But, the razor voice inside softly whispers, idiots abound.
No matter. The rocky outcrops are patiently ticking, the blue sky egalitarian in its indifference, the sun unmindful of all who would challenge its stare. The story belongs to the selfsame world, implacable as stone, resistant to all pressures, be they breath’s wind or rain’s piss. The mules plod befuddled by their own weight and clopping strain. The heads of the horses droop and nod, tails flicking to keep the flies alert. The plateau stretches on into grainy white haze.
‘I am not happy about this,’ Tiny said in pique, his girthless eyes flitting. ‘Special rules and all that. Once special rules start, everything falls apart.’
‘Listen to the thug,’ Arpo Relent said.
‘Midge?’
Midge spat and said, ‘Tiny Chanter is head of the Chanters, and the Chanters rule Toll’s City of Stratem. We chased out the Crimson Guard to do it, too. Tiny’s a king, you fool.’
‘If he’s a king,’ Arpo retorted, ‘what’s he doing here? Stratem? Never heard of Stratem. Crimson Guard? Who’re they?’
Calap said, ‘Since when does a king wander around without bodyguards and servants and whatnot? It’s a little hard to believe, your claim.’
‘Flea?’
Flea scratched in his beard and looked thoughtful. ‘Well, me and Midge and Relish, we’re the bodyguards, but we ain’t servants. King Tiny don’t need servants and such. He’s a sorcerer, you see. And the best fighter in all Stratem.’
‘What kind of sorcerer?’ the host demanded.
‘Midge?’
‘He can raise the dead. That kind of sorcerer.’
At that the pace stumbled to a halt, and Steck Marynd reined in to slowly swing his horse round, the crossbow cradled in one arm. ‘Necromancer,’ he said, baring his teeth and it was not a smile. ‘So what makes you any different from the Nehemoth? That is what I want to know.’
Midge and Flea stepped out to the sides, hands settling on the grips of their weapons as Tulgord Vise drew his sister-blessed sword and Arpo Relent looked around confusedly. Tiny grinned. ‘The difference? Ain’t nobody hunting me, that’s the difference.’
‘The only one?’ Steck asked in a dull tone.
Was it alarm that flickered momentarily in Tiny’s eyes? Too difficult to know for certain. ‘Eager to die, are you, Marynd? I can kill you without raising a finger. Just a nod and your guts would be spilling all over your saddle horn.’ He looked around, his grin stretching. ‘I’m the deadliest person here, best you all understand that.’
‘You’re bluffing,’ said Tulgord. ‘Dare you challenge the Mortal Sword of the Sisters, oaf?’
Tiny snorted. ‘As if the Sisters care a whit about the Nehemoth – a madman and a eunuch never destroyed the world or toppled a god. Them two are irritants and nothing more. If you truly was the Sisters’ Mortal Sword, they must be pretty annoyed by now. You running all over every damned continent and what for? An insult? That’s what it was, wasn’t it? They made a fool of you, and you’ll burn down half the world all because of wounded pride.’
Tulgord Vise was a most frightening hue of scarlet wherever skin was visible. He stepped forward. ‘And you, Chanter?’ he retorted amidst gnashing teeth. ‘Hunting down a pair of rivals? I agree with Steck, necromancers are an abomination, and you are a necromancer. Therefore, you are—’
‘An abomination!’ shrieked Arpo Relent, fumbling with his axe.
‘Midge, pick one.’
‘That girl there, the one with only one eyebrow.’
Tiny nodded. He gestured slightly with his left hand.
Sellup seemed to vomit something even as she pitched forward, limbs rattling on the sand before falling still. Face down on the ground, motionless in death, and all eyes upon her. Eyes that then widened.
‘Beru bless us!’ moaned the host.
Sellup moved, lifted to her hands and knees, her hair hanging down and clotted with – what was it, blood? She raised her head. Her visage was lifeless, the eyes dull with death, her mouth slack in the manner of the witless and fanatic fans of dubious sports. ‘Who killed me?’ she asked in a grating voice, tongue protruding like a drowning slug. A strange groaning noise from her nose announced the escape of the last air to grace her lungs. ‘That wasn’t fair. There was no cause. Pampera, is my hair a mess? Look, it’s a mess. I’m a mess.’ She climbed to her feet, her motions clumsy and loose. ‘Nifty? Beloved? Nifty? I was always for you, only you.’
