Fear did as commanded, halting on the inner ring in front of the dais.
Rhulad stared down at him, and Trull saw a sudden hunger in those brittle eyes.
‘Second only to Hannan Mosag’s, your loyalty, Fear, is my greatest need.’
Fear looked rattled, as if such a matter did not need to be questioned.
The slave Udinaas returned then, but held back, his red-rimmed eyes scanning the scene. And Trull wondered at the sudden narrowing of that Letherii’s gaze.
‘What, Emperor,’ Fear said, ‘do you ask of me?’
‘A gift, brother.’
‘All I have is yours—’
‘Are you true to that claim, Fear?’ Rhulad demanded, leaning forward.
‘I would not make it otherwise.’
Oh. No, Rhulad—no—
‘The emperor,’ Rhulad said, settling back, ‘requires an empress.’
Comprehension cast a pall on Fear’s face.
‘A wife. Fear Sengar, will you gift me a wife?’
You grotesque bastard—Trull stepped forward.
Rhulad’s hand snapped out to stay him. ‘Be careful, Trull. This is not your concern.’ He bared stained teeth. ‘It never was.’
‘Must you break those who would follow you?’ Trull asked.
‘Another word!’ Rhulad shrieked. ‘One more word, Trull, and I will have you flayed alive!’
Trull recoiled at the vehemence, stunned into silence.
A coin clattered onto the dais as Rhulad lifted a hand to his face and clawed at some extremity of emotion, then he snatched his hand away and held it before him, watching it curl into a fist. ‘Kill me. That is all you need do. For your proof. Yes, kill me. Again.’ The glittering eyes fixed on Trull. ‘You knew I was alone, guarding the rear slope. You knew it, Trull, and left me to my fate.’
‘What? I knew no such thing, Rhulad—’
‘No more lies, brother. Fear, gift me your betrothed. Give me Mayen. Would you stand between her and the title of empress? Tell me, are you that selfish?’
As ugly as driving knives into Fear, one after another. As rendering his flesh into ruin. This, Trull realized, this was Rhulad. The child and his brutal hungers, his vicious appetites. Tell us, are you that selfish?
‘She is yours, Emperor.’
Words bled of all life, words that were themselves a gift to one who had known death. Though Rhulad lacked the subtle mind to comprehend that.
Instead, his face twisted beneath the coins into a broad smile, filled with glee and triumph. His eyes lifted to a place in the crowd where the unwedded maidens stood. ‘Mayen,’ he called. ‘It is done. Come forward. Join your emperor.’
Tall, regal, the young woman strode forward as if this moment had been rehearsed a thousand times.
But that is not possible.
She walked past Fear without a glance, and came to stand, facing outward, on the left side of the chair. Rhulad’s hand reached out with a gesture of smug familiarity and she clasped it.
That final act struck Fear as would a physical blow to his chest. He took a step back.
‘Thank you, Fear,’ Rhulad said, ‘for your gift. I am assured of your loyalty, and proud to call you my brother. You, Binadas, Midik Buhn, Theradas Buhn, Hannan Mosag…and,’ the gaze shifted, ‘Trull, of course. My closest brothers. We are bound by the blood of our ancestors…’
He continued, but Trull had ceased listening. His eyes were on Mayen’s face. On the horror writ there that she could not disguise. In his mind, Trull cried out to Fear. Look, brother! She did not seek this betrayal! Look!
With an effort he pulled his gaze from Mayen, and saw that Fear had seen. Seen what everyone present could see, everyone but Rhulad.
It saved them all. Salvation to the desperate. She showed them that some truths could not be broken, that even this insane thing on its throne could not crush the visceral honour remaining to the Tiste Edur. And in her face was yet another promise. She would withstand his crimes, because there was no choice. A promise that was also a lesson to everyone present. Withstand. Suffer. Live as you must now live. There will, one day, be answer to this.
