The Complete Malazan Book of the Fallen (914 page)

‘Never been there,' Torvald Nom said, hastily, licking his lips. ‘But the tales of the, er, the ones hired to oust the Malazan Fist…and, er, what happened afterwards—'

‘Outrageous lies,' said Lazan Door in his breathy, wispy voice, ‘such as are invariably perpetrated by those with a vested interest in the illusion of righteousness. All lies, Captain. Foul, despicable, ruinous lies. I assure you we completed our task, even unto pursuing the Fist and his cadre into the very heart of a mountain—'

‘You and Madrun Badrun, you mean. Studious Lock, on the other hand, was…' And only then did Torvald Nom decide that he probably shouldn't be speaking, probably shouldn't be revealing quite the extent of his knowledge. ‘The tale I heard,' he added, ‘was garbled, second and maybe even third hand, a jumble of details and who can separate truth from fancy in such things?'

‘Who indeed,' said the castellan with another wave of one hand. ‘Captain, we must trust that the subject of our past misadventures will not arise again, in any company and in particular that of our two intrepid gate guards.'

‘The subject is now and for ever more closed,' affirmed Torvald Nom. ‘Well, I'd best get to my office. To work on, um, shift scheduling – it seems we now have our night shift pretty much filled. As for the daytime—'

‘As stated earlier,' cut in the castellan, ‘the necessity for armed vigilance during the day is simply nonexistent. Risk assessment and so forth. No, Captain, we have no need for more guards. Four will suffice.'

‘Good, that will make scheduling easier. Now, it was a pleasure meeting you, Lazan Door, Madrun Badrun.' And, with disciplined march, Torvald Nom crossed the compound, making for his tiny office in the barracks annexe. Where he shut the flimsy door and sat down in the chair behind the desk which, in order to reach it, demanded that he climb over the desk itself. Slumping down, hands holding up his head, he sat. Sweating.

Was Lady Varada aware of any of this…this background, back there where the ground still steamed with blood and worse? Well, she'd hired Studlock, hadn't she? But that didn't mean anything, did it? He'd crunched down his name, and even that name wasn't his real name, just something the idiots in One Eye Cat gave him, same as Madrun Badrun. As for Lazan Door, well, that one might be real, original even. And only one of them was wearing a mask and that mask was some local make, generic, not painted with any relevant sigils or whatever. So, she might not know a thing! She might be completely blind, unsuspecting, unaware, unprepared, uneverything!

He climbed back over his desk, straightened and smoothed out his clothing as best he could. It shouldn't be so hard, the captain seeking audience with the Mistress. Perfectly reasonable. Except that the official route was through the castellan, and that wouldn't do. No, he needed to be cleverer than that. In fact, he needed to…
break in
.

More sweat, sudden, chilling him as he stood between the desk and the office door, a span barely wide enough to turn round in.

So, Lazan Door and Madrun Badrun would be patrolling the compound. And Studious Lock the Landless, well, he'd be in his own office, there on the main floor. Or even in his private chambers, sitting there slowly unravelling or undressing or whatever one wanted to call it.

There was a window on the back wall of the annexe. Plain shutters and simple inside latch. From there he could clamber on to the roof, which was close enough to the side wall of the main building to enable him to leap across and maybe find a handhold or two, and then he could scramble up to the next and final level, where dwelt the Lady. It was still early so she wouldn't be asleep or in any particular state of undress.

Still, how would she react to her captain's intruding so on her privacy? Well, he could explain he was testing the innermost security of the estate (and, in finding it so lacking, why, he could press for hiring yet more guards. Normal, reasonable, sane guards this time. No mass murderers. No sadists. No one whose humanness was questionable and open to interpretation. He could, then, provide a subtle counterbalance to the guards they already had).

It all sounded very reasonable, and diligent, as befitted a captain.

