The Malazan Empire, page 174
A Great Raven’s cackle spilled into the silence following the man’s pronouncements.
Despite her fraught, worn emotions, the Mhybe smiled. Oh yes, of course. I know this man. She stepped forward, unable to resist herself as she said, ‘I have been in your dreams, sir.’
Kruppe’s eyes fixed on her and widened in alarm. He mopped his brow. ‘My dear, while all things are possible…’
Crone cackled a second time.
‘I was younger then,’ the Mhybe added. ‘And with child. We were in the company of a Bonecaster … and an Elder God.’
Recognition lit his round, flushed face, followed swiftly by dismay. For once he seemed at a loss for words. His gaze held on hers a moment longer, then dropped to the child at her side. She noted his narrowing eyes. He senses the way of things between us. Instantly. How? And why is it I know the truth of my conviction? How profound is this link?
Caladan Brood cleared his throat. ‘Welcome, citizen Kruppe. We are now aware of the events surrounding the birth of the child, Silverfox. You, then, are the mortal involved. The identity of this Elder God, however, remains unknown to us. Which one? The answer to that question may well do much to determine our … relationship with the girl.’
Kruppe blinked up at the warlord. He patted the soft flesh beneath his chin with the silk cloth. ‘Kruppe understands. Indeed he does. A sudden tension permeates this prestigious gathering, yes? The god in question. Yes, hmm. Ambivalence, uncertainty, all anathema to Kruppe of Darujhistan … possibly, then again possibly not.’ He glanced over a shoulder as the official delegation’s carriage approached, mopped his brow again. ‘Swift answers may well mislead, nay, give the wrong impression entirely. Oh my, what to do?’
‘Damn you!’ The cry came from the other carriage driver as the ornate contrivance arrived. ‘Kruppe! What in Hood’s name are you doing here?’
The silk-clad man pivoted and attempted a sweeping bow which, despite its meagre success, nevertheless managed to seem elegant. ‘Dear friend Murillio. Have you climbed in the world with this new profession, or perhaps sidled sideways? Kruppe was unaware of your obvious talents in leading mules—’
The driver scowled. ‘Seems the Council’s select train of horses inexplicably vanished moments before our departure. Horses decidedly similar to ones you and Meese seem to have acquired, might I add.’
‘Extraordinary coincidence, friend Murillio.’
The carriage doors opened and out climbed a broad-shouldered, balding man. His blunt-featured face was dark with anger as he strode towards Kruppe.
The small round citizen spread his arms wide even as he involuntarily stepped back. ‘Dearest friend and lifelong companion. Welcome, Councillor Coll. And who is that behind you? Why, none other than Councillor Estraysian D’Arle! In such fashion all the truly vital representatives of fair Darujhistan are thus gathered!’
‘Excluding you, Kruppe,’ Coll growled, still advancing on the man who was now back-pedalling to his own carriage.
‘Untrue, friend Coll! I am here as representative of Master Baruk—’
Coll halted. He crossed his burly arms. ‘Oh, indeed? The alchemist sent you on his behalf, did he?’
‘Well, not in so many words, of course. Baruk and I are of such closeness in friendship that words are often unnecessary—’
‘Enough, Kruppe.’ Coll turned to Caladan Brood. ‘My deepest apologies, Warlord. I am Coll, and this gentleman at my side is Estraysian D’Arle. We are here on behalf of the Ruling Council of Darujhistan. The presence of this … this Kruppe … was unintended, and indeed is unwelcome. If you can spare me a moment I will send him on his way.’
‘Alas, it seems we have need of him,’ Brood replied. ‘Rest assured I will explain. For now, however, perhaps we should reconvene in my command tent.’
Coll swung a glare on Kruppe. ‘What outrageous lies have you uttered now?’
The round man looked offended. ‘Kruppe and the truth are lifelong partners, friend Coll! Indeed, wedded bliss – we only yesterday celebrated out fortieth anniversary, the mistress of veracity and I. Kruppe is most certainly of need – in all things, at all times and in all places! It is a duty Kruppe must accept, howsoever humbly—’
With a low growl Coll raised a hand to cuff the man.
