Midnight Tides

by Steven Erikson

  ‘We’ll see…’

  Tehol stared after them, then he swung to Bugg.

  The manservant shrugged. ‘It’s the complexities of the male mind, master.’

  ****

  The rain earlier that day had made the night air blessedly cool. Brys Beddict left the palace by a side postern and proceeded on a circuitous route towards his brother’s residence. Although it was close to midnight, there were plenty of people on the streets.

  He had never felt entirely comfortable in the crowded, sordid maze that was Letheras. The face of wealth stayed mostly hidden, leaving only the ravaged mien of poverty, and that was at times almost overwhelming. Beyond the Indebted were the lost, those who had given up entirely, and among them could be seen not just refugees from annexed tribes, but Letherii as well – more than he would have imagined. For all the explosive growth driving the kingdom, it seemed an ever greater proportion of the population was being left behind, and that was troubling.

  At what point in the history of Letheras, he wondered, did rampant greed become a virtue? The level of self-justification required was staggering in its tautological complexity, and it seemed language itself was its greatest armour against common sense.

  You can’t leave all these people behind. They’re outside the endless excitement and lust, the frenzied accumulation. They’re outside and can only look on with growing despair and envy. What happens when rage supplants helplessness?

  Increasingly, the ranks of the military were filling with the lowest classes. Training, acceptable income and a full belly provided the incentives, yet these soldiers were not enamoured of the civilization they were sworn to defend. True, many of them joined with dreams of booty, of wealth stolen and glory gained. But such riches came only with aggression, and successful aggression at that. What would happen if the military found itself on the defensive? They’ll fight to defend their homes, their loved ones. Of course they will. There’s no cause for worry, is there?

  He swung into the alley leading to Tehol’s home, and heard, somewhere beyond the squalid tenement, the sounds of a fierce argument. Things came crashing down in a cacophony that ended with a shriek.

  Brys hesitated. He could not reach the source of the sounds from this alley, but Tehol’s rooftop might permit him a view down on the opposite street. He went on.

  With the pommel of his knife Brys tapped on the doorframe. There was no reply. He pulled aside the curtain and peered in. A single wavering oil lamp, the faint glow from the hearth, and voices coming down from above.

  Brys entered and climbed the rickety ladder.

  He emerged onto the roof to see Tehol and his manservant standing at the far edge, looking down – presumably on the argument that was still under way.

  ‘Tehol,’ Brys called, approaching. ‘Is this a matter for the city guard?’

  His brother swung about, then shook his head. ‘I don’t think so, brother. A resolution is but moments away. Wouldn’t you agree, Bugg?’

  ‘I think so, since he’s almost out and that old woman’s run out of things to throw.’

  Brys came alongside and looked down. A huge man was busy extricating himself from a pile of dusty rubble, ducking when objects were flung at him by a old woman in the tenement doorway.

  ‘What happened?’ Brys asked.

  ‘An associate of mine,’ Tehol said, ‘jumped onto the roof over there from this one. He landed quietly enough, I suppose. Then the roof gave out, alas. As you can see, he’s a big man.’

  The hapless associate had climbed free at last. It appeared that he had taken most of the wall with him in his descent. It was a miracle that he seemed uninjured. ‘Why was he jumping from your roof, Tehol?’

  ‘It was a dare.’

  ‘Yours?’

  ‘Oh no, I’d never do that.’

  ‘Then who? Surely not your manservant?’

  Bugg sputtered, ‘Me? Most assuredly not, Finadd!’

  ‘Another guest,’ Tehol explained. ‘Who has since gone, although not far, I imagine. Somewhere in the shadows, waiting for dear Ublala.’

  ‘Ublala? Ublala Pung? Oh, yes, I recognize him now. An associate? Tehol, the man’s a criminal—’

  ‘Who proved his innocence in the canal—’

  ‘That’s not innocence,’ Brys retorted, ‘that’s stubborn will.’

  ‘A will that the Errant would surely have weakened were Ublala truly guilty of the crimes of which he had been accused.’

  ‘Tehol, really—’

  His brother faced him, brows raised. ‘Are you, a soldier of the king, casting aspersions on our justice system?’

