The Complete Malazan Book of the Fallen (1231 page)

‘Yes, Elder. Thus, there must be one more night of marching.'

‘And then?' the Adjunct demanded. ‘What salvation will find us by tomorrow's dawn?'

‘The Seven of the Dying Fires shall endeavour to awaken Tellann,' Nom Kala replied. ‘We have begun our preparations for a Ritual of Opening. Once we have created a gate we shall travel through, to a place where there is fresh water. We shall fill the casks once more and return to you. But we need another day.'

‘There are but seven of you,' Ruthan said. ‘In this desert, that is not enough.'

‘We shall succeed in this, Elder.'

Ruthan cocked his head. ‘If you say so.'

‘I do. Now, please inform your soldiers. One more march.'

‘To reach salvation,' said the Adjunct.

‘Yes.'

‘Very well, Nom Kala.'

The T'lan Imass bowed to them both, turned and then strode back into the camp.

When she was gone, the Adjunct sighed. ‘In your obviously long life, Captain, did you ever throw dice with a T'lan Imass?'

‘No, and I used to think that wisdom on my part.'

‘And now?'

Ruthan Gudd shook his head. ‘They are terrible liars.'

‘Still,' she said under her breath, ‘I appreciate the effort.'

‘We don't need it, Adjunct. To keep us all going – we don't need it.'

‘We don't?'

‘No.' And he pointed to Badalle and Saddic. ‘I will go among the troops this day, Adjunct, for I have a story to tell. Two children, a sack of toys.'

She eyed him. ‘These children?'

He nodded. ‘These children.'

HE FELT THE NUDGE AND IMAGINED HIMSELF IN THE HOLD OF A SHIP,
rolling in heavy swells. When the nudge came a second time, he thought of drunken nights, sprawled beneath a table with someone's booted foot thudding against him. With the third nudge – harder this time, delivered with irritation or impatience – he muttered a curse. But something had gummed together his lips, so the word came out as a moan.

He decided it was time to open his eyes.

That too proved a struggle, lids pulling apart as if glued, stinging viciously once he blinked his way clear. Gloom, blurred shapes, something like a face hovering over him. The air smelled of decay. The taste in his mouth was of old, old blood. And something else. Bitter. It was, he decided, the taste of failure.

‘Get up.'

Another figure, now kneeling beside him. A soft hand pressing against the side of his face – but his beard was stiff and it crackled under the palm, and the hand slipped away. Only to come back, hard enough to rock his head.

And a woman said, ‘We don't have time for this. The door's open. Some people round here got a feel for things like that.'

The first speaker said, ‘Poison's gone inert. Long ago. But he ain't moved in a while.'

‘The guardian should've—'

‘Off wandering the warrens, is my guess. Lucky us.'

‘Just help him to his feet, will you?'

Hands under his arms, a grunt, and he felt himself leave the stone floor except for his heels. Sudden pain in his lower back and his legs as they tried to take his weight. He couldn't remember being this heavy – was he ever this heavy?

‘Stand up, damn you – I can't hold you up long.'

‘How do you think I felt?' the woman asked beside him. ‘He made all my bones creak.'

He swore at the sharp stabs lancing out from his legs, tottered—

‘There, back a step – lean against the wall. Good, like that. Now look at me, idiot. Look at me like you know me.'

It was dark, but he could make out the man's face now. Studied the eyes fixing on his own, and frowned.

‘What's my name?' the man demanded.

He worked until he had some spit in his mouth, pushed with his tongue to force open his lips. ‘I know you,' he managed to say. ‘Your name… Blob.'

‘Blob?' The man's head turned towards the woman. ‘He says my name is Blob.'

‘Should I slap him again?'

‘Blur,' he now said, blinking at the woman. ‘Blob and Blur. I remember now. You got me drunk. Took advantage of me. I should probably kill you both. Where are my trousers?'

