‘No. Nothing.’
‘Aiya! You are merciless! Is Kruppe to perish? Very well! You win, O ruthless bargainer. You may have the villa.’
Barathol frowned. ‘The what?’
‘Why, the villa outside the city. Cliff-top, with a view over Lake Azur, of course.’
‘A villa? What for?’
‘Dear Soliel! Isn’t that enough?’ The man pressed his hands to his straining waistcoat. ‘I swear I have diminished. In the name of all that is civilized, relent!’
Barathol studied the sweaty, rotund figure. His black hair was so lacquered it looked like more than a layer of pitch paint slathered across his head. Delicate curls descended on to his forehead but these too were pasted down as if glued. The man’s arsenic-white pallor was almost shocking in its contrast. While he watched, the fellow wiped his heavy jowls with a handkerchief so grey and grimed it seemed to do nothing more than reapply the shine of oil.
‘Is there anyone at all like you, Kruppe?’ he murmured wonderingly.
‘What?’ The fellow sat up straighter. The curve of his stomach pressed against the table. ‘Another Kruppe? Why, such excess of excellence would contravene fundamental laws of creation. Or would that rather be a case of excellent excess? Nay, sir! Think of the poor ladies alone. Imagine what it would do to their respiration. They would not know which way to turn.’
‘Quite,’ Barathol agreed sotto voce.
‘No, such dreams will have to wait. Yet what comportment such a one would possess. What élan. It would be a rare privilege to meet such a one, yes? Although …’ He tapped a short pudgy finger to his lips, his gaze distant. ‘How infuriating this paragon would be in his habit of always being right. His insufferable good looks. His intellect and generosity! No! I would hate him immediately and scheme for his downfall, of course.’
Blinking, the little man regarded Barathol anew. ‘Is that squash? I swear I smell yellow squash. Sliced thinly and roasted over a high open heat. Such as that which may be possessed by a forge. For example.’
Barathol shook his head. ‘No. No squash.’
‘May the gods forgive such ruthlessness. The very thought. No squash indeed. Very well.’ He pushed up his loose frilled sleeves and set his hands flat on the table. ‘The villa, a nursemaid, housekeeper, groom and valet. And that is my final offer.’ The handkerchief daubed at mouth and brows and the fellow deflated limp in his chair as if utterly spent, eyes shut, arms dangling loose.
Barathol cleared his throat. He didn’t know whether to laugh or throw the man out. He took a long breath. ‘For what, Kruppe?’
One eye cracked open. ‘Why, for forging something, of course. Really, if I wanted shoes I would have gone next door.’
Barathol cocked his head. ‘I do shoes, Kruppe. That’s mostly what I do these days. Used to do swords but fashions change. Had to move to smaller premises. You want a dent beaten out of a pot? I’m your man. You want fine expert work? Try the guild.’
Kruppe sat up, straightened his crimson waistcoat. ‘I remove my own dents, thank you very much. And I do not understand why anyone would wear iron shoes. Fashion does drive us to awkward choices, however, does it not? I will send a carriage. In the meantime, here are some papers that have recently come into my care.’ He laid a folded packet on the table. ‘Now I must take this opportunity to escape before even greater demands are made, terms raised, or outrageous conditions imposed – squash or no squash! Good day!’ He threw his chin high and marched out.
Barathol eyed the packet for some time before letting out another breath and uncrossing his arms. He broke the wax seal and scanned the papers. He couldn’t read them but they certainly looked official. They might be a title. Or a bordello’s taxation report. He couldn’t tell. He’d have to take them to the scribe on the corner who wrote letters for everyone in the neighbourhood.
He tapped them against the table and eyed the door to the rear yard. He’d have to be damned quiet about it. He slipped the papers into his shirt.
So it had come to this. All her struggle. Her long journey. Failure. Abject loathsome failure once again. She leaned on her staff and ran a hand through her sweaty hair, squinting in the constant stabbing glare of the quicksilver Vitr sea. Twice with the same man. That had got to be some kind of record. She’d let down Agayla – not to mention the Enchantress. And what trouble might come of that? She dreaded to think of the possible consequences.