But when she turned to him he backed away in horror.
‘Not fair!’ cried Sellup.
‘One less mouth to feed, though,’ muttered Brash Phluster.
‘You killed one of my fans!’ Nifty Gum said, eyes like two dustbird eggs boiling in a saucer.
‘It’s all right,’ simped Oggle Gush, ‘you still have us, sweet-thumb!’
‘Tiny Chanter,’ said Steck Marynd, ‘if I see so much as a finger twitch from you again you’re a dead man. We got us a problem here. Y’see, I get hired to kill necromancers – it’s the only reason I’m still hunting the Nehemoth, because I guarantee satisfaction, and in my business without my word meaning something I’m nothing.’
Tiny grunted. ‘Anybody hired you to kill me?’
‘No, which is why you’re still alive. But, you see, over the years, I’ve acquired something of a dislike for necromancers. No, that’s too mild. I despise them. Loathe them, in fact.’
‘Too bad,’ said Tiny. ‘You only got one quarrel and you won’t get a chance to re-load before one or more of us get to you. Want to die, Steck?’
‘I doubt it will be as uneven as you seem to think,’ Steck Marynd replied. ‘Is that a fair thing to say, Mortal Sword?’
‘It is,’ said Tulgord Vise in a growl.
‘And you, Well Knight?’
Arpo finally had his axe ready. ‘Abomination!’
‘This is great!’ said Brash Phluster in what he likely thought was a whisper.
Tiny’s tiny eyes snapped to him. ‘For you artists, yes it’s perfect, isn’t it? It was your meddling that caused all this.’ And with that he looked straight at me. ‘Devious tale – you’ll spin us all to death!’
Innocent my regard. ‘Sire?’
‘I don’t know Flicker’s game and I don’t much care,’ said Steck Marynd, his stony eyes still fixed upon Tiny Chanter. ‘You claim to be hunting the Nehemoth. Why?’
‘I don’t answer to you,’ Tiny replied.
‘You killed one of my fans!’
‘I still love you, Nifty!’ Arms opening, Sellup made pouting motions with her dry lips and advanced on her beloved.
He howled and ran.
Oggle shot Sellup a vicious glare. ‘See what you done!’ she hissed, and then set off in pursuit of the Great Artist.
Pampera posed for an instant, arching to gather and sweep back her hair, her breasts pushing like a pair of seals rising for air, and then with an oddly languorous lunge she flowed into a fluid sprint, buttocks bouncing most invitingly.
‘In the wayward seas
My love rolls in heaving swells
Can a man drown with a smile
Plunging deep beneath the foam?’
To my heartfelt quotation, Brash Phluster gusted a sigh and nodded. ‘Gormle Ess of Ivant, aye, he knew his art—’
‘Sandroc of Blight,’ Calap Roud corrected. ‘Gormle Ess wrote the Adulterer’s Lament.’ He tilted his head back and assumed the orator’s posture, hands out to the sides.
‘She was beauty beheld
In shadows so sweet
Where the fragrant blossoms
Could kiss the tongue
With honey dreams!
She was desire adamant
So soft to quiver under touch
Leaning close in heat
All this she was and more –
Last night – oh the ale fumes
Fail to abide the mole’s squint
In dread morning light!’
‘Oh sorrow!’ cried Sellup, cla
pping her hands and offering everyone a bright and ghastly smile.
Arpo, staring up the trail, suddenly spoke. ‘Could be the coward’s running … from us.’
‘We got horses,’ said Tulgord Vise. ‘They won’t get away.’
‘Even so, we should resume our journey.’ Arpo then jabbed a mailed finger at Tiny. ‘I will be watching you, sorcerer.’ Taking his horse’s reins, he set off.
