Unaware of the debate, or perhaps keenly aware, Mallick entered the foyer. He was met by a servant dressed in the traditional leggings and tunic of a resident of Pale in northern Genabackis – for it had become fashionable for wealthy households to hire such emigrants and refugees from the Imperial conquests to serve as footmen, guards and maids in waiting. Mallick handed the man his ocean-blue travelling robes and the man bowed, waving an arm to the parlour.
At the portal, Mallick froze, wincing. A phantasmagoric assemblage of furniture, textiles and artwork from all the provinces of the Empire and beyond assaulted him. It was as if a cyclone such as those that occasionally struck his Falaran homeland had torn through the main Bazaar of Aren and he now viewed the resultant carnage. Entering, he sneered at a Falaran rug – cheap tourist tat, sniffed at a Barghast totem – an obvious fake, and grimaced at the clashing colours of a Letherii board-painting – a copy unfortunate in its accuracy.
A frail old woman's voice quavered from the portal, ‘Is that you, young Mallick?’
He turned to a grey-haired, stick-limbed old woman shorter even than he. A slip of a girl, Taya, in white dancing robes steadied the old woman at one arm. Mallick bowed reverently. ‘M'Lady.’
Taya steered Lady Batevari to the plushest chair and arranged herself on the carpeted floor beside, feet tucked under the robes that pooled around her. Her kohl-ringed eyes sparkled impishly up at Mallick from above her transparent dancer's veil. The footman entered carrying a tray of sweetmeats and drinks in tall crystal glasses. Mallick and Lady Batevari each took a glass.
‘The turmoil among the ranks of these so-called gods continues, Mallick,’ Batevari announced with clear relish. ‘And it is, of course, reflected here with appropriate turmoil in our mundane Realm.’
Mallick beamed his agreement. ‘Most certainly,’ he murmured.
She straightened, hands clenching like claws at the armrests. ‘They scurry like rats caught in a house aflame!’
Mallick choked into his drink. Gods, it was a wonder the woman's clients hadn't all thrown themselves into Unta Bay. Coughing, he shouted, ‘Yes. Certainly!’
Lady Batevari fell back into her chair. She emptied her glass in one long swallow. Taya gave Mallick a dramatic wink. ‘So, Hero of the crushing of the Seven Cities rebellion,’ the old woman intoned, her black eyes now slitted, ‘what can this poor vessel offer you? You, who have so far to go – and you will go far, Mallick. Very far indeed, as I have said many times …’
‘M'Lady is too kind.’
‘That was not a prediction, she sneered. ‘It is the truth. I have seen it.’
Mallick exchanged quick glances with Taya who rolled her eyes heavenward. ‘I am reassured,’ he answered, struggling to keep his naturally soft voice loud.
‘Should you be?’ Mallick fought a glare. ‘In any case,’ she continued, perhaps not noticing, ‘we were talking of the so-called gods.’ The woman stared off into the distance, silent for a long time.
Mallick examined her wrinkled face, her eyes almost lost in their puckered crow's-feet. Not more of her insufferable posing?
‘I see a mighty clash of wills closing upon us sooner than anyone imagines,‘ she crooned, dreamily. ‘I see schemes within schemes and a scurrying hither and thither! I see the New colliding against the Old and a Usurpation! Order inverted! And as the Houses collapse the powers turn upon one another like the rats they are. Brother ‘gainst sister. They all eye the injured but he is not the weakest. No, yet his time will come. The ones who seem the strongest are … Too long have they stood unchallenged! One hides in the dark while they all contend … Yet does he see his Path truly – if at all? The darkest – he—’ She gasped, coughing and hacking into a fist. ‘His Doom is so close at hand! As for the brightest … He is ever the most exposed while She who watches will miss her chance and the beasts arise to chase one last chance to survive this coming translation. So the Pantheon shall perish. And from the ashes will arise … will arise …’
Mallick, staring, drink forgotten despite his utter scepticism, raised a brow, ‘Yes? What?’
