‘She’d never have settled for the scholarly route?’
‘Generally speaking, people useless at everything else become academics.’
‘My thoughts inexactly, Bugg. Now, I must ask, what’s wrong?’
‘Wrong?’
‘We’ve known each other for a long time,’ said Tehol. ‘My senses are exquisitely honed for reading the finest nuances in your mood. I have few talents but I do assert, howsoever immodestly, that I possess exceptional ability in taking your measure.’
‘Well,’ sighed Bugg, ‘I am impressed. How could you tell I’m upset?’
‘Apart from besmirching my wife, you mean?’
‘Yes, apart from that.’
Tehol nodded towards the pot Bugg was holding, and so he looked down, only to discover that it was no longer a pot, but a mangled heap of tortured metal. Sighing again, he let it drop to the floor. The thud echoed in the chamber.
‘It’s the subtle details,’ said Tehol, smoothing out the creases in his Royal Blanket. ‘Something worth saying to my wife … casually, of course, in passing. Swift passing, as in headlong flight, since she’ll be armed with vicious fishbone needles.’
‘The Malazans,’ said Bugg. ‘Or, rather, one Malazan. With a version of the Tiles in his sweaty hands. A potent version, and this man is no charlatan. He’s an adept. Terrifyingly so.’
‘And he’s about to cast the Tiles?’
‘Wooden cards. The rest of the world’s moved on from Tiles, sire. They call it the Deck of Dragons.’
‘Dragons? What dragons?’
‘Don’t ask.’
‘Well, is there nowhere you can, um, hide, O wretched and miserable Elder God?’
Bugg made a sour face. ‘Not likely. I’m not the only problem, however. There’s the Errant.’
‘He’s still here? He’s not been seen for months—’
‘The Deck poses a threat to him. He may object to its unveiling. He may do something … precipitous.’
‘Hmm. The Malazans are our guests, and accordingly if they are at risk, it behoves us to protect them or, failing that, warn them. If that doesn’t work, we can always run away.’
‘Yes, sire, that might be wise.’
‘Running away?’
‘No, a warning.’
‘I shall send Brys.’
‘Poor Brys.’
‘Now, that’s not my fault, is it? Poor Brys, exactly. It’s high time he started earning his title, whatever it is, which at the moment escapes me. It’s that bureaucratic mindset of his that’s so infuriating. He hides in the very obscurity of his office. A faceless peon, dodging this way and that whenever responsibility comes a-knocking at his door. Yes, I’ve had my fill of the man, brother or not—’
‘Sire, you put Brys in charge of the army.’
‘Did I? Of course I did. Let’s see him hide now!’
‘He’s waiting for you in the throne room.’
‘Well, he’s no fool. He knows when he’s cornered.’
‘Rucket is there, too,’ said Bugg, ‘with a petition from the Rat Catchers’ Guild.’
‘A petition? For what, more rats? On your feet, old friend, the time has come to meet our public. This whole kingship thing is a real bother. Spectacles, parades, tens of thousands of adoring subjects—’
‘You’ve not had any spectacles or parades, sire.’
‘And still they adore me.’
Bugg rose and preceded King Tehol across the chamber, through the door, and into the throne room.
The only people awaiting them were Brys, Rucket and Queen Janath. Tehol edged closer to Bugg as they ascended the dais. ‘See Rucket? See the adoration? What did I tell you?’
The King sat down on the throne, smiled at the Queen who was already seated in a matching throne to his left, and then leaned back and stretched out his legs—
‘Don’t do that, brother,’ advised Brys. ‘The view from here …’
Tehol straightened. ‘Oops, most royally.’
‘About that,’ said Rucket.
‘I see with relief that you’ve shed countless stones of weight, Rucket. Most becoming. About what?’
‘That adoration bit you whispered to Bugg.’
‘I thought you had a petition?’
‘I want to sleep with you. I want you to cheat on your wife, Tehol. With me.’
‘That’s your petition?’
‘What’s wrong with it?’
Queen Janath spoke. ‘It can’t be cheating. Cheating would be behind my back. Deceit, deception, betrayal. I happen to be sitting right here, Rucket.’
‘Precisely,’ Rucket replied, ‘let’s do without such grim details. Free love for all,’ and she smiled up at Tehol. ‘Specifically, you and me, sire. Well, not entirely free, since I expect you to buy me dinner.’