Estraysian D’Arle stepped forward and laid a hand on Coll’s shoulder. ‘Be at ease,’ the councillor murmured. ‘It appears to be obvious to all that Kruppe does not speak for anyone but Kruppe. We are not responsible for him. If in truth he is to prove useful, the task of impressing us falls upon him and him alone.’
‘And impress I shall!’ Kruppe cried, suddenly beaming again.
Crone bounded down to hop towards Kruppe. ‘You, sir, should have been a Great Raven!’
‘And you a dog!’ he shouted back.
Crone halted, teetered a moment, wings half spreading. She cocked her head, whispered, ‘A dog?’
‘Only so that I might ruffle you behind the ears, my dear!’
‘Ruffle? Ruffle!’
‘Very well, not a dog, then. A parrot?’
‘A parrot!’
‘Perfect!’
‘Enough!’ Brood roared. ‘All of you, follow me!’ He whirled and stomped towards the Tiste Andii encampment.
It took only a glance from the Mhybe to start Whiskeyjack laughing. Dujek joined him a moment later, then the others.
Silverfox squeezed her hand. ‘Kruppe has already revealed his value,’ she said in low voice, ‘don’t you think?’
‘Aye, child, that he has. Come, we’d best lead the way in catching up with the warlord.’
* * *
As soon as all were within the command tent and the removal of cloaks and weapons had begun, Paran strode over to Councillor Coll. ‘It is good to see you again,’ the captain said, ‘though,’ he added in a low tone, ‘you wore a soldier’s armour with more ease, I think, than those robes.’
Coll grimaced. ‘You’re right enough in that. Do you know I at times think back on that night camped in the Gadrobi Hills with something like nostalgia? We weren’t anything but ourselves, then.’ He met Paran’s eyes with a flicker of worry at what he saw. They gripped hands. ‘Simpler times…’
‘An unlikely toast,’ a voice said and they turned as Whiskeyjack joined them, an earthenware jug in one hand. ‘There’s tankards there behind you, Councillor, on what passes for a table. Brood has no servants as such so I’ve elected myself to that worthy task.’
Pulling three tankards close, Paran frowned at the table. ‘This is the bed of a wagon – you can still see the straw.’
‘Which also explains this place smelling like a stable,’ the commander added, pouring the tankards full of Gredfallan ale. ‘Brood’s map table went missing last night.’
Coll raised an eyebrow. ‘Someone stole a table?’
‘Not someone,’ Whiskeyjack replied, glancing at Paran. ‘Your Bridgeburners, Captain. I’d lay a column on it.’
‘What in Hood’s name for?’
‘That’s something you’ll have to find out. Fortunately, the warlord’s only complaint was at the inconvenience.’
Caladan Brood’s deep voice rose then. ‘If one and all will find seats, we can get to the business of supply and matériel.’
Kruppe was the first to lower himself into a chair – at the head of the makeshift table. He held a tankard and a handful of Rhivi sweet-cakes. ‘Such rustic environs!’ he sighed, round face flushed with pleasure. ‘And traditional pastries of the plains to lure the palate. More, this ale is most delicious, perfectly cooled—’
‘Be quiet, damn you,’ Coll growled. ‘And what are you doing in that chair?’
‘Why, sitting, friend Coll. Our mutual friend the alchemist—’
‘Would skin you alive if he knew you were here, claiming to represent him.’
Kruppe’s brows rose and he nearly choked on a mouthful of sweetcake, spraying crumbs as he coughed. He quickly drank down his ale, then belched. ‘By the Abyss, what a distasteful notion. And entirely in error, Kruppe assures everyone. Baruk has a keen interest in the smooth conduct of this prestigious gathering of legendary persons. The success of the venture impending is uppermost in his mind, and he pledges to do all that is within his – and his servant Kruppe’s – formidable abilities.’
‘Has your master specific suggestions?’ Brood asked.
‘Innumerable suggestions of a specific nature, sir Warlord. So many that, when combined, they can only be seen or understood in the most general terms!’ He then lowered his tone. ‘Vague and seemingly vacuous generalities are proof of Master Baruk’s all-embracing endeavours, Kruppe sagely points out.’ He offered everyone a broad, crumb-flecked smile. ‘But please, let us get under way lest this meeting stretch on, forcing the delivery of a sumptuous supper replete with the dryest of wines to whet the gullet and such a selection of sweets as to leave Kruppe groaning in fullest pleasure!’
