you have been a blacksmith for many years now and I do not doubt such a claim – the evidence is plain before me. This of course makes you overqualified as an apprentice and too old besides.'
'If I cannot be apprenticed how can I get a sponsor?'
A smile of the lips and shake of the head. A holding up of the palms. 'I don't make the rules, you understand.'
'Can I speak to anyone who might have been involved in devising these rules?'
'A blacksmith? No, alas, they are all off doing smithy things, as befits their profession.'
'I can visit one at his or her place of work, then. Can you direct me to the nearest one?'
'Absolutely not. They have entrusted me with the responsibilities of operating the administration of the Guild. If I were to do something like that I would be disciplined for dereliction of duty, and I am sure you do not want that on your conscience, do you?'
'Actually,' said Barathol, 'that is a guilt I can live with.'
The expression hardened. 'Honourable character is an essential prerequisite to becoming a member of the Guild.'
'More than sponsorship?'
'They are balanced virtues, sir. Now, I am very busy today—'
'You were sleeping when I stepped in.'
'It may have appeared that way.'
'It appeared that way because it was that way.'
'I have no time to argue with you over what you may or may not have perceived when you stepped into my office—'
'You were asleep.'
'You might have concluded such a thing.'
'I did conclude it, because that is what you were. I suppose that too might result in disciplinary measures, once it becomes known to the members.'
'Your word against mine, and clearly you possess an agenda, one that reflects poorly on your sense of honour—' 'Since when does honesty reflect poorly on one's sense of honour?'
The clerk blinked. 'Why, when it is vindictive, of course.'
Now it was Barathol's turn to pause. And attempt a new tack. 'I can pay an advance on my dues – a year's worth or more, if necessary.'
'Without sponsorship such payment would be construed as a donation. There is legal precedent to back that interpretation.'
'You'd take my coin and give me nothing in return?'
'That is the essence of a charitable donation, is it not?'
'I don't think it is, but never mind that. What you are telling me is that I cannot become a member of the Guild of Blacksmiths.'
'Membership is open to all blacksmiths wishing to work in the city, I assure you. Once you have been sponsored.'
'Which makes it a closed shop.'
'A what?'
'The Malazan Empire encountered closed shops in Seven Cities. They broke them wide open. I think even some blood was spilled. The Emperor was not one to cringe before professional monopolies of any sort.'
'Well,' the clerk said, licking his slivery lips, 'thank all the gods the Malazans never conquered Darujhistan!'
Barathol stepped outside and saw Mallet waiting across the street, eating some kind of flavoured ice in a broad-leaf cone. The morning's heat was fast melting the confection, and purple water was trickling down the healer's pudgy hand. His lips were similarly stained.
Mallet's thin brows rose as the blacksmith approached. 'Are you now a proud if somewhat poorer member of the Guild?'
'No. They refused me.'
'But why? Can you not take some kind of exam—'
'No.'
'Oh . . . so now what, Barathol?'
'What? Oh, I'll open up a smithy anyway. Independent.'
'Are you mad? They'll burn you out. Smash up your equipment. Descend on you in a mob and beat you to death. And that's just on opening day.'
Barathol smiled. He liked Malazans. Despite everything, despite the countless mistakes the Empire had made, all the blood spilled, he liked the bastards. Hood knew, they weren't nearly as fickle as the natives of his homeland. Or, he added wryly, the citizens of Darujhistan. To Mallet's predictions he said, 'I've handled worse. Don't worry about me. I plan on working here as a blacksmith, whether the Guild likes it or not. And eventually they will have to accept me as a member.'
'That won't feel very triumphant if you're dead.'
'I won't be. Dead, that is.'
'They'll try to stop anyone doing business with you.'
'I am very familiar with Malazan weapons and armour, Mallet. My work meets military standards in your old empire, and as you know, those are set high.' He glanced across at the healer. 'Will the Guild scare you off? Your friends?'
'Of course not. But remember, we're retired.'
'And being hunted by assassins.'
'Ah, I'd forgotten about that. You have a point. Even so, Barathol, I doubt