Tiny grinned at Steck Marynd. ‘The Well Knight has the memory of a twit-bird. Leave off, Marynd. When we finally corner the Nehemoth, you’ll want me at your side. In the meantime—’
‘In the meantime,’ Steck jerked his head at Sellup, ‘no more of that.’
‘I was only making a point,’ Tiny replied. ‘And I don’t expect to have to make it twice. Midge?’
‘Once will do.’
‘Flea?’
‘Once.’
The march resumed, because time yields to no reins, nor its plodding course turned aside by wishes or will. The mules cloppled, the carriage clattered, the horses snorted, and we who would claim to exception and privilege among all the things of this world, we measured each and every step in bitter humiliation. Oh, we stood taller in our minds, as is reason’s hollow gift, but what do such conceits avail us in the end?
Sixty paces ahead rose the tumulus announcing the wellspring, the heap of stones fluttering with bleached rags stuffed in cracks like banners of the crushed. But of Nifty Gum and his Entourage of Two there was no sign.
Snarling under his breath, Tulgord Vise kicked his horse into a canter, riding for the spring. Dust swirled like a mummer’s cape in his wake. With a click of his tongue Steck Marynd rode out to one side and stood in his stirrups, scanning the horizons.
Calap Roud and Brash Phluster drew close to me.
‘This is bad, Flicker,’ Calap muttered with low breath. ‘We can maybe eat Sellup tonight, if she ain’t gone foul by then.’
‘We should eat her now,’ Brash interjected. ‘That’d save us all for another night, wouldn’t it? Wouldn’t it? We got to suggest it – you do it, Flicker. Go on—’
‘Good sir,’ said I, ‘I am of no mind whatsoever to suggest such a heinous thing. Tell me, would you have her complain all the while? While a single piece of her flesh exists, the curse of the unliving remains – what eternal torment would you consign to the poor lass? Besides,’ I added, ‘I know little of the art of necromancy, but it occurs to me that such flesh is itself poison to the living. Will you risk becoming an undead?’
Brash licked his lips, his face white. ‘Gods below!’
‘What if Nifty got away?’ Calap demanded. ‘It’s impossible. He must be hiding out there somewhere. Him and his women. His kind get all the luck! Think of it, he’s got an undying fan! I’d kill for that!’
‘Calap Roud,’ said I, ‘your tale of the Imass is cause for concern. Where it leads …’
‘But it’s all I got, Flicker! The only one I remember word for word—’
‘Hold on!’ said Brash. ‘It ain’t yours? That’s cheating!’
‘No it isn’t. Nobody said it had to be our own compositions. This isn’t the Festival. They just want to be entertained, so if you need to steal then steal! Gods, listen to me. I’m giving you advice! My rival. Both of you! Flicker, listen! It’s your story that’s going to get us all killed. You’re too close to what’s really going on here—’
‘Am I? I think not, sir. Besides, my task now is quite different from the one you two face.’
‘That was some fancy trickery from you, too! She knows we can do a day or three without food. She only has to make sure you outlive me and Phluster, and then you can make the last long run to the ferry landing. You’re in cahoots, and don’t deny it!’
Brash Phluster smirked. ‘It don’t matter, Roud, because Flicker’s going to lose. And soon, before either of us.’
Arch did an eyebrow upon my benign demeanour. ‘Indeed?’
‘Indeed,’ he mimicked, wagging his head. ‘You see, I saw you, last night. And I saw her, too.’
Calap gasped. ‘He’s rollicking Purse Snippet? I knew it!’
‘Not her,’ Brash said, his eyes bright upon me, ‘Relish Chanter. I seen it, and if I tell Tiny – and maybe I’ll have to, to buy my life – why, you’re a dead man, Flicker.’
Calap was suddenly grinning. ‘We got him. We got Flicker. Hah! We’re safe, Brash! You and me, we’re going to make it!’
Did I quiver in terror? Did my knees rattle and bladder loosen to the prickly bloom of mortal panic? Did I fling myself at Brash, hands closing about his scrawny throat? An elbow to the side of Calap’s head? Did my mind race, seeking an escape? ‘Good sirs, more of this discussion anon. We have reached the spring.’
‘Aye,’ said Calap, ‘we can wait, can’t we, Brash?’
