold? Any High Mages of Ruse?’

The warrior shook his helmed head. ‘Nor do our annals reveal any in our past.’

‘And how far back do those annals go?’ Quick Ben asked casually, returning his attention to the corpse.

‘Seven tens.’

‘Decades?’

‘Centuries.’

‘So,’ the wizard said, straightening, ‘a singular killer.’

‘Then why,’ Paran murmured, ‘do I now believe that this man was killed by another Tiste Edur?’

The Moranth and Quick Ben turned to him, were silent.

Paran sighed. ‘A hunch, I suppose. A gut whisper.’