  ‘Tehol, the king casts aspersions on the justice system!’

  ‘None the less, Brys – oh, what are you doing here, by the way?’

  ‘I have come seeking your advice.’

  ‘Oh. Well, shall we retire to a more private section of my rooftop? Here, follow me – that far corner is ideal.’

  ‘Wouldn’t down below be better?’

  ‘Well, it would, if Bugg had bothered cleaning up. As it is, my abode is an unacceptable mess. I can’t concentrate down there, not for a moment. My stomach turns at the thought—’

  ‘That would be supper,’ Bugg said behind them.

  The brothers turned to look back at him.

  Bugg gave a sheepish wave. ‘I’ll be down below, then.’

  They watched him leave.

  Brys cleared his throat. ‘There are factions in the palace. Intrigues. And it seems certain people would force me into involvement, when all I wish is to remain loyal to my king.’

  ‘Ah, and some of those factions are less than loyal to the king?’

  ‘Not in any manner that could be proved. Rather, it’s simply a matter of reinterpretation of what would best serve the king and the kingdom’s interests.’

  ‘Ah, but those are two entirely different things. The king’s interests versus the kingdom’s interests. At least, I assume that’s how they see it, and who knows, they might be right.’

  ‘They might, Tehol, but I have doubts.’

  Tehol folded his arms and stared out on the city. ‘So,’ he said, ‘there’s the queen’s faction, which includes Prince Quillas, Chancellor Triban Gnol, and the First Consort, Turudal Brizad. Have I missed anyone?’

  Brys was staring at his brother. He shook his head. ‘Officers and guards, various spies.’

  ‘And the king’s own faction. Ceda Kuru Qan, First Eunuch Nifadas, Preda Unnutal Hebaz and perhaps First Concubine Nisall. And, of course, you.’

  ‘But I have no desire to be in any faction—’

  ‘You’re the King’s Champion, brother. As I see it, you have little choice.’

  ‘Tehol, I am hopeless at such games of intrigue.’

  ‘So say nothing. Ever.’

  ‘What good will that do?’

  ‘You’ll convince them you’re smarter than they are. Even scarier, that you know everything. You can see through all their façades—’

  ‘But I can’t see through all that, Tehol. Therefore, I’m not smarter.’

  ‘Of course you are. You just need to treat it like a duel. In fact, treat everything like a duel. Feint, parry, disengage, all that complicated stuff.’

  ‘Easy for you to say,’ Brys muttered.

  They fell silent, staring out over the dark city. Oil lamps lit the canal walks, but the water itself was black as ink, winding like ribbons of oblivion between the squat, hulking buildings. Other lights swung in motion down the streets, carried by people going about their tasks. For all that, darkness dominated the scene.

  Brys stared up at the nearest tier, watched a few lanterns slide along the span like minuscule moons. ‘I have been thinking about Hull,’ he said after a time.

  ‘I would hold out little hope,’ Tehol said. ‘Our brother’s desires have nothing to do with self-preservation. It is in his mind, I believe, that he is going to die soon.’

  Brys nodded.

  ‘And,’ Tehol continued, ‘if
he can, in so doing he will also take down as much of Lether as possible. For that reason alone, someone will stop him. With finality.’

  ‘And vengeance against those murderers will be expected of me,’ Brys said.

  ‘Not necessarily,’ Tehol said. ‘After all, your foremost loyalty is to your king.’

  ‘Superseding even that to my family?’

  ‘Well, yes.’

  ‘To do nothing would be seen as cowardice. Worse yet, I do not think I could face Hull’s killers without reaching for my sword.’

  ‘You may have to, Brys. Of course,’ Tehol added, ‘I am not so bound by such prohibitions.’

  Brys studied his brother for a long moment. ‘You would avenge Hull?’

  ‘Count on it.’

  Eventually, Brys smiled.

  Tehol glanced over and nodded. ‘That’s perfect, brother. When you come face to face with them, show that smile. It will put terror in their hearts.’

  Brys sighed and returned his gaze to the city. ‘Outwardly, we seem so different, the three of us.’