‘I can’t,’ said Tehol. ‘Nobody wants my money any more, now that I actually have some, and isn’t that always the way? Besides, a public dalliance by the King? What sort of example would that set?’
‘You wear a blanket,’ Rucket pointed out. ‘What kind of example is that?’
‘Why, one of airy aplomb.’
Her brows lifted. ‘Most would view your aired aplomb with horror, sire. But not,’ she added with a winning smile, ‘me.’
‘Gods below,’ Janath sighed, rubbing at her brow.
‘What sort of petition is this?’ Tehol demanded. ‘You’re not here representing the Rat Catchers’ Guild at all, are you?’
‘Actually, I am. To further cement our ties. As everyone knows, sex is the glue that holds society together, so I figured—’
‘Sex? Glue?’ Tehol sat forward. ‘Now I’m intrigued. But let’s put that aside for the moment. Bugg, prepare a proclamation. The King shall have sex with every powerful woman in the city, assuming she can be definitively determined to actually be a woman—we’ll need to devise some sort of gauge, get the Royal Engineers on it.’
‘Why stop with powerful women?’ Janath asked her husband. ‘Don’t forget the power that exists in a household, after all. And what about a similar proclamation for the Queen?’
Bugg said, ‘There was a tribe once where the chief and his wife had the privilege of bedding imminent brides and grooms the night before the marriage.’
‘Really?’
‘No, sire,’ admitted Bugg, ‘I just made that up.’
‘I can write it into our histories if you like,’ said Janath in barely concealed excitement.
Tehol made a face. ‘My wife becomes unseemly.’
‘Just tossing my coin into this treasure trove of sordid idiocy, beloved. Rucket, you and I need to sit down and have a little talk.’
‘I never talk with the other woman,’ pronounced Rucket, standing straighter and lifting her chin.
Tehol slapped his hands. ‘Well, another meeting done! What shall we do now? I’m for bed.’ And then, with a quick glance at Janath, ‘In the company of my dearest wife, of course.’
‘We haven’t even had supper yet, husband.’
‘Supper in bed! We can invite—oh, scratch that.’
Brys stepped forward. ‘About the army.’
‘Oh, it’s always about the army with you. Order more boots.’
‘That’s just it—I need more money.’
‘Bugg, give him more money.’
‘How much, sire?’
‘Whatever he needs for the boots and whatnot.’
‘It’s not boots,’ said Brys. ‘It’s training.’
‘They’re going to train without boots? Extraordinary.’
‘I want to make use of these Malazans quartered in our city. These “marines.” And their tactics. I want to reinvent the entire Letherii military. I want to hire the Malazan sergeants.’
‘And does their Adjunct find this acceptable?’
‘She does. Her soldiers are getting bored and that’s not good.’
‘I imagine not. Do we know when they’re leaving?’
Brys frowned. ‘You’re asking me?
Why not ask her?’
‘Ah, the agenda is set for the next meeting, then.’
‘Shall I inform the Adjunct?’ Bugg asked.
Tehol rubbed his chin, and then nodded. ‘That would be wise, yes, Bugg. Very wise. Well done.’
‘What about my petition?’ demanded Rucket. ‘I got dressed up and everything!’
‘I will take it under advisement.’
‘Great. How about a Royal Kiss in the meantime?’
Tehol fidgeted on his throne.
‘Airy aplomb shrinking, husband? Clearly, it knows better than you that there are limits to my forbearance.’
‘Well,’ said Rucket, ‘what about a Royal Squeeze?’
‘There’s an idea,’ said Bugg, ‘raise the taxes. On guilds.’
‘Fine,’ snapped Rucket, ‘I’m leaving. Another petition rejected by the King. Making the mob ever more restive.’
‘What mob?’ Tehol asked.
‘The one I’m about to assemble.’
‘You wouldn’t.’
‘A woman scorned, ’tis a dangerous thing, sire.’
‘Oh, give her a kiss and squeeze, husband. I’ll avert my eyes.’
Tehol leapt to his feet, and then quickly sat back down. ‘In a moment,’ he gasped.
‘Gives a new meaning to regal bearing,’ commented Bugg.
But Rucket was smiling. ‘Let’s just take that as a promissory note.’
