Return of the Crimson Guard

As Possum slipped behind the backs of men and women, someone addressed him. This alone was not unusual as he had through the Warren of Mockra altered his appearance only slightly while dressing as a common labourer. In the jostling crowd all around him people gossipped, yelled their wares and made bets on the fates of the condemned. This voice, however, had spoken from Hood's Paths. Possum straightened, turned and peered about. No one seemed to be paying him any particular attention.

‘Up,’ the voice urged. ‘Up here’

Possum looked up. The enclosing wall rose featureless, constructed of close-fitted stone blocks mottled by mould and lichen. There, at the very top nearly four man-lengths above, rested small balls resembling some joker of Oponn's idea of battlements: a row of spiked human heads.

He turned away, glanced about — could it be?

‘Yes. Up here.’

Possum leaned against the wall, his face to the rear of the crowd. ‘You can hear me?’ he whispered low.

‘I have ears.’

That's about all.’

Possum sensed exasperation glowing from the other side of Hood's Paths. ‘Fine. Let's have them — get them all over with.’

‘What?’

‘The head jokes. I can tell you re just aching to try one. Like, ended up ahead, didn't you?’

Possum snorted. A few men and women glanced his way. He coughed, hawked up phlegm and spat. The faces turned away.

‘Hood forefend! I would never be so insensitive.’

‘Sure. Like I was spiked yesterday.’

‘Why are we talking then? Poor company up there? Cat got their tongues?’

‘I have a message for you.’

Despite his control, Possum stiffened. Such a message could only be from one source. ‘Yes,’ he managed, his voice even fainter.

‘They are returning.’

‘Who are?’

‘The death-cheaters. The defiers. All the withholders and arrogators.’

‘Who?’

‘Ah — here comes one now.’

Possum lurched forward into a ready crouch, weapons slipping into his palms. He scanned the nearest backs. Who? What was this spirit on about? A woman stepped out from the crowd. Short, athletic with dishevelled tightly cropped grey-shot hair, dressed as a servant in a plain shirt and frayed linen trousers, her feet bare and dirty.

His superior, Empress Laseen.

Possum straightened. ‘I didn't think you'd come.’

Laseen regarded him through half-lidded eyes. ‘Who were you speaking with just now?’

‘No one. I was talking to myself.’

‘How very boring for you.’

Rage flashed hot across Possum's vision. He exhaled, unclenched his shoulders. In time. In due time.

Laseen continued her lazy regard. Always judging, it seemed to Possum. How far could she push? How much does he fear me?

She laughed then, suddenly. ‘Poor Urdren. How transparent you are.’

Possum stared, uncertain. Urdren? How could she know his first name? He'd left it behind — along with the corpse of his father.

Laseen turned away. ‘She's here. I'm sure of it. Keep an eye out. I'll circulate.’

Possum almost bowed but caught himself in time. Laseen disappeared into the crowd. He returned to leaning against the wall.

‘He told me you wouldn't tell her.’

‘Who told you?’

A sigh from the other side. ‘Think about it.’

‘What do you mean, “death-cheaters”?’

‘How do I know? I'm just the messenger boy.’

‘What do you-’

‘Here he is. The main attraction.’

A sussurant wave of anticipation swept through the crowd, surged to a deafening roar. Possum, at the very rear, could see nothing of the stage. ‘Have a good view, do you?’

‘Best seat in the house.’

In many ways Possum was indifferent to the show; it wasn't why he was here. While he scanned the backs of heads, watching for movement or the blooming of Warren magics, he asked, ‘So, what's happening?’

‘Janul's been led out. Looks like he's been worked over already. His hands are tied behind his back, his clothes are torn. Might be doped. We used to do that in the old days before the emperor. But then, I don't recall a Talent ever being up there. How does one manage that anyway?’

‘Otataral dust.’

‘Ah. 1 see.’

‘What about you? You're obviously a Talent. Weren't you executed?’

‘We up here along this wall are all that's left of the last ruling council of Unta.’

Possum was impressed. That was long before his time.