Yet Trull wondered. Who could give answer? What waited in the world beyond the borders of their knowledge, sufficiently formidable to challenge this monstrosity? And how long would they have to wait? We were fallen, and the emperor proclaims that we shall rise again. He is insane, for we are not rising. We are falling, and I fear there will be no end to that descent.
Until someone gave answer.
Rhulad had stopped speaking, as if growing aware that something was happening among his followers, something that had nothing to do with him and his newfound power. He rose suddenly from the chair. ‘This gathering is done. Hannan Mosag, you and your K’risnan will remain here with me and the Empress, for we have much to discuss. Udinaas, bring to Mayen her slaves, so that they may attend her needs. The rest, leave me now. Spread the word of the rise of the new empire of the Edur. And, brothers and sisters, see to your weapons…’
Please, someone, give answer to this.
A dozen paces from the citadel a figure emerged from the rain to stand in front of Udinaas.
The Acquitor.
‘What has he done?’
Udinaas studied her for a moment, then shrugged. ‘He stole his brother’s betrothed. We have an empress, and she does poorly at a brave face.’
‘The Edur are usurped,’ Seren Pedac said. ‘And a tyrant sits on the throne.’
Udinaas hesitated, then said, ‘Tell the First Eunuch. You must prepare for war.’
She revealed no surprise at his words; rather, a heavy weariness dulled her eyes. She turned away, walked into the rain and was gone.
I am a bearer of good tidings indeed. And now, it’s Feather Witch’s turn…
Rain rushed down from the sky, blinding and blind, indifferent and mindless, but it held no meaning beyond that. How could it? It was just rain, descending from the sky’s massed legion of grieving clouds. And the crying wind was the breath of natural laws, born high in the mountains or out at sea. Its voice promised nothing.
There was no meaning to be found in lifeless weather, in the pulsing of tides and in the wake of turning seasons.
No meaning to living and dying, either.
The tyrant was clothed in gold, and the future smelled of blood.
It meant nothing.
Book Three
All That Lies Unseen
The man who never smiles
Drags his nets through the deep
And we are gathered
To gape in the drowning air
Beneath the buffeting sound
Of his dreaded voice
Speaking of salvation
In the repast of justice done
And fed well on the laden table
Heaped with noble desires
He tells us all this to hone the edge
Of his eternal mercy
Slicing our bellies open
One by one.
IN THE KINGDOM OF MEANING WELL
FISHER KEL TATH
Chapter Twelve
The frog atop the stack of coins dares not jump.
POOR UMUR’S SAYINGS
ANONYMOUS
Five wings will buy you a grovel. I admit, master, the meaning of that saying escapes me.’
Tehol ran both hands through his hair, pulling at the tangles. ‘Ouch. It’s the Eternal Domicile, Bugg. Wings numbering five, a grovel at the feet of the Errant, at the feet of destiny. The empire is risen. Lether awakens to a new day of glory.’
They stood side by side on the roof.
‘But the fifth wing is sinking. What about four wings?’
‘Gulls in collision, Bugg. My, it’s going to be hot, a veritable furnace. What are the tasks awaiting you today?’
‘My first meeting with Royal Engineer Grum. The shoring up we’ve done with the warehouses impressed him, it seems.’
‘Good.’ Tehol continued staring out over the
city for another moment, then he faced his servant. ‘Should it have?’
‘Impressed him? Well, the floors aren’t sagging and they’re bone dry. The new plaster isn’t showing any cracks. The owners are delighted—’
‘I thought I owned those warehouses.’
‘Aren’t you delighted?’
‘Well, you’re right, I am. Every one of me.’
‘That’s what I told the Royal Engineer when I responded to his first missive.’
‘What about the people fronting me on those investments?’
‘They’re delighted, too.’
‘Well,’ Tehol sighed, ‘it’s just that kind of day, isn’t it?’
Bugg nodded. ‘Must be, master.’
‘And is that all you have planned? For the whole day?’
‘No. I need to scrounge some food. Then I need to visit Shand and her partners to give them that list of yours again. It was too long.’
‘Do you recall it in its entirety?’