‘And the mob?’ asked Bugg.
‘Miraculously dispersed in a dreamy sigh, O Chancellor, or whatever you are.’
‘I’m the Royal Engineers—yes, all of them. Oh, and Treasurer.’
‘And Spittoon Mangler,’ Tehol added.
The others frowned.
Bugg scowled at Tehol. ‘I’d been pleasantly distracted until you said that.’
‘Is something wrong?’ Brys asked.
‘Ah, brother,’ Tehol said, ‘we need to send you to the Adjunct—with a warning.’
‘Oh?’
‘Bugg?’
‘I’ll walk you out, Brys.’
After the two had left, Tehol glanced at Janath, and then at Rucket, and found them both still frowning. ‘What?’
‘Something we should know?’ Janath asked.
‘Yes,’ added Rucket, ‘on behalf of the Rat Catchers’ Guild, I mean.’
‘Not really,’ Tehol replied. ‘A minor matter, I assure you. Something to do with threatened gods and devastating divinations. Now, I’m ready to try for my kiss and squeeze—no, wait. Some deep breathing first. Give me a moment—yes, no, wait.’
‘Shall I talk about my embroidery?’ Janath asked.
‘Yes, that sounds perfect. Do proceed. Be right there, Rucket.’
Lieutenant Pores opened his eyes. Or tried to, only to find them mostly swollen shut. But through the blurry slits he made out a figure hovering over him. A Nathii face, looking thoughtful.
‘You recognize me?’ the Nathii asked.
Pores tried to speak, but someone had bound his jaw tight. He nodded, only to find his neck was twice the normal size. Either that, he considered, or his head had shrunk.
‘Mulvan Dreader,’ the Nathii said. ‘Squad healer. You’ll live.’ He leaned back and said to someone else, ‘He’ll live, sir. Won’t be much use for a few days, though.’
Captain Kindly loomed into view, his face—consisting entirely of pinched features—its usual expressionless self. ‘For this, Lieutenant Pores, you’re going up on report. Criminal stupidity unbecoming to an officer.’
‘Bet there’s a stack a those,’ muttered the healer as he moved to depart.
‘Did you say something, soldier?’
‘No, sir.’
‘Must be my poor hearing, then.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Are you suggesting I have poor hearing, soldier?’
‘No, sir!’
‘I am certain you did.’
‘Your hearing is perfect, Captain, I’m sure of it. And that’s, uh, a healer’s assessment.’
‘Tell me,’ said Captain Kindly, ‘is there a cure for thinning hair?’
‘Sir? Well, of course.’
‘What is it?’
‘Shave your head. Sir.’
‘It looks to me as though you don’t have enough things to do, Healer. Therefore, proceed through the squads of your company to mend any and every ailment they describe. Oh, delouse the lot besides, and check for blood blisters on the testicles of the men—I am certain that’s a dread sign of something awry.’
‘Blood blisters, sir? On the testicles?’
‘The flaw in hearing seems to be yours, not mine.’
‘Uh, nothing dread or awry, sir. Just don’t pop ’em, they bleed like demons. Comes with too much riding, sir.’
‘Indeed.’
…
‘Healer, why are you still standing there?’
‘Sorry, sir, on my way!’
‘I shall expect a detailed report on the condition of your fellow soldiers.’
‘Aye, sir! Testicular inspection, here I go.’
Kindly leaned forward again and studied Pores. ‘You can’t even talk, can you? Unexpected mercy there. Six black wasp stings. You should be dead. Why aren’t you? Never mind. Presumably, you’ve lost the two runts. Now I’ll need to unchain that cattle-dog to find them. Tonight of all nights. Recover quickly, Lieutenant, so I can thrash your hide.’
Outside the dormitory, Mulvan Dreader paused for a moment, and then set off at a swift pace to rejoin his companions in an adjoining dorm. He entered the chamber, scanned the various soldiers lounging on cots or tossing knuckles, until he spied the wizened black face of Nep Furrow barely visible between two cots,
whereupon he marched up to the Dal Honese shaman, who was sitting crosslegged with a nasty smile on his lips.
‘I know what you done, Nep!’
‘Eh? Eggit’way fra meen!’
‘You’ve been cursin’ Kindly, haven’t you? Blood blisters on his balls!’