‘Gods forbid,’ Coll muttered.
Estraysian D’Arle cleared his throat. ‘We are faced with only minor difficulties in maintaining a supply route to your combined armies, Warlord and Dujek Onearm. The most pressing of these centres on the destroyed bridge west of Darujhistan. There are but few manageable crossings on the Catlin River, and the destruction of that stone bridge by the Jaghut Tyrant has created an inordinate amount of difficulty—’
‘Ah,’ Kruppe interjected, raising a pudgy finger, ‘but are not bridges naught but a means of travelling from one side of a river to another? Does this not assume certain prerequisites regarding the projected plans of movement as directed by the leaders of the armies? Kruppe is left wondering…’ He reached for another sweet-cake.
‘As are we all,’ D’Arle drawled after a moment.
Dujek, his eyes narrowed on Kruppe, cleared his throat ‘Well, much as I hate to admit it, there’s something in that.’ He swung his gaze to Estraysian. ‘Catlin River only presents a problem if we look to employing the south routes. And we’d only want those if the armies seek to cross early in the march.’
Both councillors frowned.
‘It is our intent,’ Brood explained, ‘to remain north of the river, to march directly towards Capustan. Our route will take us north of Saltoan … well north. Then proceed in a southeast direction.’
Coll spoke. ‘You describe a direct route to Capustan, sir, for your forces. Such a route will, however, strain our efforts at maintaining supply. We will not be able to deliver via the river. An overland train of such magnitude will sorely test our capabilities.’
‘It must be understood,’ Estraysian D’Arle added, ‘that the Council must needs deal with private enterprises in fulfilling your supply needs.’
‘Such delicacy!’ Kruppe cried. ‘The issues, martial comrades, are these. The Council of Darujhistan consists of various noble houses, of which virtually one and all possess interests in mercantile endeavours. Discounting the potentially confusing reality of the Council’s providing vast loans to your armies with which you will in turn purchase supplies from the Council, the particular nature of the redistribution of said wealth is paramount to specific members of the Council. The vying, the back-chamber deals and conniving – well! One would be hard-pressed to imagine such a nightmarish tangle of weights, measures, wefts and webs, dare Kruppe say! The instructions delivered to these two worthy representatives are no doubt manifest, not to mention a veritable skein of conflicting commands. The councillors here before you are thus constrained by a knot that not even the gods could disentangle! It falls to Kruppe, lowly but worthy citizen of fair Darujhistan, to propose his and Master Barak’s solution.’
Coll leaned forward and rubbed his eyes. ‘Let’s hear it, then, Kruppe.’
‘An impartial and exquisitely competent manager of said supply is required, of course. Not on the Council and therefore possessing nothing of the internal pressures so afflicting its honourable members. Skilled, as well, in mercantile matters. A vast capacity for organizing. In all, a superior—’
Coll’s fist thumped down on the table, startling everyone. He rounded on Kruppe. ‘If you imagine yourself in such a role – you, a middling fence to middling pickpockets and warehouse thieves—’
But the small, round man raised his hands and leaned back. ‘Dear friend Coll! You flatter me with such an offer! However, poor Kruppe is far too busy with his own middling affairs to tackle such an endeavour. Nay, in close consultation with his loyal and wise servant Kruppe, Master Baruk proposes a different agent entirely—’
‘What is all this?’ Coll hissed dangerously. ‘Baruk doesn’t even know you’re here!’
‘A minor breakdown in communication, nothing more. The alchemist’s desire was plain to Kruppe, he assures you one and all! Whilst Kruppe may well and with some justification claim sole credit for the impending proposal, alas, he must bow to the virtue of truthfulness and therefore acknowledge Master Baruk’s minor – yet vital – contribution. Why, it was only yesterday that he mused on the peculiar talents of the agent in question, and if this was not a hint as to his desires, then what, dear Coll, could it have been?’
‘Get on with it, sir,’ Estraysian D’Arle grated.
