The Complete Malazan Book of the Fallen

by Steven Erikson

  ‘One possibility occurs to me,’ Raest said. ‘It would, I suspect, require that one of you be an adept with the Deck of Dragons. Or possessing the potential thereof.’

  ‘I see,’ said Picker. ‘Well, I’ve had a few brushes with the Deck.’

  ‘You are an illustrator of Decks?’

  ‘What? Oh, not that kind of brush. I mean, I’ve had my hands on ’em a few times.’

  ‘Did such contact leave you damaged, Corporal Picker?’

  ‘Damaged how?’

  ‘Are you, perhaps, now insane?’

  She sat upright. ‘Hang on, how in Hood’s name would I even know if I was insane or not?’

  ‘Precisely,’ said Raest, and waited.

  Antsy’s gaze fixed once more on the Jaghut. ‘Pick,’ he finally growled.

  She twisted to face him in exasperation. ‘What is it now, Antsy?’

  ‘This bastard’s having us on.’

  Her eyes bulged momentarily, and then she looked once more at the Jaghut.

  Who shrugged. ‘One needs to amuse oneself on occasion. Company is so very rare these days.’

  ‘So when it arrives,’ Antsy snapped, ‘you treat it like dirt? Do you think maybe there’s a connection atwixt the two, you hoary lich?’

  ‘Like dirt? I think not. More like…with amiable contempt.’

  ‘You got a few things to learn about people, Jaghut.’

  ‘Undoubtedly, Sergeant Antsy. Alas, I find myself disinclined to make any effort in that direction.’

  ‘Oh? And what direction do you make your efforts in?’

  ‘When I discover one I will let you know, if it proves of any interest – to either me or, of course, you. In the meantime, I have no idea if communication is possible with Ganoes Paran. Perhaps if you informed me of your present crisis, I might be able to assist you in some way that does not involve precipitous, desperate acts that might ultimately inconvenience me.’

  ‘Hood forbid we do that,’ snarled Antsy.

  ‘Hood is not one to forbid much of anything,’ Raest observed.

  ‘Can’t think he much likes these Azath Houses,’ Picker said, having recovered from her shock and irritation and, perhaps, indignation. ‘All this trapping of souls and things like you, Raest.’

  ‘I doubt I rate highly on Hood’s wish list,’ the undead Jaghut replied.

  Antsy grunted a laugh. ‘All right, I’m finally working out your sense of humour. And I thought Malazan marines were dry, Abyss below! Fine, Raest, let’s play this game for real. If you can help us with our problem, we’ll do something for you in return. If it’s within our abilities, that is, so nothing like “get me outa here” or anything like that. But, you know, other stuff.’

  ‘I do have a modest request. Very well, I accept the reciprocal engagement.’

  Antsy grinned across at Picker, and then said to Raest, ‘It’s this. Someone’s taken out a contract on us. We don’t know why. We’re thinking maybe Paran can work out who and what’s got ’em so aggravated.’

  The Jaghut stared.

  Picker cleared her throat. ‘Possible causes. One, we’re Malazans. Veterans. We’ve made more than a few enemies on this continent. Two, we own K’rul’s Bar, which used to be K’rul’s Belfry, which used to be K’rul’s Temple. In the cellar we just found twelve pickled Seguleh, maybe centuries old, but looking fresh. Since they’re, er, pickled.’ She paused, drew a breath, and then continued, ‘Three, well, I ain’t got to three yet. The way I figure it, it’s all got to do with K’rul – maybe some cultists want the temple back. Maybe someone put in an order for pickled Seguleh and wants ’em delivered.’

  Antsy stared at her. ‘Someone did what? Pick, that’s the stupidest idea I’ve ever heard.’

  ‘I wouldn’t argue with that,’ she said, ‘only I’m desperate, and besides, I got a hunch those Seguleh are part of the problem.’

  Antsy looked to Raest. ‘So there it is. Got any suggestions or are you just going to stand there for ever?’

  ‘Yes I am,’ Raest replied, ‘but that detail is not relevant. As for suggestions, I suggest you kill every assassin in the city.’

  ‘Then whoever wants us dead just starts hiring thugs,’ Picker said.

  ‘Kill all thugs.’