Yet further options existed. More extreme alternatives. Tayschrenn didn’t even seem to remember he was a mage and so he would pose no trouble. The only hurdle would be the man’s shadow, Korus. And she and Leoman together might be able to handle him. That left those countless little wretches, and for her there lay the problem. They would surely crowd to his defence and she would be forced to strike them down.
And that she could not bring herself to do. It would be like attacking children. She just couldn’t imagine it. Gods! Defeated by my own principles. Well, perhaps that wasn’t such a bad thing after all. The Queen of Dreams could hardly fault her for that. She tapped the butt of the staff in the black sands, then swung it up over her shoulders and went to find Leoman.
He was asleep, curled up on his side. Just like a boy. How does he do that? Sleep so soundly? It’s like he’s at peace. An idea that jarred against what she knew of the man. She tapped his foot and he jerked, then stretched and blinked up at her. ‘Yes?’
‘All right. You win.’
He leaned up on one elbow and arched a brow. ‘Win? Me?’
‘Yes. There’s no point in staying. We should go.’
He stood and brushed at his clothes, picked up his armour, threw his belted morningstars over a shoulder. ‘So. You’re going,’ he said.
‘Me? What do you mean me?’ She motioned to the shore. ‘Might as well say goodbye.’
‘Yes.’
On the way to the sea Leoman said, ‘You know, I find it very relaxing here. Restful. It reminds me of the deep desert. I always felt comfortable there. It was just the people who occupied it I objected to.’
The moment they drew close to where Tayschrenn stood at the shore, the tribe of shambling malformed creatures he’d rescued from the Vitr gathered around protectively. Giant Korus strode to intercept them on its odd backwards-bending legs.
‘What do you intend?’ it demanded.
‘We’ve come to say goodbye,’ Kiska answered. ‘We’re going.’
‘Goodbye? Farewell? You are leaving?’
‘Yes.’
The creature’s finger-long fangs grated like knives as it seemed to consider such a thing. It glanced over to where Tayschrenn was approaching from the glimmering surf. ‘Very well. But I will be watching.’ It lumbered aside.
‘What is it?’ the ex-mage called. ‘I asked you to trouble us no more.’
Kiska bowed. ‘Yes. Just come to say farewell. We are leaving.’
‘I see.’ He pushed back his long grey-shot hair, crossed his arms. It seemed to Kiska that he did appear younger. The harsh lines about his mouth and eyes had eased; gone was the watchfulness and guarded wariness from his gaze. Reborn in truth?
‘Safe journey then,’ he said. ‘I bear you no ill will.’
‘Yes. But perhaps some time from now—’
He’d raised a forestalling hand. ‘No. I will never return to that. Tell whoever sent you to leave me alone.’
‘Yes.’ Kiska struggled against the tightness in her chest. ‘There is just this. I understand this is yours.’ She held out the crumpled stick and cloth remains of their guide.
He took it into his palm and studied the dry bundle of litter. ‘What is it?’
‘I don’t know exactly – but I was told it belongs to you.’
‘I don’t want …’ His voice fell away as he seemed to lose his concentration.
Korus leaned close, looming over them all. ‘Thenaj – what is this thing? Throw it away!’
But the man’s hands clenched into fists around it, his body convulsing. He would have
crashed to the sands but for the creatures easing him down. He curled into a straining knot, shuddering and twitching.
A huge fist closed about Kiska’s cloak and armour from the rear, lifting her from her feet. ‘What is this?’ Korus boomed. ‘What have you done to him?’
Leoman’s gear fell to the sands as he grasped the demon’s arm. ‘We know nothing of this!’ he yelled.
Kiska stared, horrified. Gods! Have I killed him? Was this the Enchantress’s scheme all along?
Then Tayschrenn screamed. He threw his head back and howled his agony. His back arched as if it would snap. He screamed until his breath failed and he fell limp, immobile.
Kiska did not even struggle as the hand swept her spinning through the air. She crashed into the shingle and tumbled over and over, gouging a trail. Then Leoman was there wiping the sand from her face. ‘Are you all right, girl? Speak to me.’
‘I killed him,’ she moaned. ‘Me! It was to be me all along.’
‘We don’t know …’
A large shadow covered them and a voice snarled, ‘Take them to the caves!’
CHAPTER XV
Tyranny remains because the weak and fearful seek it.
