Orb Sceptre Throne (36 page)

Baruk missing. Vorcan secreting herself away. Both reputed members of this half-mythic T’orrud Cabal. And in the Council an old forbidden title renewed
.

A power struggle. It all adds up to a power struggle. Yet with whom? This upstart Legate?

And Vorcan’s words: No matter what happens, you will not act
.

Then there’s what Raest said. Bluff. It’s a game of bluff. And what is bluff but lies, deception, misdirection?

And who does
that
remind him of?

He stilled, hands wrapped around the warm cup. He cocked his head, listening; the building was silent. Not in all the years he’d kept this room was the building ever silent. He stood, pushing back the chair, hands loose at his sides.

‘Who’s there?’

The door swung open revealing the empty hall beyond. Someone spoke, and Rallick recognized the voice of Krute of Talient. ‘It’s all come clear now, Rallick.’

‘What’s clear, Krute?’

‘No longer in the guild, you said … aye, I’ll give you that. But it’s all in the open now. No need to play the innocent.’

‘What are you talking about, Krute?’

‘She’s backing the Legate, ain’t she? And maybe you are too. We lost six of our best this night. But one made it out. What he brought with him made everything clear. I’m sorry you chose to go your own way on this, my friend.’

Something came sliding in along the floor. A blade: blued, slim, needle-tipped, good for close-in fighting and balanced for throwing. An exquisite weapon exactly like those commissioned by only one person he knew.

The old floor creaked in the hall: a number of men on both sides of the door. Rallick considered the window and the sheer three-storey drop.

Damn. Done in by my own precautions
.

He raced through a number of other options, none particularly promising. Then he noticed a smell. A strong sewer stink.

‘Gas leak, lads!’ Krute shouted from the hall. ‘Damn you, Rallick! A trap! Make for the roof.’

Rallick remained frozen, hands close to the heavy curved knives beneath his loose shirt. The floorboards of the hall creaked and popped, then were silent. He edged towards the door, leaned to peer out. It was empty.

Gas? None can afford gas here
.

He returned to his room, froze again. Something was on the table that had not been there before. A small leaf-wrapped object. He pulled open the greasy package to reveal a rolled crepe. A breakfast crepe with a delicate nibble taken from one end, as if the purchaser couldn’t bear to part with the treat without a taste and hoped no one would notice.

Lies, deception and misdirection
.

So be it
.

*

‘So you are saying that your timely arrival scared them off? Is that what you’re saying?’ Lim eyed the two estate guards, both retired members of the city watch, standing uncomfortable, and extremely nervous, before him. Somehow he was not convinced. He pulled his dressing gown tighter about himself. ‘And the mess outside?’

‘Ah! Well, in their haste to flee – one appears to have fallen.’

‘Is that so? A clumsy assassin. It’s standards that appear to have fallen.’

The guards shared embarrassed glances. One swallowed while the other clasped and reclasped a hand on the shortsword at his side.

Sighing his disgust, Lim turned away. He faced the small desk he kept in his room for correspondence and composing his memoirs. He picked up a slim gold mask among the mementos there and turned it in his hands. ‘I suppose I should hire more guards.’

‘We strongly recommend it, sir.’

He turned, favoured the two with an arched brow. ‘Well … do so. Take your leave. Hire as many as you deem appropriate.’

They snapped salutes. ‘Yes, sir. Right away, sir.’

Incompetents. It’s a miracle I’m alive. Someone had taken out a contract on me and I slept right through it. And frankly, who it is I suspect is no mystery. The Abyss has no fury like a patron scorned, as they may say. I’ll have to respond. Hit him where it hurts. In the moneybelt
.

Lim crossed the room to dress, then paused, confused.
Hadn’t there been a rug here? The servants appear to be taking great liberties with the furnishings. They ought to let me know when they take things away to be cleaned
.

Torvald Nom and Tiserra eyed one another across the table of their house. Her gaze was a steady unswerving pressure while he shot furtive skittish glances her way between long perusals of the various ceramic bowls, jars and cups arrayed about the room. A breakfast meal of tea, honey and flatbreads lay untouched between them.

‘I’m not moving,’ Tiserra said.

‘No one has mentioned such a thing.’

‘Well … I’m not.’

‘As you say.’

She sipped her tea. Torvald shifted in his seat. ‘Did you say something?’ she demanded.

‘No – nothing at all.’

‘I suppose you’ll be receiving all sorts of petitions to intervene in this or that. Ladies throwing themselves at you, bosoms heaving, panting how they’ll do
anything
to have your support.’

‘No bosoms heaved my way yet, dear.’

Tiserra glared. Torvald cleared his throat, reached for a flatbread.

‘And I’ll attend none of those damned fancy parties, or gala fetes.’

Torvald withdrew his hand. ‘Perish the thought.’

‘Won’t have those harridans whispering behind their hands about the cut of my dress or the state of my hair.’

‘Who would do such a thing?’

‘Won’t have it.’

‘Quite.’

‘I like it here!’

‘Absolutely.’

She raised the cup to her mouth, set it down untouched. ‘So we’re agreed, then.’

‘Yes.’

