The Malazan Empire Series: (Night of Knives, Return of the Crimson Guard, Stonewielder, Orb Sceptre Throne, Blood and Bone, Assail) (Novels of the Malazan Empire)

by Ian C. Esslemont

  It was long past twilight when they ducked under the raised sides of the large canvas tent that was Anna’s Alehouse. Their guide had waved them on, absently and vaguely, as if he could hardly make the effort, then wandered off.

  The alehouse was jammed with fortune-hunters. Jute recognized many of the ex-Malazan soldiery. Cartheron headed to a table towards the centre that, as he approached, somehow became empty in a scuffle of spilled drinks and upset chairs. When Cartheron sat he pulled Jute with him and suddenly the table was crowded with the most hardened, scarred and battered veterans Jute had ever sat down with. It was like the old days, before Ieleen, before he swore off pirating for her.

  She’d be so mad if she saw him here in this company.

  A man in an apron approached and Cartheron ordered ale all round. The man held out a hand and Cartheron set a coin in his palm: a Malazan gold crown. Jute saw it and sent a bloody glare to the old captain. He raised a hand, murmured, ‘Just getting some attention.’

  A moment later the crowd parted for a woman – a very large woman. Her hair was a fright and her very ample bosom spilled out of a barely laced top. She planted both meaty hands on the table before Cartheron and leaned forward, purring, ‘What can Anna do for you, sailor?’

  The old captain twisted his bearded lips into something resembling a smile. He pulled a leather pouch from under his shirt and felt about within it then drew out two fingers pinched together and held them out. Anna pursed her fat painted lips in a silent ohhhhh and raised a hand.

  Cartheron dropped something into her palm. It was tiny, frosted, and faceted.

  Jute leaned forward to study it: a raw diamond. Or a wondrous fake.

  Anna snapped her hand closed. She leaned even further forward. ‘Anything catch your fancy, sailor?’

  He offered her a wink. ‘Like to have a private party, Anna. If I may. Invitation only.’

  ‘Certainly.’ She gave a husky laugh and wiggled. Though, to Jute, it was more like a wobble. ‘I love private parties.’ She straightened, opened her arms. ‘The place is yours.’

  ‘Clear the house,’ Cartheron said.

  Men and women all about jumped to their feet. They took others by their shirts and necks, marched them to the sides of the tent, and threw them out into the mud. Anna watched with growing horror. One thick hand gathered together her shirt while the other went to her neck.

  ‘Lower the sides,’ Cartheron ordered.

  The hanging leather strips were pulled and the sailcloth sides of the tent fell. In the muted light of the front flap, open still, Anna turned on Cartheron. ‘Those were paying customers!’

  ‘I’ve paid for the premises,’ he growled. ‘I suggest you take the night off.’

  The big woman peered about at the gathered men and women, rough-looking ex-soldiers all, and a growing unease replaced her outrage. Her chin wobbled as she slowly nodded her head. ‘Lentz! Kora!’ she called, ‘Take the night off! These gentlemen have private business to attend to. Business,’ she added, ‘that we know nothing about.’

  Cartheron glanced to the front and the woman took the hint; she marched stiffly out. His men now held the doorway. Some patrons they turned away, others they allowed in. Lamps of cheap fat were lit. Cartheron scanned the gathered crowd while nodding to himself.

  ‘How many men does this Lying Gell have?’

  ‘’Bout three hundred,’ someone supplied.

  ‘Quality?’

  ‘Thugs, strongarms, bandits. Nothin’ more.’

  Jute was listening and nodding his head and now he exclaimed, ‘I see it now! You’re taking over!’

  Cartheron eyed him frostily. ‘No, I’m not doin’ that. This place is an indefensible swamp.’ He peered round once more. ‘There was supposed to be a regular town up here.’

  ‘There was,’ someone said. ‘All these waves of invaders ran ’em off. Took some fighting, I tell you.’

  ‘Where’d they go?’

  ‘Mantle.’

  ‘That’s some kinda fortress, right? What’s the situation there?’

  ‘Some Lether captain and a few other principals have the place surrounded. But they don’t know siegework worth crap.’

  ‘Does this keep, or whatever it is, have a harbour?’

  ‘Yeah. That’s blockaded right now.’

  ‘We’ll see about that,’ Cartheron muttered.

  ‘You’re going to take the fortress?’ Jute asked.

