The Malazan Empire Series, page 215
Leff pointed to Scorch’s face and laughed. Scorch pointed to his and he scowled. He cleared his throat and spat on to the straw and sawdust scattered across the floor. ‘We’re lookin’ for a man,’ he told Rallick.
‘I’m happy for you.’
Both frowned and canted their heads as if thinking they’d misheard him.
Rallick sighed and waved his comment aside. ‘What’s that got to do with the rat?’
‘We’ve done work together. Him ’n’ us. Might be a percentage in it all for him. If you know what I mean.’ And he touched a finger under his eye once more.
‘I’m listening.’
‘This feller owes us a lot o’ money—’
‘And countin’!’ Scorch interjected. ‘And countin’!’
Leff nodded his profound, rather drunken agreement. ‘And counting too. A scholar. Ain’t been seen for a long time – so his landlady says. Overdue on rent too.’
‘Maybe he’s skipped.’
Scorch shook his head, unsteadily. ‘Naw. All his books ’n’ old broken pieces ’n’ such is still there. He’d never leave them behind.’
‘All right. So, when did you last see him?’
‘Ah. Well …’ The two blinked at one another, their heads sinking lower and lower. ‘We’d rather not say at this juncture of time … kinda confuse the issue … if you know what I mean.’
‘Fair enough.’ Rallick eyed the two slumping in their chairs. Full tankards on empty stomachs. They’ll be under the table in moments. ‘There’re rooms upstairs, you know. You can maybe use a rest.’
Leff gave a vague wave as he tottered to his feet. ‘Naw. You tell that rat. We’re lookin’ for the scholar.’
Scorch banged into the neighbouring table, righted himself. ‘Look out for that dancing girl, though! That minx. Got a temper like a she-devil. Wouldn’t even give us a kiss.’
Rallick watched them go. I’ll no doubt see them in the gutter later tonight. And dancing girls? Where’d that come from?
Kenth, out of Saltoan, had graduated quickly to full Hand membership. He’d always heard the old-timers grumble that the winnowing of the ranks that had been going on for a while now had also thinned their quality. He was determined to prove them wrong. He was of Golana’s clan and they had been given the biggest contract of recent times, one guaranteed to restore the reputation of the guild in Darujhistan.
The target was Jeshin Lim, the new self-styled Legate.
The Hand moved in as soon as the coming dawn allowed enough light. The Lim estate was well known to the guild. And this Lim was inexcusably negligent in not hiring more guards now that he was Legate.
Kenth’s particular talent was climbing and so he was assigned to help secure the second-storey rooms while the main party assaulted the Legate’s chambers. Their watchers had reported that the man was not taking any particular extra precautions such as sleeping in different rooms, or even securing his doors and windows.
Kenth and his brothers and sisters stole across the estate grounds, dark shadows slipping from cover to cover. No challenges arose from roving guards; no dogs barked or attacked; no Warren-laid traps or alarms burst forth with claps of thunder or blazing lights.
It seemed to Kenth that this city’s ruling class had forgotten their fear of the guild. Tonight, he decided, would restore that ancient and time-tested balance of power.
The estate’s ancient brick and stone wall was simplicity itself to scale. He found a small window terrace and popped the thin wood shutters sealing it. Within, the false dawn’s glow through the shutters revealed the room to be made up as a child’s nursery. It was empty. From here he gained the second-storey main hall. He went from room to room finding all unsecured, and all empty. It seemed that their watchers’ report was accurate: the Legate had sent all the Lim family members to another of their many residences scattered about the city and surrounding countryside.
Presumably, one would think, for their safety.
Yet at the same time all to the guild’s convenience.
Having secured the east wing of the rambling building, Kenth signed to his opposite number covering the west wing, then padded to his assigned post guarding the narrow servants’ stairs. Here he waited, tensed, fingertips on the top stair feeling for the slight vibrations of footsteps below, his ears pricked for the telltale creak of old dry wood. He waited, and waited.
And still his superior did not show to sign the all-clear.
A pink and amber dawn brightened perceptibly in the east-facing rooms.