Nep Furrow cackled. ‘Black blibbery spoots, hah!’
‘Stop it—stop what you’re doing, damn you!’
‘Too laber! Dey doan gee’way!’
‘Maybe he should find out who’s behind it—’
‘Doan deedat! Pig! Nathii frup pahl! Voo booth voo booth!’
Mulvan Dreader stared down at the man, uncomprehending. He cast a beseeching glance over at Strap Mull the next cot along. ‘What did he just say?’
The other Dal Honese was lying on his back, hands behind his head. ‘Hood knows, some shaman tongue, I expect.’ And then added, ‘Curses, I’d wager.’
The Nathii glared back down at Nep Furrow. ‘Curse me and I’ll boil your bones, y’damned prune. Now, leave off Kindly, or I’ll tell Badan.’
‘Beedan nar’ere, izzee?’
‘When he gets back.’
‘Pahl!’
No one could claim that Preda Norlo Trumb was the most perceptive of individuals, and the half-dozen Letherii guards under his command, who stood in a twitching clump behind the Preda, were now faced with the very real possibility that Trumb’s stupidity was going to cost them their lives.
Norlo was scowling belligerently at the dozen or so riders. ‘War is war,’ he insisted, ‘and we were at war. People died, didn’t they? That kind of thing doesn’t go unpunished.’
The black-skinned sergeant made some small gesture with one gloved hand and crossbows were levelled. In rough Letherii he said, ‘One more time. Last time. They alive?’
‘Of course they’re alive,’ Norlo Trumb said with a snort. ‘We do things properly here. But they’ve been sentenced, you see. To death. We’ve just been waiting for an officer of the Royal Advocate to come by and stamp the seal on the orders.’
‘No seal,’ said the sergeant. ‘No death. Let them go. We take now.’
‘Even if their crimes were commuted,’ the Preda replied, ‘I’d still need a seal to release them.’
‘Let them go now. Or we kill you all.’
The Preda stared, and then turned back to his unit. ‘Draw your weapons,’ he snapped.
‘Not a chance,’ said gate-guard Fifid. ‘Sir. We even twitch towards our swords and we’re dead.’
Norlo Trumb’s face darkened in the lantern light. ‘You’ve just earned a court-martial, Fifid—’
‘At least I’ll be breathing, sir.’
‘And the rest of you?’
None of the other guards spoke. Nor did they draw their swords.
‘Get them,’ growled the sergeant from where he sat slouched on his horse. ‘No more nice.’
‘Listen to this confounded ignorant foreigner!’ Norlo Trumb turned back to the Malazan sergeant. ‘I intend to make an official protest straight to the Royal Court,’ he said. ‘And you will answer to the charges—’
‘Get.’
And to the left of the sergeant a young, oddly effeminate warrior slipped down from his horse and settled hands on the grips of two enormous falchions of some sort. His languid, dark eyes looked almost sleepy.
At last, something shivered up Trumb’s spine to curl worm-like on the back of his neck. He licked suddenly dry lips. ‘Spanserd, guide this Malazan, uh, warrior, to the cells.’
‘And?’ the guard asked.
‘And release the prisoners, of course!’
‘Yes, sir!’
Sergeant Badan Gruk allowed himself the barest of sighs—not enough to be visible to anyone—and watched with relief as the Letherii guard led Skulldeath towards the gaol-block lining one wall of the garrison compound.
The other marines sat motionless on their horses, but their tension was a stink in Badan’s nostrils, and under his hauberk sweat ran in streams. No, he’d not wanted any sort of trouble. Especially not a bloodbath. But this damned shrew-brained Preda had made it close. His heart thumped loud in his chest and he forced himself to glance back at his soldiers. Ruffle’s round face was pink and damp, but she offered him a wink before angling her crossbow upward and resting the stock’s butt on one soft thigh. Reliko was cradling his own crossbow in one arm while the other arm was stretched out to stay Vastly Blank, who’d evidently realized—finally—that there’d been trouble here in the compound, and now looked ready to start killing Letherii—once he was pointed in the right direction. Skim and Honey were side by side, their heavy assault crossbows aimed with unwavering precision at the Preda’s chest—a detail the man seemed too stupid to comprehend. The other heavies remained in the background, in ill mood for having been rousted from another drunken night in Letheras.
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