  The old captain ignored him. ‘Okay,’ he barked. ‘Here’s the drill. I want a head-count. I want you lot to shake out into squads. Then I want sergeants and up to come present themselves. Is that clear? Okay, let’s go. Don’t have all night.’

  It seemed to Jute that everyone started talking at once. Cartheron turned to him. ‘I’m gonna send you off with an escort back to the ships. Have them ready to cast off at a moment’s notice, right?’

  Jute waved to indicate everything around him. ‘What’s going on? What is all this? You’ve just collected your own army.’

  Cartheron pulled a hand through his patchy salt and pepper beard, sighed. ‘Sorry, captain. Haven’t been entirely honest with you. I was on my way here when I was contacted by … by some old acquaintances. I was asked … well, a proposition was made that I help out up here.’

  ‘So you’re working for the Empire.’

  The old man scowled, offended. ‘Done with that. Free agent now. Just contracted to lend aid to certain parties. That’s all.’ He raised his attention to the crowd surrounding them. ‘I want one squad to shadow my friend here down to the docks and help guard his ship. Are we good with that?’

  A woman raised her hand. ‘We’ll take it.’

  ‘Okay.’ He motioned Jute to the front. ‘See you later. Be ready to cast off fast.’

  Jute reluctantly pushed himself away from the table. ‘But what are you up to here? What are you going to do?’

  Cartheron waved him on. ‘Don’t you worry ’bout that. Go on with you.’

  The woman waved him out and accompanied him through the maze of tents. Torches burned at various main intersections of footpaths. Gangs hung about seemingly ready to waylay anyone who appeared relatively defenceless. Passing one such group, the woman pulled her muddy cloak away from her side to reveal her longsword and the men stepped back from blocking their way. Jute also noticed members of the ‘squad’ down side alleys, shadowing their progress.

  He studied the woman: stocky fighter’s build, a pretty face, after a fashion. Thick dark brown hair that fell in waves to her shoulders. Fair-skinned. Armoured in a battered hauberk of banded iron over leathers. ‘You’re of north Genabackis.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘You are a Malazan veteran?’

  ‘Yeah. Cashiered.’

  ‘You know Cartheron?’

  The woman snorted. ‘Abyss, no. How old do you think I am?’

  ‘I’m sorry. I just thought … since you showed up…’

  She shrugged. ‘Coupla lads from my old command swung by, said he was looking to hire.’

  ‘So you know of him…’

  The woman snorted again. ‘Abyss, yes. Who doesn’t?’

  ‘Then you came here on your own?’

  ‘Yeah. Overland from the west.’ She shook her head. ‘Only a handful of us made it. And for what? There’s no gold left. Only people rakin’ it in are those selling booze or shovels. Or stealing it from those that got it. Ended up trapped here. Can’t afford to stay. Can’t afford a ticket out.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  She shrugged again. ‘How it goes. Had a family farm outside Mott. Sold it to raise the money for this trip. All gone now. Fortunes of life. Gotta take risks to achieve anything.’ She eyed him up and down. ‘Same as you, hey? You just arrived with a ship, hey?’

  ‘Yes. A full cargo to sell.’

  ‘Whatcha bring? Timber? Anvils? Chandeliers? Ice for drinks?’

  ‘Oh no, nothing fancy like that. Just basic staples. Barrels of flour, molasses, rice, salted pork, jugs o
f spirits.’

  The woman looked him up and down again. ‘God-damn,’ she breathed, in something like awe.

  * * *

  Jute and the woman – a retired officer? – made it down to the dock without incident. Perhaps it was the eight or so burly ex-soldiers surrounding them. In any case, they followed him up on to the Dawn and he checked in with Ieleen. He found her where she always was, sitting at the stern next to the tiller. ‘Back, love,’ he announced.

  ‘And who’s the woman?’ she asked.

  Jute blinked. ‘Ah … she works for Cartheron. Here to help guard the ship. How did you know?’

  ‘I can smell her. She’s pretty?’

  ‘Ah … well, I suppose so. Yes.’

  ‘Aren’t you going to introduce us?’

  ‘Ah … of course.’ He waved the woman to the stern. ‘This is Ieleen, my wife and ship’s pilot. And this is … ah…’

  The woman bowed. ‘Lieutenant Jalaz. Giana Jalaz, of Mott. At your service, ma’am. Here to help out defending the ship.’