Should he check in? But, gods, abandoning his assigned post! He would be lucky to be kept on as message-runner! Not to mention whipped to a bloody pulp. Still … so much time!
Dread and the insect-crawling passage of minutes won out and Kenth padded off to check on his opposite number across the main stairs. He leaned out to glance across the broad balustraded marble expanse. And the woman was not there!
Something lay in a dark heap at the top of the stairs.
He darted out, knelt, blades ready. It was Hyanth, dead. No sign of a wound. Magery! No doubts now – time to report.
He ran for the main chambers. The tall twin door leaves were open. He slid in, a hand raised in the alarm sign, only to halt, stunned. Everyone was dead. That is, the entire assault team lay sprawled as corpses. And on the bed, sheer sheet rising and falling in calm sleep, the Legate.
Kenth did not even hesitate then. He went for the target, blades out.
Before he reached the big four-poster something slammed into his back, sending him tumbling forward to hit the base of the wall. He peered up dazed at a slim lithe figure wrapped in black cloth. The figure stepped over him to open the shutters of a nearby window, then grasped his shoulders and, with astounding strength, levered him out and held him there. He scrabbled frantically for handholds.
She whispered close to his cheek, ‘Take this message to your superiors, good soldier,’ and released him.
Kenth half fell, half scrambled from stone to stone, snapping latticework and grasping at vines, and crashed to the ground. He lay groaning, his vision flashing with blazing lights. Fortunately, he’d managed to avoid landing on his back.
Report, he told himself – or thought he did. Report!
He lurched to his feet, muffling a cry of pain. Then he staggered, hunched, arms wrapped around his torso, across the grounds to the rallying point.
Rallick sat in his room in an old tenement building of the Gadrobi district. He sipped the morning’s first cup of tea while considering all that he’d learned – or, rather, what little he’d learned.
Baruk missing. Vorcan secreting herself away. Both reputed members of this half-mythic T’orrud Cabal. And in the Council an old forbidden title renewed.
A power stuggle. It all adds up to a power stuggle. Yet with whom? This upstart Legate?
And Vorcan’s words: No matter what happens, you will not act.
Then there’s what Raest said. Bluff. It’s a game of bluff. And what is bluff but lies, deception, misdirection?
And who does that remind him of?
He stilled, hands wrapped around the warm cup. He cocked his head, listening; the building was silent. Not in all the years he’d kept this room was the building ever silent. He stood, pushing back the chair, hands loose at his sides.
‘Who’s there?’
The door swung open revealing the empty hall beyond. Someone spoke, and Rallick recognized the voice of Krute of Talient. ‘It’s all come clear now, Rallick.’
‘What’s clear, Krute?’
‘No longer in the guild, you said … aye, I’ll give you that. But it’s all in the open now. No need to play the innocent.’
‘What are you talking about, Krute?’
‘She’s backing the Legate, ain’t she? And maybe you are too. We lost six of our best this night. But one made it out. What he brought with him made everything clear. I’m sorry you chose to go your own way on this, my friend.’
Something came sliding in along the floor. A blade: blued, slim, needle-tipped, good for close-in fighting and balanced for throwing. An exquisite weapon exactly like those commissioned by only one person he knew.
The old floor creaked in the hall: a number of men on both sides of the door. Rallick considered the window and the sheer three-storey drop.
Damn. Done in by my own precautions.
He serried through a number of other options, none particularly promising. Then he noticed a smell. A strong sewer stink.
‘Gas leak, lads!’ Krute shouted from the hall. ‘Damn you, Rallick! A trap! Make for the roof.’
Rallick remained frozen, hands close to the heavy curved knives beneath his loose shirt. The floorboards of the hall creaked and popped, then were silent. He edged towards the door, leaned to peer out. It was empty.
Gas? None can afford gas here.
He returned to his room, froze again. Something was on the table that was not there before. A small leaf-wrapped object. He pulled open the greasy package to reveal a rolled crepe. A breakfast crepe with a delicate nibble taken from one end, as if the purchaser couldn’t bear to part with the treat without a taste and hoped no one would notice.