Still leaning against the wall, still using it to prop himself up, he glared at the man and the woman, watched them both back off a step. They were all in a corridor, and to his right was a thick wooden door, pushed open, revealing a snarled lumpy mess of a yard just beyond, and a cool draught was slinking in, smelling of brackish water and rubbish.

The man spoke slowly, as if to a child. ‘You're wearing your trousers.'

‘Of course I am. Think I can't dress myself? Where are my knives?'

The woman swore under her breath and then said, ‘The fool's lost his mind. Not hard, since it wasn't great to begin with, but it's gone now. He's useless to us – Cotillion lied. Just wanted me out from underfoot, so he sent me riding wild as a she-witch – all for nothing!'

‘I'd agree with you on that assessment,' said the other man, now crossing his arms, ‘except for one thing.'

‘What?'

‘Blob and Blur? The bastard's having us on, Minala. And he thinks it's funny, too. See that glare? Like every ocean storm's come home to roost on his forehead. Thing is, Kalam never glares. Almost never scowls. Kalam's got the face of an assassin.'

Kalam sneered. ‘I'm having you on, am I? Tell you what, Wizard, am I having you on the way you had me on when I cracked that acorn and you never showed? With about a hundred Claws closing in on me?'

‘Not my fault. Besides, look at you. You came out the other end still walking—'

‘Crawling, actually,' corrected Minala. ‘According to Shadowthrone, I mean. In fact, the wispy runt had to drag Kalam up to the door here. It's a wonder he even managed it.'

Quick Ben snorted. ‘So you ain't nearly as good as you think you are. What a shock. Look at your clothes and armour – you're chopped to pieces, O mighty assassin. A handful of Laseen's weasels made a mess of you, and you've got the nerve to blame
me
.'

‘So where is she?' Kalam demanded.

‘Who?'

‘Laseen. I got to settle with her – she cut Tavore loose. She said the Wickans have to be sacrificed – and Korbolo Dom. I want that bastard's knobby head bouncing down every step from Mock's Hold to the mouth of the sewer – where the fuck are my knives?'

Minala drew out a belted brace and flung the gear at his feet. ‘So I come riding through a thousand warrens, nearly get blasted by lightning, and you ain't got a single word for your Hood-damned wife?'

‘You threw me out, remember?'

‘Remember? I'm remembering why, is what I'm remembering. This is all Cotillion's fault.'

Quick Ben said, ‘She won't say it, but she misses you—'

She rounded on him. ‘You stay out of this!'

‘I'd love to, but we haven't got time. Look, Kalam, she's sincere – she even found you a horse—'

‘What do I need a horse for? We're in Malaz City! If Laseen's run away, I don't need a horse – I need a ship.'

‘Kalam, listen to me. Shadowthrone delivered you to the Deadhouse. You were dying. Poisoned. And then you were just, er, left here. Lying there on the floor. For some time – well, a fair bit of time, in fact.'

‘Did you kill Laseen, then? Did you avenge me? And you have the nerve to call yourself my friend – you didn't kill her, did you? Did you?'

‘No I didn't – just close that trap of yours and try listening for a change. Never mind the Malazan Empire. Never mind the Regent or Protector or whatever title Mallick Rel's come up with. And maybe Laseen got killed like they say she did, or maybe she didn't – it doesn't matter. We're not hanging around, Kalam. We're needed elsewhere. Do you understand what I'm saying?'

‘Not a word. But it sounds to me like we're wasting time.' He looked at Minala. ‘So you got me a horse, did you? Is it big enough? Better not be a stallion – you know how they get jealous when I'm around you.'

‘I wasn't picky,' she said. ‘But if I'd thought about it, I'd have gotten you a fat one-eared three-legged ass, and you could take turns riding each other. Not that anybody'd tell the difference.'

‘Gods below, you two!' hissed Quick Ben, with a sharp look out into the yard. ‘Trying to wake up the whole waterfront? We've got to go. Now.'

Kalam collected the weapon belt, checked to confirm that the sheaths held his long knives. But his memory still wasn't the way it should have been, so he couldn't be sure. But they looked to be decent weapons anyway. ‘Fine. Shut up the both of you and let's get going.'