  ‘And so we are,’ Tehol replied. ‘It comes down to methods, and we each walk unique paths. At the same time, alas, we must all live with an identical legacy, a particularly unpleasant inheritance.’ He shrugged, then pulled up his sagging trousers. ‘Three stones in a stream. All subjected to the same rushing water, yet each shaped differently, depending upon its nature.’

  ‘And which of us is sandstone?’

  ‘Hull. He’s been worn down the most, brother, by far. You, you’re basalt.’

  ‘And you, Tehol?’

  ‘Maybe a mix of the two, yielding a sadly misshapen result. But I can live with it.’

  ‘Perhaps you can,’ Brys observed, ‘but what about the rest of us?’

  ‘There’s a matter on which you can help me, brother.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Presumably, there are recorders of obscure information in the palace. People who tally various events, trends and such.’

  ‘A veritable army of them, Tehol.’

  ‘Indeed. Now, might you make some discreet inquiries for me?’

  ‘Regarding what?’

  ‘People going missing in Letheras. Annual numbers, that sort of thing.’

  ‘If you like. Why?’

  ‘At the moment, I’m just curious.’

  ‘What are you up to, Tehol?’

  ‘This and that.’

  Brys grimaced. ‘Be careful.’

  ‘I shall. Do you smell that? Bugg is brewing tea.’

  ‘That doesn’t smell like tea.’

  ‘Yes, he’s full of surprises. Let’s go down. I for one am very thirsty.’

  ****

  Shurq Elalle watched Ublala Pung close in on the pair of guards who had just come round the corner of the estate’s outer wall. They had time to look up in alarm before he threw his punch. Crunching into one jaw, then following through to crack against the other man’s temple. Both collapsed. Ublala paused, looking down on them, then headed off in search of more.

  Shurq stepped from the shadows and approached the wall. Wards had been etched into the ochre stone, but she knew they were linked to intrusions by someone living. The heat of a body, the moist breaths, the thump of a heart. Those relating to motion were far more expensive to maintain, and would be reserved for the main house.

  She reached the wall, paused to take a final look round, then quickly scaled it.

  The top was studded with shards of razor-sharp iron that cut deep into the reinforced padding on her gloves. As she drew herself up, the shards cut through the layers of leather and sank into her palms, improving her grip. She would get the lacerations sewn up later, to keep out lint and insects and other creatures that might seek to take up residence in the punctures.

  Her upper body perched above her arms, she studied the compound below. Seeing no-one, she lifted herself over, pivoting on her hands, then edged down onto the other side. She pried her left hand loose of the spikes and gripped the ledge with her fingers, then tugged her right hand loose as well. Freed of the shards, she quickly descended to crouch in the shadows beneath the wall.

  Dozens of guards somewhere ahead, between her and her goal. Men – but no, she couldn’t think about that, not right now. Later, with Ublala. Unfortunately, the mindless guest within her understood nothing of the value of anticipation. It knew hunger, and hunger must be appeased. The nature of things alive, she mused, as opposed to things dead. Urgency, dissatisfaction, the burden of appetites. She’d forgotten.

  Four guards standing at the estate entrance, one to either side of the double doors, the remaining two flanking the broad steps. They looked bored. There were windows on the main floor, but these were shuttered. Balconies on the next level – the small doors there would be warded. The uppermost floor consisted of three A-frame rooms facing front, their peaked roofs steep and tiled in slate. Inward of these projections, the estate roof was flat and low-walled, a veritable forest of potted plants and stunted trees. And hidden watchers.

  All in all, seemingly impregnable.

  Just the kind she liked.

  She set out towards the nearest outbuilding, a maintenance shed with a sloped roof that faced onto the compound. Careful, silent steps, then settling alongside the nearest wall of the shed. Where she waited.

  A loud thumping on the front gates.

  The four guards at the estate entrance straightened, exchanged glances. There were at least eight of their comrades patrolling the street and alley beyond the wall. It was too late for a guest, and besides, Master Gerun Eberict was not at home. Alternatively, perhaps he had sent a messenger. But then there would have been a signal from the patrol. No, she could see them conclude, this was unusual.