He worked his way round and opened the office door. Leaned out to make sure the barracks remained empty – of course it did, they were out there guarding things! He padded across to the back window. Unlatched it and eased out the shutters. Another quick, darting look, outside this time. Estate wall not ten paces opposite. Main building to his left, stables to his right. Was this area part of their rounds? It certainly should be. Well, if he moved fast enough, right this moment—

Hitching himself up on to the window sill, Torvald Nom edged out and reached up for the eaves-trough. He tested his weight on it and, satisfied at the modest creak, quickly pulled himself up and on to the sloped roof. Reached back down and carefully closed the shutters.

He rolled on to his back and waited. He'd wait, yes, until the two monsters tramped past.

The clay tiles dug into his shoulder blades. Was that the scuff of boots? Was that the whisper of linen sweeping the cobbles? Was that – no, it wasn't, he wasn't hearing a damned thing. Where had his damned compound guards gone? He sat up, crept his way to the peak of the roof. Peered out on to the grounds – and there they were, playing dice against the wall to one side of the gate.

He could fire them for that! Why, even Studlock wouldn't be able to—

And there
he
was, Studious himself, floating across towards his two cohorts. And his voice drifted back to Torvald Nom.

‘Any change in the knuckles, Lazan?'

‘Oh yes,' the man replied. ‘Getting worse. Options fast diminishing.'

‘How unfortunate.'

Madrun Badrun grunted and then said, ‘We had our chance. Go north or go south. We should've gone north.'

‘That would not work, as you well know,' said Studious Lock. ‘Where are your masks?'

Lazan Door flung the bone dice against the wall again, bent to study the results.

‘We tossed 'em,' answered Madrun.

‘Make new ones.'

‘We don't want to, Studious, we really don't.'

‘That goes without saying, but it changes nothing.'

Oh, Torvald suspected he could crouch here and listen to the idiots all night. Instead, he needed to take advantage of their carelessness. He eased back down the slope of the roof, lifted himself into a crouch, and eyed the main building – and, look, a balcony. Well, that wasn't wise, was it?

Now, could he make the leap without making any noise? Of course he could – he'd been a thief for years, a successful thief, too, if not for all the arrests and fines and prison time and slavery and the like. He paused, gauging the distance, deciding which part of the rail he'd reach for, then launched himself across the gap.

Success! And virtually no noise at all. He dangled for a moment, then pulled himself on to the balcony. It was narrow and crowded with clay pots snarled with dead plants. Now, he could work the locks and slip in on this floor, taking the inside route to the level above. That would be simplest, wouldn't it? Riskier scaling the outside wall, where a chance glance from any of the three fools still jabbering away just inside the gate might alight upon him. And the last thing he wanted was to see any of them draw swords (not that he recalled seeing them wearing any).

He tested the balcony door. Unlocked! Oh, things would indeed have to change. Why, he could just saunter inside and find himself—

‘Please, Captain, take a seat.'

She was lounging in a plush chair, barely visible in the dark room. Veiled? Yes, veiled. Dressed in some long loose thing, silk perhaps. One long-fingered hand, snug in a grey leather glove, held a goblet. There was a matching chair opposite her.

‘Pour yourself some wine – yes, there on the table. The failure of that route, from the roof of the annexe, is that the roof is entirely visible from the window of any room on this side of the house. I assume, Captain, you were either testing the security of the estate, or that you wished to speak with me in private. Any other alternatives, alas, would be unfortunate.'

‘Indeed, Mistress. And yes, I was testing…things. And yes,' he added as, summoning as much aplomb as he could manage, he went over to pour himself a goblet full of the amber wine, ‘I wished to speak with you in private. Concerning your castellan and the two new compound guards.'

‘Do they seem…excessive?'

‘That's one way of putting it.'

‘I would not want to be discouraging.'

He sat down. ‘Discouraging, Mistress?'

‘Tell me, are my two gate guards as incompetent as they appear to be?'

‘That would be quite an achievement, Mistress.'

‘It would, yes.'

‘It may surprise you,' Torvald Nom said, ‘but they actually possess a nasty streak. And considerable experience. They have been caravan guards, enforcers, Guild thugs and bounty hunters. It's the formality of this present job that has them so…awkward. They will adjust in time.'

‘Not too well, I hope.'

