The Malazan Empire, page 402
Bugg sighed. ‘I admit to being greatly affrighted by his sudden appearance.’
Brows raised, Tehol regarded his servant. ‘Really? Poor Bugg, you need to do something about those nerves of yours. Come on, then, and fear nothing whilst you are with me.’
They entered the Temple.
And Tehol halted once more, as suddenly as the first time, as the point of a knife settled on his cheek beneath his right eye, which blinked rapidly. Bugg managed to draw up in time to avoid bumping into his master, for which Tehol’s gratitude was sufficient to weaken his knees.
A sweet feminine voice murmured close to his ear, ‘You’re not in disguise, sir. Which means, well, we both know what that means, don’t we?’
‘I’ve come for my daughter—’
‘Now that’s in very poor taste. We can’t abide such twisted, sick desires in here—’
‘You misunderstand—understandably, of course, that is. I meant to say, I’ve come to retrieve her, before it’s too late.’
‘Her name?’
‘Shurq Elalle.’
‘Well, it’s too late.’
‘You mean she being dead? I’m aware of that. It’s her ancestors, you see, they want her to come home to the crypt. They miss her terribly, and a few of them are getting alarmingly angry. Ghosts can be a lot of trouble—not just for you and this establishment, but for me as well. You see my predicament?’
The knife point withdrew, and a short, lithe woman stepped round to stand before him. Close-fitting silks in rusty hues, a broad silk belt wrapped about her tiny waist, upturned slippers on her minuscule feet. A sweet, heart-shaped face, strangely overlarge eyes, now narrowing. ‘Are you done?’
Tehol smiled sheepishly. ‘You must get that a lot. Sorry. Are you, perchance, Matron Delisp?’
She spun about. ‘Follow me. I hate this room.’
He glanced about for the first time. Two paces wide, four deep, a door at the far end, the walls hidden behind lush tapestries depicting countless couplings of all sorts. ‘Seems inviting enough,’ he said, following the woman to the door.
‘It’s the spent smell.’
‘Spent? Oh, yes.’
‘Smells of…regret. I hate that smell. I hate everything about it.’ She opened the door and slipped through.
Tehol and Bugg hastened to follow.
The chamber beyond was dominated by a steep staircase, which began a single pace beyond the doorway. The woman led them round it to a plush waiting room, thick-padded sofas along the side walls, a single high-backed chair occupying the far wall. She walked directly to that chair and sat down. ‘Sit. Now, what’s all this about ghosts? Oh, never mind that. You were, what, ten years old when you fathered Shurq Elalle? No wonder she never mentioned you. Even when she was alive. Tell me, were you disappointed when she decided on a career of thievery?’
‘From your tone,’ Tehol said, ‘I gather you are challenging the veracity of my claims.’
‘Which question gave me away?’
‘But, you see, I am not so ignorant as you think. Hence my disguise.’
She blinked. ‘Your disguise is to appear as a man in his early thirties, wearing sodden, badly made wool—’
Bugg sat straighter. ‘Badly made? Now, hold on—’
Tehol nudged his servant with an elbow, hard in the ribs. Bugg grunted, then subsided.
‘That is correct,’ Tehol said.
‘A vast investment in sorcery, then. How old are you in truth?’
‘Sixty-nine…my dear.’
‘I’m impressed. Now, you mentioned ghosts?’
‘Afraid so, Matron. Terrible ones. Vengeful, disinclined to discourse. Thus far I have managed to keep them penned up in the family crypt, but they’ll get out sooner or later. And proceed on a rampage through the streets—a night of terror for all Letheras’s citizens, I fear—until they arrive here. And then, well, I shudder at the thought.’
‘As I am shuddering right now, although for entirely different reasons. But yes, we certainly have a dilemma. My particular dilemma, however, is one I admit to having been struggling with for some time now.’
‘Oh?’
‘Fortunately, you appear to have provided me with a solution.’
‘I am pleased.’
The woman leaned forward. ‘Top floor—there’s only one room. Talk that damned demoness out of here! Before my other lasses flay me alive!’
The stairs were steep but well padded, the wooden railing beneath their hands an unbroken undulation of lovingly carved breasts polished and oiled by countless sweaty palms. They met no-one on the way and reached the top floor breathless—due to the ascent, of course, Tehol told himself as he paused at the door and wiped his hands on his soaked leggings.
Head lowered and panting, Bugg was at his side. ‘Errant take me, what have they rubbed into that wood?’