‘I do. Puryst Rott Ale, I liked that one.’
‘Thank you.’
‘But they weren’t all fake, were they?’
‘No, that would give it away too quickly. All the local ones were real. In any case, it’ll keep them busy for a while. I hope. What else?’
‘Another meeting with the guilds. I may need bribe money for that.’
‘Nonsense. Stand fast—they’re about to be hit from another quarter.’
‘Strike? I hadn’t heard—’
‘Of course not. The incident that triggers it hasn’t happened yet. You know the Royal Engineer’s obliged to hire guild members only. We have to see that conflict eliminated before it gives us trouble.’
‘All right. I also need to check on that safe-house for Shurq and her newfound friend.’
‘Harlest Eberict. That was quite a surprise. Just how many undead people are prowling around in this city anyway?’
‘Obviously more than we’re aware of, master.’
‘For all we know, half the population might be undead—those people on the bridge there, there, those ones with all those shopping baskets in tow, maybe they’re undead.’
‘Possibly, master,’ Bugg conceded. ‘Do you mean undead literally or figuratively?’
‘Oh, yes, there is a difference, isn’t there? Sorry, I got carried away. Speaking of which, how are Shurq and Ublala getting along?’
‘Swimmingly.’
‘Impressively droll, Bugg. So, you want to check on their hidden abode. Is that all you’re up to today?’
‘That’s just the morning. In the afternoon—’
‘Can you manage a short visit?’
‘Where?’
‘Rat Catchers’ Guild.’
‘Scale House?’
Tehol nodded. ‘I have a contract for them. I want a meeting—clandestine—with the Guild Master. Tomorrow night, if possible.’
Bugg looked troubled. ‘That guild—’
‘I know.’
‘I can drop by on my way to the gravel quarry.’
‘Excellent. Why are you going to the gravel quarry?’
‘Curiosity. They opened up a new hill to fill my last order, and found something.’
‘What?’
‘Not sure. Only that they hired a necromancer to deal with it. And the poor fool disappeared, apart from some hair and toe nails.’
‘Hmm, that is interesting. Keep me informed.’
‘As always, master. And what have you planned for today?’
‘I thought I’d go back to bed.’
Brys lifted his gaze from the meticulous scroll and studied the scribe seated across from him. ‘There must be some mistake,’ he said.
‘No, sir. Never, sir.’
‘Well, if these are just the reported disappearances, what about those that haven’t been reported?’
‘Between thirty and fifty per cent, I would say, sir. Added on to what we have. But those would be the blue-edged scrolls. They’re stored on the Projected Shelf.’
‘The what?’
‘Projected. That one, the one sticking out from the wall over there.’
‘And what is the significance of the blue edges?’
‘Posited realities, sir, that which exists beyond the statistics. We use the statistics for formal, public statements and pronouncements, but we operate on the posited realities or, if possible, the measurable realities.’
‘Different sets of data?’
‘Yes, sir. It’s the only way to operate an effective government. The alternative would lead to anarchy. Riots, that sort of thing. We have posited realities for those projections, of course, and they’re not pretty.’
‘But’—Brys looked back down at the scroll—‘seven thousand disappearances in Letheras last year?’
‘Six thousand nine hundred and twenty-one, sir.’
‘With a possible additional thirty-five hundred?’
‘Three thousand four hundred and sixty and a half, sir.’
‘And is anyone assigned to conduct investigations on these?’
‘That has been contracted out, sir.’
‘Clearly a waste of coin, then—’
‘Oh no, the coin is well spent.’
‘How so?’
‘A respectable amount, sir, which we can use in our formal and public pronouncements.’
‘Well, who holds this contract?’
‘Wrong office, sir. That information is housed in the Chamber of Contracts and Royal Charters.’
‘I’ve never heard of it. Where is it?’
The scribe rose and walked to a small door squeezed between scroll-cases. ‘In here. Follow me, sir.’