‘All right then.’ She shifted in her seat, tore a flatbread. ‘Good.’ She nibbled at the bread. ‘So … what has this Legate proposed?’

‘Nothing too shocking yet. Various construction and maintenance projects. All long overdue, really.’ He spread honey on a flatbread.

‘And how much does the position pay?’

The rolled flatbread paused before it reached his mouth.
Damn
.

In his private room in the Malazan garrison at Pale, Fist K’ess was woken by shouts of alarm and banging. He leapt up from his piled furs and blankets already gripping the sheathed shortsword he always slept with and thumped barefoot to unlatch the heavy wood door. Captain Fal-ej stood waiting there, fully armed and armoured, torch in hand.

‘What is it, Captain?’ he demanded.

The Seven Cities officer took in her Fist standing in the open doorway and quickly looked away. ‘Fire, sir. Kitchens and barracks.’

‘Kitchens
and
barracks?’

A weary nod. ‘They abut each other.’

‘Who in the name of Togg built …’

The captain raised a forestalling hand. ‘Be that as it may – perhaps the Fist should get dressed.’

K’ess frowned, then remembered that he was naked. ‘Well … if you think it would help.’ He gave the captain a courtly nod and slammed the door shut. Facing the adzed wooden slats Captain Fal-ej let out a silent breath of awe and headed down the hall on weak knees.
By the great stallions of Ugarat. This puts the man into a different perspective
.

Fist K’ess caught up with Fal-ej where the captain stood shouting commands to a bucket-brigade vainly tossing water on the burgeoning flames consuming the barracks. Studying the conflagration, a hand raised to shield his face from the heat, the Fist shouted: ‘Never mind! It’s a loss! Just try to stop it from spreading.’

Fal-ej saluted. ‘Yes, sir.’ She jogged off, shouting more commands.

After the captain had reorganized the soldiers K’ess waved her to him. ‘Anyone hurt?’

‘No, sir.’

A roar as the roof collapsed silenced any further talk and drove everyone back a step, coughing and covering their faces. Fist K’ess wiped a smear of some sort of air-borne grease from his face – the larders up in smoke.

‘What happened?’ he asked. ‘An accident?’ He asked but he didn’t believe it: the fire had spread far too swiftly. The shake of her head confirmed his suspicions.
Sabotage, act of rebellion, call it what you will. They never wanted us here
.

And now this new Legate down in Darujhistan to goad them on
.

He waved the captain further back to talk. ‘Any suspects?’

She’d pulled off her helmet and now ran a hand through her matted dark hair. K’ess noted how her features seemed to glow – a combination of sweat from the heat and the grease of the smoke. He realized she had a strange look in her eyes even as he studied them.

She glanced away, clearing her throat. ‘One of the kitchen staff, probably. Or one of the local servants.’

‘You have them?’

‘A few. They all claim innocence, of course. What do you want done with them? We could … send a message.’

‘I very much doubt that the one who set this hung about to get caught.’

‘I agree, Fist.’

‘So … let them know what we
could
do with them should we be so inclined. Then let them go.’

Her thick black brows rose. ‘Let them … go?’

‘Yes. We’re soldiers, not executioners, or some sort of police. It’s subjugation that requires brutality, and I’m not willing to stoop to that yet. Do you understand, Captain?’

The woman’s face hardened as if struck. ‘I am from Seven Cities, Fist.’

K’ess cursed himself for his obvious misstep but kept his expression blank. He inclined his head in acknowledgement. ‘My apologies – then you more than understand.’

A lieutenant arrived, rescuing the Fist from his discomfort. ‘A mob at the gates, sir. Blocking the exit.’

‘Armed?’

‘Haphazardly so. Though there may be veterans mixed in among ’em.’

K’ess turned to Fal-ej. ‘My apologies again, Captain. You were correct. Perhaps we should have withdrawn earlier. It seems we’re always underestimating Pale.’ He motioned to the lieutenant. ‘Have the entire command salvage what they can then form up before the gates. We’re evacuating.’

The lieutenant saluted. ‘Aye, sir.’ He ran off, bellowing.

‘North, sir?’ Fal-ej asked.

They flinched at another thundering reverberation accompanied by curtains of sparks from the collapsing barracks.
Did we have any Moranth munitions stored there? Well, I understand they aren’t flammable anyway
.

Their few horses, pulled from the stalls, began screaming their terror as the flames drew nearer the mustering square. ‘No, Captain. South. We’ll catch up with the Twenty-second.’

‘Aye. And the gates?’

‘I understand they’re designed to be unhinged, if need be.’

The Captain’s full lips drew up in a feral grin of anticipation. ‘I’ll see to it.’

‘Very good.’ K’ess saluted. Fal-ej jogged for the gates. He wiped his sweat-slick face.
Now to toss everything from my office into these damned flames
.

A short time later, mounting amid the column, K’ess slapped his gauntlets against his cape to put out drifting sparks. Then he nodded to the bannerman, who dipped the black, grey and silver standard of the Fifth. At the gates Fal-ej oversaw the saboteurs who struck the hinges. At her wave, K’ess motioned that the banner be pointed forward and the entire garrison charged into the broad timber doors. For an instant the gates wavered, creaking, then shouts of alarm from beyond signalled their leaning outwards.