  The two guards at the base of the steps set off towards the gate, hands on the grips of their swords.

  The thumping stopped when the two men were halfway to the gate. They slowed, drawing weapons.

  Two steps from the gate.

  The twin massive portals exploded inward, taking both guards down beneath the battered wood and bronze. Ublala’s forward momentum carried him over the flattened doors and the men trapped beneath them.

  At the top of the stairs, shouts of alarm, and the last two guards were rushing towards the giant.

  ‘I never done nothing to any of you!’ Ublala bellowed, or at least that is what Shurq thought he said – the words were made indistinct by his bristling indignation as he charged the two guards.

  A brief moment of concern for Shurq, since her man was unarmed.

  Swords slashed out. Ublala seemed to slap at them along the flat, and one of the swords cartwheeled through the air. The other ploughed into the pavestones at the giant’s feet. A backhand slap spun the nearest man round and off his feet. The remaining guard was screaming, stumbling back. Ublala reached out, caught him by the right arm, and tugged him close.

  ‘I’m not meat I’m a new body!’

  Or ‘I’m not mean to nobody!’

  The guard was dragged off his feet and shaken about in a clatter of armour to accompany the incoherent assertion. The hapless man went limp, his limbs flailing about. Ublala dropped him and looked up.

  Guards were streaming towards him from either side of the estate.

  He grunted in alarm, turned about and ran back through the gaping gateway.

  Shurq glanced up at the roof. Four figures up there, looking down at the fleeing giant, two of them readying javelins.

  But he was already through the archway.

  Shurq slipped round the back of the shed and darted across the narrow gap to come alongside the estate wall. She padded towards the stairs, onto the platform and through the unwarded entrance. Outside, she heard someone shout orders for a rearguard to hold the compound, but clearly no-one had turned round to keep an eye on the front doors.

  Shurq found herself in a reception hall, the walls covered in frescos illustrating Gerun’s desperate defence of King Ezgara Diskanar. She paused, drew out a knife
to scratch a moustache on Gerun’s manly, grimacing, triumphant face, then continued on through an archway leading to a large chamber modelled in the fashion of a throne room, although the throne – an ornate, high-backed monstrosity – was simply positioned at the head of a long table instead of surmounting a raised dais.

  Doors at every corner of the chamber, each one elaborately framed. A fifth one, narrow and inset at the back, probably with a servants’ passage beyond.

  No doubt the inhabitants were awake by now. Yet, being servants – Indebted one and all – they’d be hiding under their cots during this terrifying tumult.

  She set off towards that last door. The passageway beyond was narrow and poorly lit. Curtained cells lined it, the pathetic residences of the staff. No light showed from beneath any of the hangings, but Shurq caught the sound of scuffing from one room halfway down, and a stifled gasp from one closer, on her left.

  She closed her gloved hand on the grip of the fighting knife strapped beneath her left arm, and ran the back of the blade hard against the scabbard edge as she drew it forth. More gasps. A terrified squeal.

  Slow steps down the narrow passage, pausing every now and then, but never long enough to elicit a scream from anyone, until she came to a T-intersection. To the right the aisle opened out onto the kitchen. To the left, a staircase leading both up and to cellars below ground. Shurq swung round and faced the passageway she had just quitted. Pitching her voice low, she hissed, ‘Go to sleep. Was jus’ doin’ a circuit. No-one here, sweeties. Relax.’

  ‘Who’s that?’ a voice asked.

  ‘Who cares?’ another replied. ‘Like he said, Prist, go back’t’sleep.’

  But Prist continued, ‘It’s jus’ that I don’ recognize ’im—’

  ‘Yeah,’ the other countered, ‘an’ you ain’t a gardener but a real live hero, right, Prist?’

  ‘All I’m sayin’ is—’

  Shurq walked back to halt in front of Prist’s curtain.

  She heard movement beyond, but the man was silent.

  She drew the dirty linen to one side and slipped into the cramped room. It stank of mud and manure. In the darkness she could just make out a large, crouching figure at the back wall, a blanket drawn up under its chin.