  Ieleen inclined her head. ‘You are most welcome. Our ship’s master of weapons has had her hands full beating away thieves trying to sneak on board.’

  ‘We will give her a hand, then,’ Lieutenant Jalaz said, and went on her way.

  ‘She seems nice,’ Ieleen said. Jute blew out a long breath. Then he jerked, remembering Cartheron’s words.

  ‘Oh! I have to go to the Ragstopper. They have to ready to cast off – as do we.’

  Ieleen urged him away. ‘Well, then. Off with you.’

  He headed to the gangway but froze as Giana barked: ‘Stop him!’

  The men guarding the gangway shifted to block his way. Suddenly, a sinking realization came to him: By the gods … I’ve just handed my ship over to a pack of Malazans! What a purblind fool! I deserve whatever it is they have in store for me. An unexplained disappearance, probably.

  He slowly turned to face the lieutenant. She came to stand quite close before him. ‘Where do you think you’re going?’

  In his peripheral vision, Jute caught his master of weapons, Letita, edging in close, her hand at the grip of her longsword.

  He swallowed hard and gestured up the dock. ‘Cartheron’s ship, the Ragstopper.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Cartheron wants both ships ready to cast off.’

  ‘Oh.’ She pointed to two men. ‘You two, go with him. Cartheron wants you guarded.’

  Jute felt his legs weaken. Gods! Was that good or bad? Am I under unofficial arrest? Maybe I’m not being fair to the commander. But he’s of the old guard – infamous for their treachery.

  He raised a hand to wave off Letita. Either Giana missed the gesture, or, more likely, she chose not to notice it, and did not react. One of the Malazans headed down the gangway first, and Jute followed. The second trailed him.

  Scruffy would-be stevedores and touts came shuffling up. They made offers for work, or offered women, d’bayan dust, rustleaf, durhang, khall fixings. The guards brushed them aside. Jute did not think himself in any danger; the poor wretches obviously hadn’t had a decent meal in some time. They did, however, seem to have access to a lot of drugs.

  Reaching the side of the vessel, he shouted: ‘Ho! Ragstopper! Permission to come on board?’ He waited, but no one answered. ‘Ahoy! Ragstopper?’

  He eyed the peeling and barked-up timbers of the galley’s side. A single rope hung over the rail – the only means in and out? ‘Stay here,’ he told his guards, and took hold of the rope to haul himself up. It was a trick he imagined only a fellow sailor could manage.

  He pulled himself over the side. The open galley benches were mostly empty. A few ragged sailors lay sound asleep. Jute carefully picked his way between them and up on to the centre walk. A familiar figure lay slumped and snoring amid jumbled rope here – Cartheron’s putative first mate with his thin mane of frizzy white hair. The sight of the fellow asleep – probably on watch – inflamed the lifelong sailor in Jute. He picked up a coil of rope nearby and heaved it on to the man, shouting, ‘Wake up, you useless whore’s son!’

  The man sprang to his feet with a yell. He peered wildly about while squeezing some small object in both hands. ‘We’ll die together!’ he howled.

  Jute flinched away. The man’s wild rolling eyes latched on to him and he blinked. ‘Oh, it’s you.’ He wiped his gleaming brow. ‘By all that’s holy – don’t you ever do that again.’

  ‘What’s that you’ve got there, then?’

  The man whipped the round fruit-sized object behind his back. ‘Nothing. Nothing ’tall.’

  Jute had a hard time believing the man would’ve been crazy enough to fall asleep while holding a munition. Still, the Ragstopper seemed a floating asylum.

  Now the first mate was frowning suspiciously. ‘What’re you doing here, anyway?’ he growled.

  ‘Orders from Cartheron – he wants you ready to cast off some time this night.’

  The first mate gaped, then his lower lip began to tremble. ‘But he just got here…’ He gazed about in a panic. ‘We can’t … Do you have any idea…’

  ‘I’m sorry. I’m just relaying—’

  The man threw himself at Jute and hung on to his shirt. ‘But we have to sell our cargo!’ he blubbered. Alarmed, Jute saw that indeed the man held a munition in one hand; he gently eased it from his grip. The fellow was weeping uncontrollably now. ‘You have no idea what we’ve been through! No harbour allowed us to drop anchor! We’ve been turned away from every city. Every port. We’ve been at sea for years. It’s like a curse!’ He tried to shake Jute by his shirt but was too weak. ‘You have to talk some sense into him! Please … for the love of all the gods. Have mercy on us!’