Lady Batevari blinked her sunken eyes. ‘Yes? What indeed?’ She held up her empty glass, frowned at it. ‘Hernon! More refreshments!’
Mallick pushed down an impulse to throttle the crone. Sometimes he, who should know better than anyone, sometimes even he wondered … he glanced to Taya. Her gaze on the old woman appeared uncharacteristically troubled.
‘Your presentiments and prophecies astonish me as always,’ he announced while Hernon, the servant, refilled the Lady's glass. She merely smiled loftily. ‘Your predictions regarding the Crimson Guard, for example,’ he said, watching Hernon leave the room. ‘They are definitely close now. Much closer than any know. As you foresaw. And a firm hand will be needed to forestall them …’
Draining her glass of wine in one long draught, Lady Batevari murmured dreamily, ‘As I foresaw … And now,’ she announced, struggling to rise while Taya hurried to help her. ‘I will leave you two to speak in private.’ A clawed hand swung to Mallick. ‘For I know your true motives for coming here to my humble home in exile, Mallick, Scourge of the Rebellion.’
Standing as well, Mallick put on a stiff smile. He and Taya shared a quick anxious glance. ‘Yes? You do?’
‘Yes, of course I do!’
Leaning close, she leered. ‘You would steal this young flower from my side, you rake! My companion who has been my only solace through my long exile from civilization at sweet Darujhistan.’ She raised a hand in mock surrender. ‘But who am I to stand between youth and passion!’
Bowing, Mallick waved aside any such intentions. ‘Never, m'Lady.’
‘So you say, Confounder of the Seven Cities Insurrection. But do not despair.’ Lady Batevari winked broadly. ‘She may yet yield. Do not abandon the siege.’ Taya lowered her face, covering her mouth.
Stifling her laughter, Mallick knew, feeling, oddly, a flash of irritation.
‘And so I am off to my quarters – to meditate upon the Ineffable. Hernon! Come!’
The footman returned and escorted Lady Batevari from the parlour. Mallick bowed and Taya curtsied. From the hall she called, ‘Remember, child, Hernon shall be just within should our guest forget himself and in the heat of passion press his suit too forcefully.’
Taya covered her mouth again – this time failing to completely mask a giggle. Mallick reflected with surprise on his spasm of anger. If only he knew for certain – senility or malicious insult? He poured himself another glass of the local Untan white.
Taya threw herself into the chair, laughing into both hands.
Mallick waited until certain the old hag was gone. He swirled the wine, noting the dregs gyring like a mist at the bottom. ‘Were not I so sure the waters shallow,’ he breathed, ‘profound depths I would sometime suspect.’
Smiling wickedly, Taya curled her legs beneath her. ‘It's her job to appear profound, Mallick. And she really is rather good – wouldn't you say?’
Mallick sipped the wine. Too dry for his liking. ‘And this speech? These current prophetic mouthings?’
‘Her most recent line.’ Taya rearranged the wispy dancer's scarves to expose her long arms. ‘Nothing too daring, when you think about it, what with Fener's fall, Trake's rise, eager new Houses in the Deck and swarms of new cards. Rather conventional, really.’
‘Yet a certain elegance haunts
Taya pulled back her long black hair, knotted it through itself. ‘If there is any elegance, Mallick, dear,’ she smiled, ‘it is all due to you.’
Mallick bowed.
‘So. The Crimson Guard.’ Taya stroked her fingers over the chair's padded rests. ‘I heard much of them in Darujhistan, of course. How I wish we had seen them there. They are coming?’
Mallick pursed his lips, thought about sitting opposite the girl, then decided against it. He paced while pretending to examine the artwork, cleared his throat. ‘Like the tide, they are close and cannot be forestalled. Their vow — it drags t
hem ever onward. As always, their greatest strength and greatest weakness. And so standing idly by I do not see them.’
Taya's gaze flicked to Mallick. ‘Standing idly by during what?’