  Antsy tugged at his moustache. ‘Ain’t practical. There’s only three of us left – it’d take years.’

  ‘Kidnap the Guild Master and torture him or her to reveal the client. Then kill the client.’

  ‘Killing the client makes sense to us,’ Picker said, nodding. ‘The kidnapping thing doesn’t sound very feasible – we’d have to carve through a few hundred assassins to do it. Besides, we don’t know where the Guild Master’s hideout is. We could capture and torture an assassin to find that out, but they probably operate in cells which means whoever we get might not know a thing. The point is, we don’t know who the client is. We need to find out.’

  Raest said, ‘Your suspicion that the K’rul Temple is central to this matter is probably accurate. Determining the specifics, however, would best be served by enlisting the assistance of the Master of the Deck.’

  ‘That’s what we wanted in the first place!’ Antsy shouted.

  ‘Extraordinary, isn’t it?’

  Antsy glared up at the infuriating lich, bit down a few retorts that might prove unwise. He drew a deep breath to calm himself, and then said in a nice, quiet tone, ‘So let’s see if we can send him a message, shall we?’

  ‘Follow me,’ Raest said.

  Back into the corridor, turning right, five strides to a narrow door on the left that led into the squat round tower, up the spiral staircase, arriving into the upper level – a circular room with the walls bearing oversized painted renditions of the cards of the Deck of Dragons. Something twisted the eye in this chamber and Picker almost staggered.

  ‘Gods below,’ muttered Antsy. ‘This place is magicked – makes me sick to the stomach.’

  The images swirled, blurred, shifted in rippling waves that crossed from every conceivable direction, a clash of convergences inviting vertigo no matter where the eye turned. Picker found herself gasping. She squeezed shut her eyes, heard Antsy cursing as he backed out of the room.

  Raest’s dry voice drifted faintly into her head. ‘The flux has increased. There appears to be some manner of…deterioration. Even so, Corporal Picker, if you focus your mind and concentrate on Ganoes Paran, the efficacy of your will may prove sufficient to anchor in place the Master’s own card, which perhaps will awaken his attention. Unless of course he is otherwise engaged. Should your willpower prove unequal to the task, I am afraid that what remains of your sanity will be torn away. Your mind itself will be shredded by the maelstrom, leaving you a drooling wreck.’ After a moment, he added, ‘Such a state of being may not be desirable. Of course, should you achieve it, you will not care one way or the other, which you may consider a blessing.’

  ‘Well,’ she replied, ‘that’s just great. Give me a moment, will you?’

  She tugged from her memory the captain’s not unpleasant face, sought to fix it before her mind’s eye. Ganoes Paran, pay attention. Captain, wherever you are. This is Corporal Picker, in Darujhistan. Ganoes, I need to talk to you.

  She saw him now, framed as would a card be framed in the Deck of Dragons. She saw that he was wearing a uniform, that of the Malazan soldier he had once been – was that her memory, conjuring up her last sight of him? But no, he looked older. He looked beaten down, smeared in dust. Spatters of dried blood on his scarred leather jerkin. The scene behind him was one of smoke and ruination, the blasted remnants of rolling farmland, tracts defined by low stone walls, but nothing green in sight. She thought she could see bodies on that dead earth.

  Paran’s gaze seemed to sharpen on her. She saw his mouth move but no sound reached her.

  Ganoes! Captain – listen, just concentrate back on me.

  ‘—not the time, Corporal. We’ve landed in a mess. But listen, if you can get word to them, try. Warn them, Pic
ker. Warn them off.’

  Captain – someone’s after the temple – K’rul’s Temple. Someone’s trying to kill us—

  ‘—jhistan can take care of itself, Pick. Baruk knows what to do – trust him. You need to find out who wants it. Talk to Kruppe. Talk to the Eel. But listen – pass on my warning, please.’

  Pass it on to who? Who are you talking about, Captain? And what was that about Kruppe?

  The image shredded before her eyes, and she felt something like claws tear into her mind. Screaming, she sought to reel back, pull away. The claws sank deeper, and all at once Picker realized that there was intent, there was malice. Something had arrived, and it wanted her.

  Shrieking, she felt herself being dragged forward, into a swirling madness, into the maw of something vast and hungry, something that wanted to feed on her. For a long, long time, until her soul was gone, devoured, until nothing of her was left.