Letters of the Philosphical Society
Darujhistan
THE PASSAGES ORCHID LED ANTSY AND CORIEN THROUGH COULD only in the coarsest sense be named tunnels. As far into the distance as Antsy could see the naked rock canopy was intricately carved to imitate a wide forest. Branches glittered with precious stones and gems which had been set as if mimicking berries or flowers. They passed rooms where wrecked furniture carved from rare woods lay like abandoned works of sculpture. Such wood alone would make Antsy wealthy beyond measure. That such riches lay about ignored within these upper reaches of the Spawn told Antsy a great deal about the character of those who occupied the place. A fter different coin, this lot.
Here Morn met them. He emerged from the gloom and waited as they advanced. At his feet lay a pile of equipment: their gear. Antsy belted his sword and long-knife then shouldered his pannier, all the while eyeing the strange entity. He’d even recovered their food bags. ‘Thanks,’ Antsy said, meaning it. The shade had very probably saved their lives.
The ghost bowed to Orchid. ‘I could not have you going hungry.’
‘We’re still for the Gap,’ she warned him, firm.
He gestured ahead, inviting them onward. ‘Of course.’
‘Here is a question for you, Antsy,’ Corien said after a time, his voice low, as they walked along. ‘If we’re supposed to be going to this ‘Gap’, why are we heading up?’
‘It is the only way,’ Morn answered from the front.
Antsy raised his brows to Corien in silent comment. Damned unnatural hearing on that man. The lad merely hefted the crossbow and offered a shallow bow. ‘Very well. Let us grant that for the moment. Why then didn’t we just turn round? Go out the way we came in?’
‘There would be no boats there,’ Morn answered, unperturbed. ‘Easier now to go onwards.’
‘Well … now, perhaps, but couldn’t we’ve …’ His voice died off as everyone stilled, peering about. A great juddering blow had shaken the artefact beneath their feet. Stone branches snapped, falling to explode into countless shards all about them. In a deafening avalanche of rock and broken furniture and rubbish the entire structure lurched to one side like a ship broadsided by an immense wave. Antsy tottered, side-stepping to hit the trunk of a stone tree. He reached for Orchid but missed as she rolled past. The Spawn now lurched back in the opposite direction and Antsy bashed his head on the stone of the tree. Reverberations of calving rock and tons of falling rubble shook and shuddered the caves all around them.
The drunken rocking of the immense artefact eased slowly. A new equilibrium was reached with the floor pitched sideways at a rather uncomfortable angle. Gems and cups rolled between their feet to clatter off into the darkness amid the stone tree pillars.
Orchid’s eyes, black and huge in the mage-light, sought and found Antsy’s. ‘The Gap,’ she called to Morn. ‘Where is it!’
The shade led them to a large opening carved to resemble an arch in an arboretum. Orchid stared in silent wonder, obviously awed. She faced Morn. ‘The Processional Way?’
The ghost bowed. ‘Indeed. You are well informed.’
She turned to Antsy and he was rather shaken to see her eyes almost glowing. ‘We are very close.’
‘About time,’ he murmured, clearing his throat. ‘Maybe I should lead now.’ Then he sniffed the air wafting from the broad arched way and cocked his head. Somethin’ there. Something’ … He pulled Orchid out of view of the opening. She opened her mouth to speak but all it took was one glance at his face for her to snap it closed. Good. We’re gettin’ tight now.
He signed wait to Corien then poked his head round the corner to inhale once more. And there it was as before: sweat, oil, stink of clothes and armour too long unwashed. And one other thing; fish sauce. Damned Falaran fish sauce. Once tasted – or smelled – never forgotten. ‘Let go your balls, boys and girls,’ he called. ‘We’ve decided to let you live.’
‘Who’s that pissing uphill there?’ a man called back in Falaran.
‘Antsy. The Second.’
‘What’s a Second loser doing here?’
‘Mustered out last year. Now I got me a backpack so full o’ emeralds and rubies I can’t hardly lift it. Could use a hand.’
‘Put ’em up, lads. Let’s have a look.’
The yellow glow of lanterns bruised Antsy’s eyes and he turned away, wincing. A troop of six Malazan soldiers came down the broad hall; marines. The squattest of them, as broad as a horse, wore a sergeant’s torc. Antsy inclined his head in greeting.