All right, Torvald Nom decided, she was talking about something and he had no idea what that something was. ‘Mistress, regarding Studlock, Lazan and Madrun—'

‘Captain, I understand you are estranged from House Nom. That is unfortunate. I always advise that such past errors be mended whenever possible. Reconciliation is essential to well-being.'

‘I will give that some thought, Mistress.'

‘Do so. Now, please make your way out using the stairs. Inform the castellan that I wish to speak to him – no, there will be no repercussions regarding your seeking a private conversation with me. In fact, I am heartened by your concern. Loyalty was ever the foremost trait of the family Nom. Oh, now, do finish your wine, Captain.'

He did, rather quickly. Then walked over and locked the balcony doors. A bow to Lady Varada, and then out into the corridor, closing the door behind him. A moment to figure out where the stairs were, and, feeling slightly numbed – was it the wine? No, it wasn't the wine – he descended to the ground floor and out through the formal entrance, striding across the compound to where stood the castellan and his two friends.

‘Castellan Studlock,' Torvald Nom called out, pleased to see how all three looked up guiltily from their game. ‘The Mistress wishes to see you immediately.'

‘Oh? Of course. Thank you, Captain.'

Torvald watched him flit away, and then turned to Lazan Door and Madrun. ‘Interesting technique you have here. I feel the need to describe your duties, since it appears the castellan forgot to. You are to patrol the compound, preferably at random intervals, employing a variety of routes to ensure that you avoid predictability. Be especially mindful of unlit areas, although I do not recommend you carry torches or lanterns. Any questions?'

Madrun was smiling. He bowed. ‘Sound instruction, Captain, thank you. We shall commence our duties immediately. Lazan, collect up your scrying dice. We must attend to the necessary formalities of diligent patrol.'

Scrying dice? Gods below.
‘Is it wise,' he asked, ‘to rely upon the hoary gods to determine the night's flavour?'

Lazan Door cleared his throat then bared his metal fangs. ‘As you say, Captain. Divination is ever an imprecise science. We shall be sure to avoid relying overmuch on such things.'

‘Er, right. Good, well, I'll be in my office, then.'

‘Again,' Madrun said, his smile broadening.

There was, Torvald decided as he walked away, nothing pleasant about that smile. About either of their smiles, in fact. Or anything else about those two. Or Studious Lock, for that matter –
Blood Drinker, Bile Spitter, Poisoner, oh, they had so many names for that one. How soon before he earns a few more? And Madrun Badrun? And Lazan Door? What is Lady Varada up to?

Never mind, never mind. He had an office, after all. And once he crawled over the desk and settled down in the chair, why, he felt almost important.

The sensation lasted a few heartbeats, which was actually something of an achievement. Any few precious moments, yes, of not thinking about those three. Any at all.

Make new masks – now why should they do that? Renegade Seguleh are renegade – they can't ever go back. Supposedly, but then, what do any of us really know about the Seguleh? Make new masks, he said to them. Why?

What's wrong with normal advice? Wash that robe, Lazan Door, before the spiders start laying eggs. Choose no more than two colours, Madrun, and not ones that clash. Please. And what's with those moccasins?

Masks? Never mind the masks.

His stomach gurgled and he felt another rise of bilious gas. ‘
Always chew your food, Tor, why such a hurry? There's plenty of daylight left to play. Chew, Tor, chew! Nice and slow, like a cow, yes. This way nothing will disagree with you. Nothing disagrees with cows, after all
.'

So true, at least until the axe swings down.

He sat in his office, squeezed in behind the desk, in a most disagreeable state.

 

‘She's poisoning him, is my guess.'

Scorch stared, as if amazed at such a suggestion. ‘Why would she do that?'

‘Because of you,' said Leff. ‘She hates you, Scorch, because of the way you always got Tor into trouble, and now she thinks you're going to do it all over again, so that's why she's poisoning him.'

‘That don't make any sense. If she was worried she wouldn't be killing him!'

‘Not killing, just making sickly. You forget, she's a witch, she can do things like that. Of course, she'd do better by poisoning you.'

‘I ain't touching nothing she cooks, that's for sure.'

‘It won't help if she decides you're better off dead, Scorch. Gods, I am so glad I'm not you.'