The Complete Malazan Book of the Fallen (679 page)

Pearl followed, his steps suddenly slowing as soon as he stepped into the room.

Before him, a long T-shaped table. A tribunal arrangement. He found himself at its intersection. A raised chair marked the head, up the length of the axis, and that modest throne was flanked by figures already seated, although they both rose with Laseen's arrival.

Mallick Rel.

And Korbolo Dom.

Pearl struggled to keep the disgust from his face. Immediately before him were the backs of three chairs along the horizontal span. He hesitated. ‘Where, Empress,' he asked, ‘shall I sit?'

Settling into the throne, she regarded him for a moment, then one thin brow rose. ‘Pearl, I do not expect you to be present. After all, you indicated you had no particular interest in seeing the Adjunct again, and so I shall relieve you of that burden.'

‘I see. Then what would you have me do?'

The Jhistal priest on her right cleared his throat, then said, ‘A burdensome but essential mission, Pearl, falls upon you. Organization is required, yes? The dispatch of a Hand, which you will find assembled at the Gate. A solitary killing. A drunkard who frequents Coop's Hanged Man Inn. His name: Banaschar. Thereafter, you may return to your quarters to await further instruction.'

Pearl's eyes remained fixed on the Empress, locked with her own, but she gave nothing away, as if daring him to ask what he so longed to:
Does a Claw take his orders from a Jhistal priest of Mael now? A man delivered here in chains not so long ago?
But, he knew, her silence gave him his answer. He broke his gaze from her and studied Korbolo Dom. The Napan bastard was wearing the regalia of a High Fist. Seeing the man's smug, contemptuous expression, Pearl's palms itched.
Two knives, my favourite ones, slowly slicing that face away – all of it – gods, never mind that – I could bury a blade in his damned throat right now – maybe I'd be fast enough, maybe not. That's the problem. The hidden Claw in this room will take me down, of course, but maybe they're not anticipating…no, don't be a fool, Pearl.
He glanced once more at the Empress and something in her look told him she had comprehended, in full, the desires with which he struggled…and was amused.

Still, he hesitated. Now was the time, he realized, to speak out against this. To seek to convince her that she'd invited two vultures, perched now on each shoulder, and what they hungered for was not the ones who would in a short time be seated before them – no, they wanted the throne they flanked.
And they will kill you, Laseen. They will kill you.

‘You may now go,' Mallick Rel said in a sibilant voice.

‘Empress,' Pearl forced himself to say, ‘please, consider well Tavore's words this night. She is your Adjunct, and nothing has changed that. No-one can change that—'

‘Thank you for the advice, Pearl,' Laseen said.

He opened his mouth to add more, then closed it again. He bowed to his Empress, turned about and strode from the chamber.
And so, Pearl, you fling it into Tavore's lap. All of it. You damned coward.

Still, who killed Lostara Yil? Well, Adjunct, such disregard ever comes home to roost.

So be it. Tonight belonged to them. Korbolo Dom he could take another night, at his leisure, and yes indeed, he would do just that. And maybe that grinning lizard of a priest as well. Why not? Topper was missing, probably dead. So, Pearl would act, in the name of the empire. Not in Laseen's name, but in the empire's, and this was one instance – clearer than any other he could think of – where the two loyalties clashed.
But, as ever with the Claw, as with you once, long ago, Empress, the choice is obvious. And necessary.

For all the bravado of his thoughts, as he made his way down to the courtyard, another voice whispered over and over, cutting through again and again. One word, burning like acid, one word…

Coward
.

Scowling, Pearl descended the levels of the keep. A Hand was waiting, to be given the task of assassinating a drunk ex-priest. And in this, as well, Pearl had waited too long. He could have forced things into the open, reached through to Tayschrenn – that bastard had virtually entombed himself, never mind that nest of hidden helpers. Oh, the Imperial High Mage wanted to be close to things.
Just not involved
.

Poor Banaschar, a haunted, befuddled scholar who simply wanted to talk to an old friend. But Mallick Rel did not want Tayschrenn disturbed.
Because the Jhistal priest has plans.