Outside, beneath a strangely green cloudy night sky, Quick Ben led the way down the winding path between overgrown mounds and dead trees. They reached the gate and the wizard gestured off to their left.

The horses were tethered to a hitching post in front of a sunken tavern thirty paces away. Rising waters had flooded the taproom, leaving the place abandoned and dark. As they set off for them, Kalam narrowed his gaze on one of the beasts. His steps slowed. ‘Hold on,' he whispered, ‘that ain't a horse.'

‘Best I could do,' Quick Ben muttered. ‘Don't worry, it's mine.'

Four paces from the rail and a hulking, armoured figure stepped out from the tavern's nearest alley. Two heavy blades clashed together, and then lifted threateningly.

Quick Ben swore. ‘Look, Temper, I knocked. Nobody home.'

The visored face swung to study the Deadhouse, and then a deep voice rumbled out. ‘I might have to kill you three anyway.'

‘Why?' yelped Quick Ben.

Temper pointed with one of his huge swords. ‘You didn't close the fucking door.'

‘I'll be right back.'

They watched the wizard hurry back to the Deadhouse.

Temper turned to Kalam. ‘He never fooled me, you know. I don't know what Whiskeyjack was thinking.'

‘You smell of Coop's Ale,' said Kalam. ‘I'm thirsty. Listen, Minala – when Quick gets back, tell him—'

‘Don't even try,' she said in a growl. ‘Besides, here he comes.'

‘Done,' said Quick Ben when he returned. His teeth flashed white as he smiled.

Temper slid his weapons back into their sheaths. ‘I suppose I don't really need to say this to any of you. But…don't come back. We like it sleepy here. I see any of you again…'

Quick Ben's smile vanished and he sighed and shook his head. ‘Temper, you should've bolted to the Bridgeburners when you had the chance.'

‘I hear they're all dead.'

The wizard swung atop his ethereal horse and grinned down. ‘Exactly.'

Examining the natty gelding Minala had found for him, Kalam glanced over. ‘Do you like being retired, Temper? No, it's an honest question. Do you like it?'

‘Night like this…seeing you all eager to ride out…into serious trouble, no doubt…aye, Assassin, I like it. And if you want to do the same, I'll stand you a tankard of Coop's in yonder inn, before throwing you into the harbour.'

‘I'll get back to you on that,' Kalam replied, mounting up. He looked across to Minala, and then Quick Ben. ‘All right, unless these horses can run on water, someone needs to crack open a warren.'

‘Well,' said Quick Ben, ‘mine can.'

‘Smug as ever, I see.'

‘In any case, warrens are my business—'

‘And how's business?' Kalam asked.

‘Awful. But that's all about to change.'

‘Really? How?'

‘Gods below, Kalam. Because I'm back, that's why. Now stop talking and leave me to it, will you?'

 

When the three riders were gone, and the tattered wisps of foul-smelling smoke had drifted away, Temper swung round, stepped back into the gloom of the alley, and studied the wraith-like figure standing amidst the rubbish. ‘Old loyalties,' he said. ‘The only reason I let them go. The Deadhouse isn't a damned toll booth, Emperor.'

A cane cracked its silver heel hard on the grimy stones. ‘Emperor? I left that behind long ago. And as for the days when I gave kindly advice, well, they never existed. But for this once, and for you alone, Temper, a word of caution. Watch how you talk to gods, mortal, lest they…' he suddenly giggled, ‘take umbrage.'

Temper grunted, said nothing for a dozen heartbeats, and then: ‘Umbrage…huh.' He turned to leave, and Shadowthrone struck the cobbles again. The huge warrior paused, looked over.

Shadowthrone hissed. ‘Well? Is that it?'

‘Is what it?'

‘That's all you have to say? This is a momentous scene, you fat fool! This is where everything really, truly, finally begins! So squeeze the ale from your brain, mortal, and say something worthy of your kind. You stand before a god! Speak your eloquence for all posterity. Be profound!'