‘Why, during the current times of trouble, of course,’ he smiled blandly.
Affecting a pout, Taya blew an errant strand of hair from her face. ‘I do not like it when you hold out, Mallick. But never mind. I too have my sources, and I listen in on every one of the old bat's consultations. You would be surprised who comes to see her – then again, I suppose you wouldn't – and no one has such information. Do not tell me you have a source within the Guard.’
Mallick smiled as if at the quaintness of the suggestion and shook his head. ‘No, child. If you knew anything about the Guard such a thought would never occur. It is an impossibility.’
The girl shrugged. ‘Any organization can be penetrated. Especially a mercenary one.’
Mallick halted, faced Taya directly. ‘I must impress upon you the profoundness of your error. Do not think of the Guard as mercenaries. Think of them more as a military order.’
Exhaling, Taya looked skyward. ‘Gods, not like the ones out of Elingarth. So dreary.’ She stretched, raising her arms over her head. The thin fabric fell even more, revealing pale, muscular shoulders. ‘So, why the visit today, Mallick? Who is it now?’
Mallick watched the girl arc her back, stretching further, thrusting her high small breasts against the translucent cloth. Mock me also, would you, girl? I need your unmatched skills, child, but like the depths, I ever remember. Clearing his throat, Mallick topped up his glass and sat. ‘Assemblyman Imry, speaking for the Kan Confederacy, must step down. I suggest illness, personal, or in the family …’
‘Do not presume, Mallick, to tell me how to do my work. I do not tell you how to manoeuvre behind the Assembly.’
Mallick allowed his voice to diminish almost to nothing. ‘But you do, cherished.’
She giggled. ‘A woman's prerogative, Mallick.’
He raised the glass, acknowledging such.
‘So, Councillor Imry … This will take a while.’
‘Soon.’
‘A while,’ Taya repeated, the sudden iron in her voice surprising from such a slip of a girl.
Mallick raised a placating hand. ‘Please, love. Listen. Time for subtlety and slyness is fast dissipating. Waters are rising and all indications tell it will soon be time to push our modest ship on to the current of events.’
Taya leaned back, plucked at the feather-like white cloth draped over one thigh. ‘I see. Very well. But it may be very messy. There may be … questions.’
Mallick set aside his glass, stood. ‘Such questions swept aside by the coming storm. Now, I shall leave you to your work.’
‘Am I to begin tonight, then? Dressed as I am?’ She spread her arms wide.
Mallick eyed her indifferently. ‘If you think it best. I would never presume to instruct you how to pursue your work.’
Taya's slapped the plush cloth of the armrests. ‘Damn you, Mallick, to the Chained One's own anguish. I don't know why I put up with you.’
He bowed. ‘Perhaps because together we have chance of achieving mutual ambitions.’
Taya waved him away. ‘Yes. Perhaps. Why, in the last month alone I have frustrated two assassination attempts against you.’ She peered up at him from under lowered eyelids. ‘You must be gaining influence.’
Mallick hesitated, unsure. A mere reminder, or veiled threat? He decided to bow again – discretion, ever discretion. He had in her, after all, an extraordinary asset. A talent undetected by anyone in the capital. ‘You are too kind. And remember, mention the Guard to the old woman again. And the firm hand needed. She must speak of it more often now.’
Taya nodded without interest. ‘Yes, Mallick. As ever.’
Outside, Mallick pulled his robes tight against the cooling evening air and pursed his fleshy lips. How dispiriting it was to have to stoop to cajoling and unctuous flattery to gain his way. Still, it had proved a worthy investment. No one, not even Laseen and her Claws who used to have this city tied in silk ribbons, could suspect who it was that had so successfully secreted herself within striking distance of the Imperial Palace. It was only his own peculiar talents that revealed her to him. Taya Radok of Darujhistan. Daughter of Vorcan Radok herself, premier assassin of that city. Trained by her own mother in the arts of covert death since before she could walk. Come to Unta to exact revenge against the Empire that slew her mother. And what a delicious vengeance together they would inflict – though not the sort the child might have in mind.