  Jute took hold of the man’s hands and gently eased his grip free. ‘Yes,’ he soothed, ‘I’ll talk to him. I promise. We aren’t going far – just the next town. I promise.’

  The first mate was nodding with him, his eyes swimming. ‘You promise…’

  ‘Yes. Absolutely. On my word.’

  The fellow slumped back down into his nest of rope, hunched, head hanging. ‘Doomed…’ he was murmuring. ‘Retirement, the man said … golden years…’ He covered his face. Jute gently set the munition down nearby and slowly backed away.

  Back on the dock, he blew out a long breath and shook his head. Poor fellow! Clearly addled. Strain of the passage, no doubt. He returned to the Dawn flanked by his two new guards. On board, he went to the bow to watch the darkened slope of the tent city. Torches burned here and there, as did fire pits. A few of the tents were lit from within, though most were dark. The noise of the countless tent-bars, taverns and inns came and went with the wind – as did the stink – though already he was getting used to it. He waited. For what, he had no idea. Considering Cartheron’s reputation, however, he suspected it would be dramatic. Whatever it might be.

  He glanced over and flinched, surprised. Next to him stood the skinny pinch-faced khall-head guide, also leaning against the side. ‘How did you—’ he began angrily, then, remembering Cartheron’s warning, cleared his throat and repeated neutrally, ‘How did you get on board?’

  The man merely gave his dreamy smile, more vague than secretive. ‘Same as you,’ he said.

  Jute rolled his eyes. ‘What do you want? A stake?’

  The man’s smile widened as if the thought amused him. He swung his head in a tilted negative. ‘Oh, no. Just here to keep an eye on things.’

  He frowned at the man. For the life of him, he couldn’t see what Cartheron saw in the fellow. However, having just witnessed conditions onboard the Ragstopper, it occurred to him that the fellow would fit right in.

  Fire suddenly blossomed in a quarter of the tent city. Its billowing eruption lit the tent tops. The noise of the blast washed over the Dawn. ‘What the…’ he stammered. A second blast, this one in a different quarter, now lit the high slopes. The guide smiled again and nodded to himself. ‘What’s this?’ Jute demanded.

  The man gave an easy sh
rug of his bony shoulders. ‘Oh, Lying Gell had a number of caches of food and equipment stashed away. Looks like they’ve been doused in alcohol and set alight.’

  Jute gaped at him. ‘But that means … they’ll all be after…’

  The fellow nodded again. ‘Oh, yes. My guess is the boys are runnin’ for the dock right now with the entire encampment hot on their tails.’

  Jute wasted an instant trying to utter his disbelief, outrage and horror, only to throw his hands in the air and lurch from the side. ‘Man the sweeps!’ he bellowed. ‘Ready poles! Raise anchor! Cut all but one rope there!’

  Lieutenant Jalaz and her cohort ran pounding down the gangway then dashed for the base of the dock. Would-be stevedores and touts went flying from the wood slats to land in the mud. A gang of hireswords had been lounging at the base of the dock amid crates and bales. Now they jumped to their feet and peered upslope to the fires. From the bows of the Dawn, Jute watched as the Malazans crashed into them. In a moment, it was over. All of the toughs were down, either knocked unconscious or heaved over the side where they struggled knee-deep in the mud.

  Lieutenant Jalaz now held the dock.

  ‘Captain?’ Jute turned. Letita stood armed and ready, helmet cheek-guards lowered. He shook his head. ‘Stay on board, master-at-arms.’ The woman’s mouth hardened but she did not object. Jute pointed out over the bows. ‘However, we do have a good view of the dock from here…’

  Her lips climbed in a savage grin. She turned to the mid-deck. ‘Archers! Form up!’

  The shouts and iron-clash of fighting now washed down to the Dawn. A gang of Gell’s thugs rushed Jalaz’s squad. This time blood flowed as swords were drawn.

  More tents burst into flame. The yells and cries swelled to a steady roar. Jute could now make out a running mêlée making its way down through the tent city. Everything in its way was trampled and destroyed as it came. Men were running both away and towards it.

  A solid crowd now pressed against Jalaz’s position. Jute nodded to Letita. ‘Archers,’ the weapons master called, ‘thin them out – try to avoid our crew.’