Was Laseen truly a fool? There was no possible way she trusted them. So, what was the value in placing those two men in that chamber? To unbalance Tavore?
Unbalance? More like a slap in the face. Is that really necessary, Empress? Never mind Tavore, you cannot just use men like Mallick Rel and Korbolo Dom. They will turn on you, like the vipers they are.

The risk in unleashing false rumours was when they proved too successful, trapping the liar in the lie, and Pearl began to realize something…a possibility. To ruin the name of Coltaine, that of his enemy must be raised. Korbolo Dom, from traitor to hero. Somehow…
no, I don't want to know the details.
Laseen could not then execute or even imprison a hero, could she? Indeed, she'd have to promote him.
Empress, you have trapped yourself. Now, I cannot believe you are not aware of it
…

His steps slowed. He had reached the main floor, was ten paces from the postern door that would take him out along the base of the wall, a path of shadows leading him to the Gate.

What do you seek to tell your Adjunct, then? The extremity of the danger you are in? Do you ask Tavore…for help? Will she, upon walking into that chamber, be in any condition to see and understand your plea? For Hood's sake, Laseen, this could go very, very wrong.

Pearl halted. He could do what was necessary, right now. Walk to the east tower and kick down Tayschrenn's door. And tell the fool what he needed to hear. He could—

Two hooded figures stepped into view before him. Claws. Both bowed, then the one on the left spoke. ‘Claw, we are informed that our target is ensconced in the Hanged Man Inn. There is a piss trough in the alley behind it, which he will frequent throughout the night.'

‘Yes,' Pearl said, suddenly exhausted. ‘That would be ideal.'

The two cowled figures before him waited.

‘There is more?' Pearl asked.

‘Such matters are for you to command.'

‘What matters?'

‘Sir, killing undesirables.'

‘Yes. Go on.'

‘Just that, sir. This target was delivered to us…from elsewhere. From one who expected unquestioned compliance.'

Pearl's eyes narrowed, then he said, ‘This assassination tonight…you would not accede to it without my direct command.'

‘We seek…affirmation.'

‘Did not the Empress herself confirm the Jhistal's words?'

‘Sir, she did not. She…said nothing.'

‘Yet she was present.'

‘She was.'

Now what am I to make of that?
Was she just feeding out enough rope? Or was she, too, frightened of Tayschrenn and so was pleased to unleash Mallick Rel on Banaschar?
Damn! I don't know enough about all of this.
No choice, then, for now. ‘Very well. The command is given.'

The Claw, Mallick Rel, are not yours. And the Empress has…abstained. No, it seems that, until – or if – Topper returns, the Claw are mine. Convenient as well, Laseen, that you brought six hundred with you
…

The two assassins bowed, then departed through the postern door.

Then again, why did it feel as if he was the one being used? And worse, why did it seem that he no longer cared? No, it was well. Tonight he would not think, simply obey. Tomorrow, well, that was another matter, wasn't it?
Tomorrow, then, I will kick through what's left. And decide what needs to be decided. There you have it, Empress. Tomorrow, the new Clawmaster once more cleans house. And maybe…maybe that is what you ask from me. Or you have asked it already, for it wasn't just the Adjunct for whom you assembled that tribunal, was it? You just gave me command of six hundred assassin-mages, didn't you? What else would they be for?

The truth was, he could not guess the mind of Empress Laseen, and in that he most certainly was not alone.

Nerves slithered awake in his stomach, born of sudden fears he could not comprehend.
Six hundred
…

Face it, Pearl. The Adjunct did not kill Lostara. You did. You sent her away, and she died. And that's that.

But that changes nothing. It makes no real difference what I do now.

Let them all die.

Pearl turned about and made his way to his rooms. To await more orders.
Six hundred killers to unleash…but upon whom?

 

Hellian decided she hated rum. She wanted something else, something not so sweet, something better suited to her nature. It was dark, the wind warm and humid but falling off, and the harbourfront of Malaz seemed to whisper an invitation, like a lover's breath on the back of her neck.