  Pressure and darkness on all sides, ripping into her. She could not move.

  In the midst of the savage chaos, she felt and heard the arrival of a third presence, a force flowing like a beast to draw up near her – she sensed sudden attention, a cold-eyed regard, and a voice murmured close, ‘Not here. Not now. There were torcs once, that you carried. There was a debt, still unpaid. Not now. Not here.’

  The beast pounced.

  Whatever had grasped hold of Picker, whatever was now feeding on her, suddenly roared in pain, in fury, and the claws tore free, slashed against its new attacker.

  Snarls, the air trembling to thunder as two leviathans clashed.

  Dwarfed, forgotten, small as an ant, Picker crawled away, leaking out her life in a crimson trail. She was weeping, shivering in the aftermath of the thing’s feeding. It had been so…intractable, so horribly…indifferent. To who she was, to her right to her own life. My soul…my soul was…food. That’s all. Abyss below—

  She needed to find a way out. All round her chaos swarmed and shivered as the great forces battled on, there in her wake. She needed to tell Antsy things, important things. Kruppe. Baruk. And perhaps the most important detail of all. When they’d walked into the House, she had seen that the two bodies that had been lying on the floor on her last visit were gone. Gone. Two assassins, said Paran.

  And one of them was Vorcan.

  She’s in the city. She’s out there, Antsy—

  Concentrate! The room. In the tower – find the room—

  Crawling, weeping.

  Lost.

  Antsy loosed a dozen curses when Raest dragged Picker’s unconscious body on to the landing. ‘What did you do?’

  ‘Alas,’ the Jaghut said, stepping back as Antsy fell to his knees beside the woman, ‘my warnings of the risk were insufficient.’

  As Antsy set his hand upon Picker’s brow he hissed and snatched it back. ‘She’s ice cold!’

  ‘Yet her heart struggles on,’ Raest said.

  ‘Will she come back? Raest, you damned lich! Will she come back?’

  ‘I don’t know. She spoke, for a time, before the situation…changed. Presumably, she was speaking to Ganoes Paran.’

  ‘What did she say?’

  ‘Questions, for the most part. I was able, however, to glean a single name. Kruppe.’

  Antsy bared his teeth. He set his hand again upon her forehead. Slightly warmer? Possibly, or this time he’d been expecting it, making it less of a shock. Hard to tell which. ‘Help me get her back downstairs,’ he said.

  ‘Of course. And now, in return for my assistance, I will tell you what I seek from you.’

  He glared up at the Jaghut. ‘You can’t be serious.’

  ‘This time, I am, Sergeant Antsy. I wish to have a cat.’

  A cat. ‘To eat?’

  ‘No, as a pet. It will have to be a dead cat, of course. Now, permit me to take her legs, whilst you take her arms. Perhaps some time before the hearth will revive her.’

  ‘Do you think so?’

  ‘No.’

  This had all been his idea, and now look at what had happened. ‘Picker,’ he whispered, ‘I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.’

  ‘A white one,’ said Raest.

  ‘What?’

  ‘A white cat. A dead white cat, Sergeant.’

  Oh, aye, Raest. One stuffed lumpy with cussers. Here, catch, you damned bastard.

  Shit, we’re down to two now. Down to two…

  ‘Never bargain with the dead. They want what you have and will give you what they have to get it. Your life for their death. Being dead, of course, whatever life they grab hold of just ends up slipping through their bony fingers. So you both lose.’

  ‘That is rather generous of you, Hinter,’ said Baruk. ‘In fact, I do not recall you being so loquacious the last time we spoke.’

  The apparition stood within the door frame of the tower. ‘The struggle I face is between my desire to close my ghostly fingers about your throat, High Alchemist, and providing whatever service I can to this fair city. It must also be noted, the return of the Tyrant would also mark the end of what limited freedom I possess, for I would be quickly enslaved. And so, self-interest and altruism prove unlikely allies, yet sufficient to overwhelm my natural murderous urges.’

  ‘The debate is moot,’ Baruk replied, interlacing his fingers and resting his hands on his stomach, ‘since I have no intention of coming within reach of your deadly grasp. No, I will remain here, in the yard.’