But Phluster grasped my arm. ‘Your tale’s going to go sour, Flicker. I know, you was nice to me but it’s too late for that kind of stuff. You were only generous because you felt safe. I’m not such a fool as to take such patronization from one such as you! I am a genius! You’re going to disappoint Snippet, do you understand me?’
‘I shall resume my tale, then, once we have slaked our thirsts.’
Brash’s grin broadened.
‘I always hated you,’ said Calap, now studying me as he would a worm. ‘Did you know that, Flicker? Oh, I saw the aplomb in your pertinence, and knew it as a fraud from the very first! Always acting like you knew a secret nobody else knows. And that smile you show every now and then – it makes me sick. Do you still think it’s all so amusing? Do you? Besides, your tale’s stupid. It can’t go anywhere, can it, because what you’re stealing from isn’t done yet, is it? You’re doomed to just repeat what’s already happened and they won’t take that much longer. So, even without Phluster’s ultimatum, you’re doomed to lose. You’ll die. We’ll carve you up and eat you, and we’ll feel good about it, too!’
Ah, artists! ‘The truth of the tale,’ said I, most calmly, ‘is not where it is going, but where it has been. Ponder that, if you’ve the energy. In the meantime, sustenance beckons, for I see that some water survives still, and Mister Must is already unhitching the mules. Best we drink before the beasts do, yes?’
Both men pushed past me in their haste.
I followed at a more leisurely pace. I have this thing, you see, about anticipation and abnegation, but of that, later.
Steck had ridden up and was now dismounting. ‘Found their tracks,’ he said, presumably to Tulgord. ‘As we know they must stay relatively close to the trail; however, we need not worry overmuch. Deprivation will bring them back.’
‘We can go hunting, too,’ said Tiny. ‘A bit of excitement,’ and he smiled his tiny ratty smile.
‘Drink your fill,’ cried the host, ‘all of you! Such benison! The gods have mercy, yes they do! Oh, perhaps this will suffice! Perhaps we can complete our journey without the loss of another life! I do implore you all, sirs! We can—’
‘We eat the artists,’ rumbled Tiny. ‘It was decided and there ain’t no point in going back on it. Besides, I’ve acquired a liking for the taste.’ And he laughed.
Midge laughed too.
So did Flea.
Relish yawned.
‘We rest here,’ announced Steck Marynd, ‘for a time.’
Purse Snippet was crouched down at the murky pool, splashing her face. I squatted beside her. ‘Sweet nectar,’ murmured I, reaching down.
‘They’re tyrants one and all,’ she said under her breath. ‘Even Steck Marynd, for all his airs.’
Cool water closed about my hand with a goddess touch. ‘Milady, it is the nature of such paragons of virtue, but can we truly claim to anything nobler? Human flesh has passed our lips, after all.’
She hissed in frustration. ‘Our reward for cowardly obedience!’
‘Just so.’
‘Where will your tale lead us, poet?’
‘The answer to that must, alas, wait.’
‘You’re all t
he same.’
‘Perhaps,’ I ventured, ‘while we may taste the same, we are in taste anything but the same. So one hopes.’
‘You jest even now, Avas Didion Flicker? Will we ever see your true self, I wonder?’
Cupping water, I took a sip. ‘We shall see, Milady.’
A woman I once knew possessed a Kanese Ratter, a hairy and puny lapdog with all sanity bred out of it, and hers was more crazed than most. Despite its proclivities, which included attacking in a frenzy overly loud children and stealing the toys and rattles of babies, the beast was entirely capable of standing on its hind legs for inordinate amounts of time, and its owner was most proud of this achievement. Training with titbits and whatnot was clearly efficacious even when the subject at hand possessed a brain the size of a betel nut.
I was witness to such proof again when, at a single jab of one finger from Tiny Chanter, Calap Roud sat straight, all blood rushing from his face. Sputtering, he said, ‘But Flicker’s volunteered—’
‘Later for him. Tell us about the giant and the woman.’
‘But—’
The Second Collected Tales of Bauchelain & Korbal Broach: Three Short Novels of the Malazan Empire Page 22