Lies, deception and misdirection.
So be it.
‘So you are saying that your timely arrival scared them off? Is that what you’re saying?’ Lim eyed the two estate guards, both retired members of the city watch, standing uncomfortable, and extremely nervous, before him. Somehow he was not convinced. He pulled his dressing gown tighter about himself. ‘And the mess outside?’
‘Ah! Well, in their haste to flee – one appears to have fallen.’
‘Is that so? A clumsy assassin. It’s standards that appear to have fallen.’
The guards shared embarrassed glances. One swallowed while the other clasped and reclasped a hand on the shortsword at his side.
Sighing his disgust, Lim turned away. He faced the small desk he kept in his room for correspondence and composing his memoirs. He picked up a slim gold mask among the mementos there and turned it in his hands. ‘I suppose I should hire more guards.’
‘We strongly recommend it, sir.’
He turned, favoured the two with an arched brow. ‘Well … do so. Take your leave. Hire as many as you deem appropriate.’
They snapped salutes. ‘Yes, sir. Right away, sir.’
Incompetents. It’s a miracle I’m alive. Someone had taken out a contract on me and I slept right through it. And frankly, who it is I suspect is no mystery. The Abyss has no fury like a patron scorned, as they may say. I’ll have to respond. Hit him where it hurts. In the moneybelt.
Lim crossed the room to dress then paused, confused. Hadn’t there been a rug here? The servants appear to be taking great liberties with the furnishings. They ought to let me know when they take things away to be cleaned.
Torvald Nom and Tiserra eyed one another other across the table of their house. Her gaze was a steady unswerving pressure while he shot furtive skittish glances her way between long perusals of the various ceramic bowls, jars and cups arrayed about the room. A breakfast meal of tea, honey and flatbreads lay untouched between them.
‘I’m not moving,’ Tiserra said.
‘No one has mentioned such a thing.’
‘Well … I’m not.’
‘As you say.’
She sipped her tea. Torvald shifted in his seat. ‘Did you say something? ’ she demanded.
‘No – nothing at all.’
‘I suppose you’ll be receiving all sorts of petitions to intervene in this or that. Ladies throwing themselves at you, bosoms heaving, panting how they’ll do anything to have your support.’
‘No bosoms heaved my way yet, dear.’
Tiserra glared. Torvald cleared his throat, reached for a flatbread.
‘And I’ll attend none of those damned fancy parties, or gala fetes.’
Torvald withdrew his hand. ‘Perish the thought.’
‘Won’t have those harridans whispering behind their hands about the cut of my dress or the state of my hair.’
‘Who would do such a thing?’
‘Won’t have it.’
‘Quite.’
‘I like it here!’
‘Absolutely.’
She raised the cup to her mouth, set it down untouched. ‘So we’re agreed, then.’
‘Yes.’
‘All right then.’ She shifted in her seat, tore a flatbread. ‘Good.’ She nibbled at the bread. ‘So … what has this Legate proposed?’
‘Nothing too shocking yet. Various construction and maintenance projects. All long overdue, really.’ He spread honey on a flatbread.
‘And how much does the position pay?’
The rolled flatbread paused before it reached his mouth. Damn.
In his private room in the Malazan garrison at Pale, shouts of alarm and banging awoke Fist K’ess. He leapt up from his piled furs and blankets already gripping the sheathed shortsword he always slept with and thumped barefoot to unlatch the heavy wood door. Captain Fal-ej stood waiting there, fully armed and armoured, torch in hand.
‘What is it, Captain?’ he demanded.
The Seven Cities officer took in her Fist standing in the open doorway and quickly looked away. ‘Fire, sir. Kitchens and barracks.’
‘Kitchens and barracks?’
A weary nod. ‘They abut each other.’
‘Who in the name of Togg built …’
The captain raised a forestalling hand. ‘Be that as it may – perhaps the Fist should get dressed.’