‘Kruppe delights in doing so, friend Councillor – and by the way, how fares your daughter, Challice? Has she indeed partaken of marriage nuptials with that hero of the fete? Kruppe so regrets his missing that no doubt sumptuous event—’
‘Which has yet to occur,’ D’Arle snapped. ‘She is well, sir. My patience with you is growing very thin, Kruppe—’
‘Alas, I can only dream of thin. Very well, the agent in question is none other than the newly arrived mercantile enterprise known as the Trygalle Trade Guild.’ Beaming, he sat back, lacing his fingers together over his belly.
Brood turned to Coll. ‘An enterprise I have never heard of…’
The councillor was frowning. ‘As Kruppe said, newly arrived in Darujhistan. From the south – Elingarth, I believe. We used them but once – a singularly difficult delivery of funds to Dujek Onearm.’ He looked to Estraysian D’Arle, who shrugged, then spoke.
‘They have made no bids regarding the contracts to supply the combined armies. Indeed, they have sent no representative to the meetings – that single use of them Coll mentioned was a subcontract, I believe.’ He swung a scowl on Kruppe. ‘Given their obvious lack of interest, why would you – or, rather, Master Baruk – believe that this Trygalle Trade Guild is amenable to participating, much less acting as mitigator?’
Kruppe poured himself another tankard of ale, sipped, then smacked his lips appreciatively. ‘The Trygalle Trade Guild does not offer bids, for every other enterprise would be sure to greatly underbid them without even trying. In other words, they are not cheap. More exactly, their services demand a king’s ransom generally. One thing you can be sure of, however, is that they will do precisely what they have been hired to do, no matter how … uh, nightmarish … the logistics.’
‘You’ve invested in them, haven’t you, Kruppe?’ Coll’s face had darkened. ‘So much for impartial advice – and Baruk has absolutely nothing to do with you being here. You’re acting on behalf of this Trygalle Trade Guild, aren’t you?’
‘Kruppe assures, the conflict of interest is a matter of appearance only, friend Coll! The truth is more precisely a convergence. The needs are evident here before us all, and so too is the means of answering them! Happy coincidence! Now, Kruppe would partake of more of these delicious Rhivi cakes, whilst you discuss the merits of said proposal and no doubt reach the propitious, inevitable conclusion.’
* * *
Crone could smell sorcery in the air. And it doesn’t belong. No, not Tiste Andii, not the Rhivi spirits awakened either … She circled over the encampment, questing with all her senses. The afternoon had drawn into dusk, then night, as the meeting within Caladan Brood’s command tent stretched on, and on. The Great Raven was quickly bored by interminable discussions of caravan routes and how many tons of this and that were required on a weekly basis to keep two armies fed and content on the march. Granted, that repugnant creature Kruppe was amusing enough, in the manner that an obese rat trying to cross a rope bridge was worth a cackle or three. A finely honed mind dwelt beneath the smeared, grotesque affectations, she well knew, and his ability at earning his seat at the head of the table and of confounding the flailing councillors of Darujhistan was most certainly an entertaining enough display of deftness … until Crone had sensed the stirrings of magic somewhere in the camp.
There, that large tent directly below … I know it. The place where the Rhivi dress the Tiste Andii dead. Crooking her wings, she dropped in a tight spiral.
She landed a few paces from the entrance. The flap was drawn shut, tightly tied, but the leather thongs and their knots were poor obstacles for Crone’s sharp beak. In moments she was within, hopping silently and unseen beneath the huge table – a table she recognized with a silent chuckle – and among a few scattered folded cots in the darkness.
Four figures leaned on the table above her, whispering and muttering. The muted clatter of wooden cards echoed through to Crone, and she cocked her head.
‘There it is again,’ a gravelly-voiced woman said. ‘You sure you shuffled the damned things, Spin?’
‘Will you – of course I did, Corporal. Stop asking me. Look, four times now, different laying of the fields every one, and it’s simple. Obelisk dominates – the dolmen of time is the core. It’s active, plain as day – the first time in decades…’
‘Could still be that untoward skew,’ another voice interjected. ‘You ain’t got Fid’s natural hand, Spin—’
‘Enough of that, Hedge,’ the corporal snapped. ‘Spindle’s done enough readings to be the real thing, trust me.’
‘Didn’t you just—’
‘Shut up.’
‘Besides,’ Spindle muttered, ‘I told you already, the new card’s got a fixed influence – it’s the glue holding everything together, and once you see that it all makes sense.’