The sergeant rubbed the beard darkening his chin and cheeks while he eyed Antsy up and down. ‘Well I’ll be damned …’ he breathed. Then he cocked a questioning eye.
Antsy shook a negative. The man blew out a breath and gave a quick nod of assent. ‘So,’ he said, glancing about. ‘You alone?’
‘No.’ He turned and beckoned. ‘Orchid … Corien Lim … Morn.’
The sergeant nodded, then motioned back up the hall. ‘This way.’
As they started off Antsy glanced round to see that once again Morn had disappeared. After a time he asked, ‘What’s the situation?’
‘Damned ugly. Got a damned menagerie o’ mages ’n’ sorcerers ’n’ such all ready to kill one another an’ all jammed together steppin’ on each other’s toes an’ yankin’ each other’s knickers. It’s a wonder any of ’em’s still standing, it is.’
‘How’s your captain holding up?’
The man spat aside. ‘Captain’s dead. Lieutenant’s in charge.’
‘How’s he doing?’
‘He’s kept us a seat at the table. But things’re heatin’ up.’ His gaze slide sideways. ‘Could use some help.’
Antsy felt his mouth tighten. ‘Can’t guarantee anything, Sergeant.’ He jerked his head back the way they’d come. ‘And there’s a whole army out there that wants in.’
The man spat again. ‘Faugh! Them! Fucking also-rans. Nothing to worry about there.’
‘And you boys? What do you want?’
‘Us?’ He snorted. ‘Togg’s tits, man. We just want out. Friend … we just want the Abyss outta here.’
The sergeant, Girth, led them to the lieutenant. They found him amidst the Malazan encampment, which occupied a set of rooms off a large high-roofed assembly chamber, like an immense cavern, where numerous halls and stairs led into darkness. Antsy caught a glimpse of the two mages they’d followed standing near the centre of the room speaking to a striking slim woman dressed in a white silk shirt, tight trousers, and tall leather boots that came up to her knees. With them was their damned guide, the gangly Jallin.
The lieutenant, it turned out, was a very young fellow with the heavy build and curly hair of a north Genabackan. After Girth spoke to him he approached to give Antsy a welcoming nod. ‘A veteran, yes?’ Antsy
nodded. ‘Good. Could use your help.’ He looked to Corien. ‘Darujhistani. Trained?’
Corien bowed. ‘Yes.’
‘Very good.’
He bowed to Orchid. ‘You are Dal Hon? A talent, perhaps?’
She waved a hand, embarrassed. ‘Dal Hon? No. But I do have some small skills.’
The lieutenant returned to Antsy. ‘Girth reported another with you. Someone in dark robes.’
‘A mage. He joined us partway up. Comes and goes as he pleases. We are not answerable for him.’
‘Ah. A shame. We could use the help. Welcome, regardless. I am Lieutenant Palal. Hengeth Palal.’
They introduced themselves. Then Antsy said, ‘We’ve come for the Gap. That’s all. We just want to get out of here.’
‘I understand. Truth be told so do we. Problem is, that lot bar the way.’
Antsy stroked his jaw with the back of his fingers. ‘Block the way? Why’re they doing that?’
The lieutenant crossed his arms. It was clear he was rather overwhelmed, but it was also equally clear that he was aware of it and accepted it. No bluster or denial here, Antsy reflected. Just doing what he can.
‘What are their terms?’ Antsy asked.
‘Terms? Their terms are … frankly insane.’ The young officer shook his head, mystified. ‘I’ve told them again and again – we have no munitions. None at all. We can’t blow their damned door for them.’
Orchid gasped. Or at least Antsy thought she did; he was having trouble hearing over the roaring gathering in his ears. Hands steadied him and above the wind he thought he heard someone laughing. He recognized the mad laughter: it was his own. He was having a good time at his own expense. Forgot your philosophy, Ants. They’ll get ya. In the end they’ll always find a way to get ya.
‘All right?’ Corien asked, his head close. Blinking, Antsy squeezed the youth’s hand. ‘Yeah. Just thrown. That’s all.’
The Malazan Empire Series: (Night of Knives, Return of the Crimson Guard, Stonewielder, Orb Sceptre Throne, Blood and Bone, Assail) (Novels of the Malazan Empire) Page 240