The sergeant stood watching as the
Froth Wolf
moved ahead of the rest of the ships, the
Silanda
following in its wake. Yet, from all around now came the liquid rattle of anchor chains sliding down, and the craft beneath her was tugged to a halt. Staring wildly about, Hellian cursed. ‘Corporal,' she said.

‘Me?' asked Touchy behind her.

‘Me?' asked Brethless.

‘That's right, you. What's going on here? Look, there's soldiers on the jetties, and well-wishers. Why aren't we heading in? They're waving.' Hellian waved back, but it was unlikely they could see that – there were hardly any lights from the fleet at all. ‘Gloom and gloom,' she muttered, ‘like we was some beaten dog creeping home.'

‘Or like it's real late,' Brethless said, ‘and you was never supposed to be with your mother's friend at all especially when Ma knows and she's waiting up with that dented skillet but sometimes, you know, older women, they come at you like a fiend and what can you do?'

‘Not like that at all, you idiot,' Touchy hissed. ‘More like that daughter of that priest and gods below you're running but there ain't no escaping curses like those, not ones from a priest, anyway, which means your life is doomed for ever and ever, as if Burn cares a whit she's sleeping anyway, right?'

Hellian turned round and stared at a space directly between the two men. ‘Listen, Corporal, make up your damned mind, but then again don't bother. I wasn't interested. I was asking you a question, and if you can't answer then don't say nothing.'

The two men exchanged glances, then Brethless shrugged. ‘We ain't disembarking, Sergeant,' he said. ‘Word's just come.'

‘Are they mad? Of course we're disembarking – we've just sailed a million leagues. Five million, even. We been through fires and storms and green lights in the sky and nights with the shakes and broken jaws and that damned rhizan piss they called wine. That's Malaz City there, right there, and that's where I'm going, Corporal Brethy Touchless, and I don't care how many arms you got, I'm going and that's that.' She swung about, walked forward, reached the rail, pitched over and was suddenly gone.

Brethless and Touchy stared at each other again, as a heavy splash sounded.

‘Now what?' Touchy demanded.

‘She's done drowned herself, hasn't she?'

‘We'd better report it to somebody.'

‘We do that and we're in real trouble. We was standing right here, after all. They'll say we pushed her.'

‘But we didn't!'

‘That don't matter. We're not even trying to save her, are we?'

‘I can't swim!'

‘Me neither.'

‘Then we should shout an alarm or something.'

‘You do it.'

‘No, you.'

‘Maybe we should just go below, tell people we went looking for her but we didn't never find her.'

At that they both paused and looked round. A few figures moving in the gloom, sailors doing sailor things.

‘Nobody saw or heard nothing.'

‘Looks like. Well, that's good.'

‘Isn't it. So, we go below now, right? Throw up our hands and say nothing.'

‘Not nothing. We say we couldn't find her nowhere.'

‘Right, that's what I mean. Nothing is what I mean, I mean, about her going over the side, that sort of nothing.'

A new voice from behind them: ‘You two, what are you doing on deck?'

Both corporals turned. ‘Nothing,' they said in unison.

‘Get below, and stay there.'

They hurried off.

 

‘Three ashore,' the young, foppishly attired figure said, his eyes fixed on the knuckle dice where they came to a rest on the weathered stone.

His twin stood facing the distant, looming bulk of Mock's Hold, the night's wind caressing the gaudy silks about her slim form.

‘You see how it plays out?' her brother asked, collecting the dice with a sweep of one hand. ‘Tell me truly, have you any idea – any idea at all – of how mightily I struggled to retain our card during that horrendous game? I'm still weak, dizzy. He wanted to drag us out, again and again and again. It was horrifying.'

‘Heroic indeed,' she murmured without turning.

‘Three ashore,' he said again. ‘How very…unexpected. Do you think that dreadful descent above Otataral Island was responsible? I mean, for the one that's even now on its way?' Straightening, he moved to join his sister.

They were standing on a convenient tower rising from the city of Malaz, south of the river. To most citizens of the city, the tower appeared to be in ruins, but that was an illusion, maintained by the sorceror who occupied its lower chambers, a sorceror who seemed to be sleeping. The twin god and goddess known as Oponn had the platform – and the view – entirely to themselves.