Reaper's Gate & Toll the Hounds - By Steven Erikson Page 0,841

room left in his heart, Barathol. Not for me, not for anyone.'

'So he's just hiding right now?'

'In more ways than one, I suspect.'

'But he's broken your heart, Scillara.'

'Has he?' She considered. 'Maybe he has. Maybe I'm the one needing armour.' She snorted. 'Puts me in my place, doesn't it.' And she rose.

Barathol started. 'Where are you going?'

'What? I don't know. Somewhere. Nowhere. Does it matter?'

'Wait.' He stepped closer. 'Listen to me, Scillara.' And then he was silent, on his face a war of feelings trying to find words. After a moment, his scowl deepened. 'Yesterday, if Cutter had just walked in here to say hello, I'd have taken him by the throat. Hood, I'd have probably beaten him unconscious and tied him up in that chair. Where he'd stay – until you dropped by.'

'Yesterday.'

'When I thought I had no chance.'

She was having her own trouble finding words. 'And now?'

'I think . . . I've just thrown on some armour.'

'The soldier . . . un-retires.'

'Well, I'm a man, and a man never learns.'

She grinned. 'That's true enough.'

And then she leaned close, and as he slowly raised his arms to take her into an embrace she almost shut her eyes – all that relief, all that anticipation of pleasure, even joy – and the hands instead grasped her upper arms and she was pushed suddenly to one side. Startled, she turned to see a squad of City Guard crowding the doorway.

The officer in the lead had the decency to look embarrassed.

'Barathol Mekhar? By city order, this smithy is now under temporary closure, and I am afraid I have to take you into custody.'

'The charge?'

'Brought forward by the Guild of Smiths. Contravention of proper waste disposal. It is a serious charge, I'm afraid. You could lose your business.'

'I don't understand,' Barathol said. 'I am making use of the sewage drains – I spill nothing—'

'The common drain, yes, but you should be using the industrial drain, which runs alongside the common drain.'

'This is the first I have heard of such a thing.'

'Well,' said a voice behind the guards, 'if you were a member of the Guild, you'd know all about it, wouldn't you?'

It was a woman who spoke, but Scillara could not see past the men in the doorway.

Barathol threw up his hands. 'Very well, I am happy to comply. I will install the proper pipes—'

'You may do so,' said the officer, 'once the charges are properly adjudicated, fines paid, and so forth. In the meantime, this establishment must be shut down. The gas valves must be sealed. Materials and tools impounded.'

'I see. Then let me make some arrangement for my helper – somewhere to stay and—'

'I am sorry,' cut in the officer, 'but the charge is against both you and your apprentice.'

'Not precisely,' said the unseen woman. 'The blacksmith cannot have an apprentice unless he is a member of the Guild. The two are colluding to undermine the Guild.'

The officer's expression tightened. 'As she said, yes. I'm not here to prattle on in the language of an advocate. I do the arrest and leave one of my guards to oversee the decommissioning of the establishment by a qualified crew.'

'A moment,' said Barathol. 'You are arresting Chaur?'

'Is that your apprentice's name?'

'He's not my apprentice. He's a simpleton—'

'Little more than a slave, then,' snapped the unseen official of the Guild. 'That would be breaking a much more serious law, I should think.'

Scillara watched as two men went to the yard and returned with a wide-eyed, whimpering Chaur. Barathol attempted to console him, but guards stepped in between them and the officer warned that, while he didn't want to make use of shackles, he would if necessary. So, if everyone could stay calm and collected, they could march out of here like civilized folk. Barathol enquired as to his right to hire an advocate and the officer replied that, while it wasn't a right as such, it was indeed a privilege Barathol could exercise, assuming he could afford one.

At that point Scillara spoke up and said, 'I'll find one for you, Barathol.'

A flicker of relief and gratitude in his eyes, replaced almost immediately by his distress over the fate of Chaur, who was now bawling and tugging his arms free every time a guard sought to take hold of him.

'Let him alone,' said Barathol. 'He'll follow peacefully enough – just don't grab him.'

And then the squad, save one, all marched out with their prisoners. Scillara fell in behind them, and finally saw the Guild official, a