The room beyond was not much larger than a walk-in closet. Blue-edged scrolls filled cubby-holes from floor to ceiling on all sides. Rummaging in one cubby-hole at the far wall, the scribe removed a scroll and unfurled it. ‘Here we are. It’s a relatively new contract. Three years so far. Ongoing investigations, biannual reports delivered precisely on the due dates, yielding no queries, each one approved without prejudice.’
‘With whom?’
‘The Rat Catchers’ Guild.’
Brys frowned. ‘Now I am well and truly confused.’
The scribe shrugged and rolled up the scroll to put it away. Over his shoulder he said, ‘No need to be, sir. The guild is profoundly competent in a whole host of endeavours—’
‘Competence doesn’t seem a relevant notion in this matter,’ Brys observed.
‘I disagree. Punctual reports. No queries. Two renewals without challenge. Highly competent, I would say, sir.’
‘Nor is there any shortage of rats in the city, as one would readily see with even a short walk down any street.’
‘Population management, sir. I dread to think what the situation would be like without the guild.’
Brys said nothing.
A defensiveness came to the scribe’s expression as he studied the Finadd for a long moment. ‘We have nothing but praise for the Rat Catchers’ Guild, sir.’
‘Thank you for your efforts,’ Brys said. ‘I will find my own way out. Good day.’
‘And to you, sir. Pleased to have been of some service.’
Out in the corridor, Brys paused, rubbing at his eyes. Archival chambers were thick with dust. He needed to get outside, into what passed for fresh air in Letheras.
Seven thousand disappearances every year. He was appalled.
So what, I wonder, has Tehol stumbled onto? His brother remained a mystery to Brys. Clearly, Tehol was up to something, contrary to outward appearances. And he had somehow held on to a formidable level of efficacy behind—or beneath—the scenes. That all too public fall, so shocking and traumatic to the financial tolls, now struck Brys as just another feint in his brother’s grander scheme—whatever that was.
The mere thought that such a scheme might exist worried Brys. His brother had revealed, on occasion, frightening competence and ruthlessness. Tehol possessed few loyalties. He was capable of anything.
All things considered, the less Brys knew of Tehol’s activities, the better. He did not want his own loyalties challenged, and his brother might well challenge them. As with Hull. Oh, Mother, it is the Errant’s blessing that you are not alive to see your sons now. Then again, how much of what we are now is what you made us into?
Questions without answers. There seemed to be too many of those these days.
He made his way into the more familiar passages of the palace. Weapons training awaited him, and he found himself anticipating that period of blissful exhaustion. If only to silence the cacophony of his thoughts.
There were clear advantages to being dead, Bugg reflected, as he lifted the flagstone from the warehouse office floor, revealing a black gaping hole and the top rung of a pitted bronze ladder. Dead fugitives, after all, needed no food, no water. No air, come to that. Made hiding them almost effortless.
He descended the ladder, twenty-three rungs, to arrive at a tunnel roughly cut from the heavy clay and then fired to form a hard shell. Ten paces forward to a crooked stone arch beneath which was a cracked stone door crowded with hieroglyphs. Old tombs like this were rare. Most had long since collapsed beneath the weight of the city overhead or had simply sunk so far down in the mud as to be unreachable. Scholars had sought to decipher the strange sigils on the doors of the tombs, while common folk had long wondered why tombs should have doors at all. The language had only been partially deciphered, sufficient to reveal that the glyphs were curse-laden and aspected to the Errant in some mysterious way. All in all, cause enough to avoid them, especially since, after a few had been broken into, it became known that the tombs contained nothing of value, and were peculiar in that the featureless plain stone sarcophagus each tomb housed was empty. There was the added unsubstantiated rumour that those tomb-robbers had subsequently suffered horrid fates.
The door to this particular tomb had surrendered its seal to the uneven heaving descent of the entire structure. Modest effort could push it to one side.
In the tunnel, Bugg lit a lantern using a small ember box, and set it down on the threshold to the tomb. He then applied his shoulder to the door.
The Complete Malazan Book of the Fallen Page 409