Stepping down into the loud, lantern-lit street, thoughts of assassins and eliminations turned Mallick's mind to his own safety. He glanced about, searching for his own minder but realized that of course he would never catch a glimpse of the man. He sensed him, however, nearby. Another of the orphans he seemed to have a talent for collecting: an old tattooed mage, long imprisoned in the gaol of Aren – how easy to effect his escape and gain his loyalty. And how valuable the man's – how shall he put it – unconventional talents have proven.
Slipping into the tide of citizens and servants crowding Diviner's Way, Mallick allowed himself a tight satisfied grin. Only two, dearest Taya? He had lost count of the number of sorcerous assaults Oryan had deflected with the strange Elder magic of his Warren delvings. Taya and Oryan: two powerful servants, of a kind. And of course, Mael, his God – and something else as well. It was almost as if the fates had woven the pattern for him to trace all the way to …
Mallick stopped suddenly, almost tripping himself and those next to him within the flow of bodies. He thought of the old woman's rantings. The Gods meddling? Him? No. It couldn't be. None would dare. He was his own man. No one led him.
A hand hard and knotted with arthritis took his elbow, eyes as dark and flat as wet stones close at his side studying him – Oryan. Mallick shook him off. It could not be. He would have a word with Mael. Soon.
* * *
The first inkling Ghelel had of trouble was when the family fencing-master, Quinn, raised his dagger hand for a pause. She took the opportunity to squeeze her side where the pain of exertion threatened to double her over. ‘Why stop?’ she panted, breathless. ‘You had me there.’
Ignoring her, the old man crossed to the closed doors of the stable and used the point of his parrying blade to open one a slit.
‘What is it? Father come to frown at you again for training me?’ The stamp of many hooves reached her and she straightened, rolling one shoulder, wincing. ‘Who is it? The Adal family early from Tali? I should change.’
‘Quiet – m'Lady.’
She sheathed her parrying gauche and slim longsword, pushed back the long black hair pasted to her face. The front of her laced leather jerkin was dark with sweat. She picked up a rag to wipe her face. How properly horrified they would be to see her all dishevelled like this. But then, in the final count, her reputation didn't really matter; she was only a ward of the Sellaths, not blood-related. She dropped the rag when raised voices sounded from the main house. Shouts? ‘What is it, Quinn?’
He turned from the main doors. Dust curled in the narrow shaft of light streaming into the stables. The horses nickered behind Ghelel, uneasy. He hadn't sheathed either his narrow Kanian fencing longsword or his parrying weapon. Beneath the man's mop of grey-shot hair his gaze darted about the stable, still ignoring her.
A crash of wood being kicked, hooves stamping, a clash of metal – swordplay! She started for the doors. Through the gap she glimpsed soldiers of the Malazan garrison. Damned Malazans! What could they want here? She took breath to yell but Quinn dropped his dagger and slapped a hand to her mouth.
How dare the man! What was this? Was he in league with them? She fought to force an elbow beneath his chin.
Somehow he twisted her around, lifted her at the waist and began backing down the length of the stable. All the while he was murmuring, ‘Quiet lass, m'Lady. Quiet now.’
; Kidnapping! Was this all some kind of Malazan plot? But why her? What could they possibly want with her? Struggling, she managed to free a hand and drew her dagger. The man did something at her elbow – a pinch or thrust of his thumb – and the blade fell from her numb hand. How did he do that? He snapped up the blade and kept going.
He carried her to a stall, gently shushed the mare within, then kicked aside the straw and manure. Both her wrists in one hand he began feeling about the wood slats of the floor. ‘We have to hide,’ he whispered. ‘Hide from them. Do you understand?’
‘Hide? We have to help! Are you some kind of coward?’
Return of the Crimson Guard: A Novel of the Malazan Empire Page 10
