A Sword from Red Ice

"Took your time," Quill said, stepping through the doorway, his gaze shooting into all the dark spaces. "Sleeping is he?" Crope nodded, thought, then shook his head. Quill appeared to understand this and jabbed his chin in response. Medium height and lean as back bacon, he shrank to almost nothing when viewed from the side. His hair was dark and greased close to his skull and his eyes were an uncertain color that Crope could only describe as "murky." As befitted a thief, Quill's clothes were unremarkable in fit and color, offering no information worth repeating to a bailiff. Brown. Gray. Worn. It was his custom however to wear "a spot of cream." Cream was gold that was nine-tenths pure, Crope had learned, and it advertised Quill's status to others like him. Today he wore a heavy-gauge chain circling his left wrist at the cuff mark. You could see it only when he extended his arm in a certain manner … which was exactly as he planned.

Sliding himself against the far wall, Quill said, "Close the door. There's business to discuss."

Crope did Quill's bidding, hoping Quill wouldn't study the room too carefully while his back was turned. The rough plank walls had sponged up years of damp, and holes of varying sizes told of longstanding infestations: woodworm, termites, mice. A rug woven from bulrushes had partially unraveled on the floor, and overhead in the roof beams fiddlehead spiders had crocheted a killing field for flies.

Crope tried to keep the room clean, but no matter how much he swept and scrubbed the shabbiness remained.

"Watch'll be coming door-to-door tonight," Quill said, flicking his gaze away from the figure on the bed as Crope turned to face him. "A carter hauling tallow up Lime Hill swears he saw a giant as tall as two men heading east towards Rat's Nest at dawn."

Crope felt his face grow hot. He had been out last night, walking in the chill air and watching the stars fade as the sun rose from behind the big mountain. He knew it was a risk, being out at dawn, but seventeen years interred in the darkness of tin mines and diamond pipes changed a man, and there was no one alive who could keep him away from the light.

Quill studied the color in Crope's face before nodding shrewdly with understanding. Perhaps he'd been locked up too. "Here's what we know. The watch has had their drawers in a dither ever since the night the tower fell. They don't look good. The Splinter comes crashing down, destroys half the fortress, wakes up every doomed and deluded soul in the city, and covers every rooftop, walltop and tabletop with a layer of dust as thick as me thumb. Eighteen days later and they're still pulling bodies from the wreckage. And to make matters worse they haven't found the Surlord." Quill paused to give Crope a speculative look. "All things considered it's a fuckup of historic proportions. Half the city's scared arseless and the other half's busy as bees trying to fleece them. We've got grangelords running wild with their hideclads, Rullion's whitenecks igniting one unholy fire under the faithful, and Mask Fortress under siege.

"Blunders left and right. Bollickings for all. The watch needs to be seen doing something. And that something, my friend, is finding you." Crope looked at his feet "Not as tall as two men," he said. Except for blinking a few times, Quill ignored this. "Rumors are running like cheap ale. The mountain moved, ancient evils awoken, the Surlord's in hiding, the Surlord's dead. Only one man alive knows the truth of what happened—and I'm looking straight at him and it ain't a reassuring sight."

Crope stared at his feet. Chicken-brained fool. Brought down the whole henhouse now. "Go away," he offered, "take lord and never come back."

Tutting impatiently, Quill peeled back the curtain and glanced down at the street. "As I said, hardly reassuring" He seemed to be speaking to himself. Letting the curtain drop he spun around to face Crope. "Look. Leave the city and you might as well light a signal fire and holler at the top of your lungs. Come get me. Last time I counted, giants hauling cripples on their backs were few and far between. Dozens saw you that night. Now granted some may have exaggerated your considerable charms, but there's two things they all agree on. One, that the man seen escaping from the collapsing tower was an unnaturally big bastard. And two, he's as guilty as sin.

"Every watch brother, bounty hunter and bailiff in the city hold is looking for you. You're as easy to spot as a pig in a snake basket, and neither you nor his lordship there should be going anywhere anytime soon."

Once again Quill's gaze rested upon Baralis. The thief was deeply interested in him, Crope had noticed, but pretended otherwise. Baralis lay silent and unmoving, his eyes closed, breath hissing faintly from his lips.

Listening.