K’ess frowned, then remembered that he was naked. ‘Well … if you think it would help.’ He gave the captain a courtly nod and slammed the door shut. Facing the adzed wooden slats Captain Fal-ej let out a silent breath of awe and headed down the hall on weak knees. By the great stallions of Ugarat. This puts the man into a different perspective.
Fist K’ess caught up with Fal-ej where the captain stood shouting commands to a bucket-brigade vainly tossing water on the burgeoning flames consuming the barracks. Studying the conflagration, a hand raised to shield his face from the heat, the Fist shouted: ‘Never mind! It’s a loss! Just try to stop it from spreading.’
Fal-ej saluted. ‘Yes, sir.’ She jogged off, shouting more commands.
After the captain had reorganized the soldiers K’ess waved her to him. ‘Anyone hurt?’
‘No, sir.’
A roar as the roof collapsed silenced any further talk and drove everyone back a step, coughing and covering their faces. Fist K’ess wiped a smear of some sort of air-borne grease from his face – the larders up in smoke.
‘What happened?’ he asked. ‘An accident?’ He asked but he didn’t believe it: the fire had spread far too swiftly. The shake of her head confirmed his suspicions. Sabotage, act of rebellion, call it what you will. They never wanted us here.
And now this new Legate down in Darujhistan to goad them on.
He waved the captain further back to talk. ‘Any suspects?’
She’d pulled off her helmet and now ran a hand through her matted dark hair. K’ess noted how her features seemed to glow – a combination of sweat from the heat and the grease of the smoke. He realized she had a strange look in her eyes even as he studied them.
She glanced away, clearing her throat. ‘One of the kitchen staff, probably. Or one of the local servants.’
‘You have them?’
‘A few. They all claim innocence, of course. What do you want done with them? We could … send a message.’
‘I very much doubt that the one who set this hung about to get caught.’
‘I agree, Fist.’
‘So … let them know what we could do with them should we be so inclined. Then let them go.’
Her thick black brows rose. ‘Let them … go?’
‘Yes. We’re soldiers, not executioners, or some sort of police. It’s subjugation that requires brutality, and I’m not willing to stoop to that yet. Do you understand, Captain?’
The woman’s face hardened as if struck. ‘I am from Seven Cities, Fist.’
K’ess cursed himself for his obvious misstep but kept his expression blank. He inclined his head in acknowledgement. ‘My apologies – then you more than understand.’
A lieutenant arrived, rescuing the Fist from his discomfort. ‘A mob at the gates, sir. Blocking the exit.’
‘Armed?’
‘Haphazardly so. Though there may be veterans mixed in among ’em.’
K’ess turned to Fal-ej. ‘My apologies again, Captain. You were correct. Perhaps we should have withdrawn earlier. It seems we’re always underestimating Pale.’ He motioned to the lieutenant. ‘Have the entire command salvage what they can then form up before the gates. We’re evacuating.’
The lieutenant saluted. ‘Aye sir.’ He ran off, bellowing.
‘North, sir?’ Fal-ej asked.
They flinched at another thundering reverberation accompanied by curtains of sparks from the collapsing barracks. Did we have any Moranth munitions stored there? Well, I understand they aren’t flammable anyway.
Their few horses, pulled from the stalls, began screaming their terror as the flames drew nearer the mustering square. ‘No, Captain. South. We’ll catch up with the twenty-second.’
‘Aye. And the gates?’
‘I understand they’re designed to be unhinged, if need be.’
The Captain’s full lips drew up in a feral grin of anticipation. ‘I’ll see to it.’
‘Very good.’ K’ess saluted. Fal-ej jogged for the gates. He wiped his sweat-slick face. Now to toss everything from my office into these damned flames.
A short time later, mounting amid the column, K’ess slapped his gauntlets against his cape to put out drifting sparks. Then he nodded to the bannerman, who dipped the black, grey and silver standard of the Fifth. At the gates Fal-ej oversaw the saboteurs who struck the hinges. At her wave, K’ess motioned that the banner be pointed forward and the entire garrison charged into the broad timber doors. For an instant the gates wavered, creaking, then shouts of alarm from beyond signalled their leaning outwards.