  ‘Just as well,’ Hinter replied. ‘I haven’t dusted in centuries.’

  ‘There are forces in the city,’ Baruk said after a moment, ‘formidable, unpredictable forces. The threat—’

  ‘Enough of that,’ Hinter cut in. ‘You know very well why most of those entities are in the city, since you invited them, High Alchemist. And as for the others on the way, well, few of those will surprise you much. They are…necessary. So, an end to your dissembling.’

  ‘Not all of what approaches is my doing,’ Baruk countered. ‘Were you aware that both Lady Envy and Sister Spite are here right now? The daughters of Draconus were not invited, not by me at any rate. One is bad enough, but both…’ he shook his head. ‘I fear they will leave the entire city a smouldering heap of ashes, given the chance.’

  ‘So do something to ensure that does not happen,’ Hinter said airily.

  ‘Any suggestions on that count?’

  ‘None whatsoever.’

  ‘Has either one paid you a visit?’

  ‘You strain my altruism, High Alchemist. Very well, of course Lady Envy has visited, and more than once.’

  ‘Does she know her sister is here?’

  ‘Probably.’

  ‘What does Envy want, Hinter?’

  ‘What she has always wanted, High Alchemist.’

  Baruk hissed under his breath and glanced away. ‘She can’t have it.’

  ‘Then I suggest you pay her sister a visit. She resides aboard—’

  ‘I know where she is, thank you. Now, have you heard of that self-proclaimed High Priest of the Crippled God who’s now squatting in an abandoned Temple of Fener? And leads a congregation growing by the day?’

  ‘No, I have not. But are you surprised?’

  ‘The Fallen God is a most unwelcome complication.’

  ‘The legacy of messing with things not yet fully understood – of course, those precipitous sorcerors all paid with their lives, which prevented everyone else from delivering the kind of punishment they truly deserved. Such things are most frustrating, don’t you think?’

  Baruk’s gaze narrowed on the ghost in the doorway.

  After a moment Hinter waved an ethereal hand. ‘So many…legacies.’

  ‘Point taken, Necromancer. As you can see, however, I am not one to evade responsibility.’

  ‘True, else you would have come within my reach long ago. Or, indeed, chosen a more subtle escape, as did your fellow…mages in the Cabal, the night Vorcan walked the shadows…’

  Baruk stared, and then sighed. ‘I have always wondered at the sudden incomp
etence displayed by my comrades that night. Granted, Vorcan’s skills were – are – impressive.’ And then he fell silent for a moment. And thought about certain matters. ‘Hinter, has Vorcan visited you?’

  ‘No. Why would she?’

  Baruk was suddenly chilled. ‘She made no effort at…discussing anything with me that night.’

  ‘Perhaps she knew how you would respond.’

  ‘As she would have for Derudan as well.’

  ‘No doubt.’

  ‘But the others…’

  Hinter said nothing.

  Baruk felt sick inside. Matters had grown far too complicated in this city. Oh, he had known that they were walking a most narrow bridge, with the yawning abyss below whispering soft invitations of surrender. But it seemed the far end was ever dwindling, stretching away, almost lost in the mists. And every step he took seemed more tenuous than the last, as if at any moment the span beneath him might simply crumble into dust.

  He could understand those others in the Cabal and the sudden, perfect escape that Vorcan represented. And he recalled that flat promise in her eyes on that night long ago now – it still haunted him, the ease of her betrayal, as if the contract offered by the Malazan Empire had simply provided her with an excuse for doing something she had always wanted to do: murder every other mage in the Cabal.

  He might ask her why, but Vorcan was a woman who kept her own counsel. She owed him nothing and that had not changed.

  ‘You had better go now,’ Hinter said, cutting into his thoughts.

  He blinked. ‘Why?’

  ‘Because your silence is boring me, High Alchemist.’

  ‘My apologies, Hinter,’ Baruk replied. ‘One last thing, and then I will indeed leave. The risk of your enslavement is very real, and is not dependent on the actual return of the Tyrant – after all, there are agents in the city even now working towards that fell resurrection. They might well decide—’

  ‘And you imagine they might succeed, High Alchemist?’

  ‘It is a possibility, Hinter.’

  The ghost was silent for a time, and then said, ‘Your solution?’