‘I’m not sure,’ Tehol admitted, ‘but I can barely walk.’
‘Perhaps we should take a moment,’ Bugg suggested, wiping the sweat from his face.
‘Good idea. Let’s.’
A short time later Tehol straightened, with a wince, and nodded at Bugg, who grimaced in reply. Tehol raised a hand and thumped on the heavy wooden door.
‘Enter,’ came the muffled command.
Tehol opened the door and stepped into the room. Behind him, Bugg hissed, ‘Errant take me, look at all the breasts!’
The wall panels and ceiling continued the theme begun on the wooden railing, a riotous proliferation of mammary excess. Even the floor beneath the thick rugs was lumpy.
‘A singular obsession—’ Tehol began, and was interrupted.
‘Oh,’ said a voice from the huge bed before them, ‘it’s you.’
Tehol cleared his throat. ‘Shurq Elalle.’
‘If you’ve come for services,’ she said, ‘you might be relieved to know the executioner’s big axe was pathetic compensation.’
‘He got wet in the rain,’ Bugg said.
Tehol glanced back at him. ‘What is the relevance of that?’
‘I don’t know, but I thought you might.’
‘I’m not leaving,’ Shurq said, ‘if that’s why you’re here.’
‘You have to,’ Tehol countered. ‘The Matron insists.’
She sat straighter in the bed. ‘It’s those damned cows downstairs, isn’t it? I’ve stolen all their clients and they want me out!’
‘I imagine so.’ Tehol shrugged. ‘But that’s hardly surprising, is it? Listen, Shurq, we had a deal, didn’t we?’
Her expression darkened. ‘So I should do the honourable thing? All right, but I have a problem regarding certain appetites…’
‘I wish I could help.’
Her brows rose.
‘Uh, I meant—I mean—oh, I don’t know what I mean.’ He paused, then brightened. ‘But I’ll introduce you to Ublala, an unhappy bodyguard longing for commitment.’
Her brows rose higher.
‘Well, why not? You don’t have to tell him you’re dead! He’ll never notice, of that I’m certain! And as for your appetites, I doubt there’ll be a problem there, although there’s a trio of women who might be very upset, but I’ll handle that. Look, it’s a brilliant solution, Shurq.’
‘I’ll give it a try, I suppose, but I’m not making any promises. Now, step outside, please, so I can get dressed.’
Tehol and Bugg exchanged glances and then complied, softly shutting the door behind them.
Bugg studied his master. ‘I am very impressed,’ he said after a moment. ‘I’d thought this a situation without a solution. Master, my admiration for you grows like a—’
‘Stop staring at that railing, Bugg.’
‘Uh, yes. You’re right.’
Matron Delisp was waiting at the bottom of the stairs. Seeing Shurq Elalle following a step behind Bugg, her face twisted with distaste. ‘Errant bless you, Tehol Beddict. I owe you one.’
Tehol sighed. ‘I had a feeling you were sceptical of my story.’
‘The woollen leggings,’ she replied. ‘I hear virtually everyone’s put in orders for them.’
Tehol shot Bugg a look, but the servant’s brows rose and he said, ‘Not with me, master. That would be disloyal. Rest assured that everyone else’s version will prove but pathetic imitations.’
‘Perhaps, Matron Delisp,’ Tehol said, ‘I am merely disguised as Tehol Beddict. That would be clever, wouldn’t it?’
‘Too clever for you.’
‘Well, you have a point there.’
‘Anyway, do you want me in your debt or not?’
Shurq Elalle pushed past Bugg. ‘I don’t like being ignored. You’re all ignoring me as if I was—’
‘Dead?’ Delisp asked.
‘I just wanted to point out my reason for vacating this house, which is that I, too, owe Tehol Beddict. I may be dead, but I am not without honour. In any case, Delisp, I believe you owe me a rather substantial payment right now. Sixty per cent, I seem to recall—’
‘What do you need all that money for?’ the Matron demanded. ‘How many variations of sex-assassin attire exist out there? How many bundles of raw spices do you need to keep fresh? No, wait, I don’t want to know the answer. Sixty per cent. Fine, but it’ll take me a day or two—I don’t keep that kind of coin around here. Where should I have it delivered?’
‘Tehol Beddict’s residence will suffice.’
‘Hold on,’ Tehol objected. ‘I can’t secure—’
‘I intend,’ Shurq cut in, ‘to spend it quickly.’
‘Oh. All right, but I’m not happy. Too many comings and goings there. Suspicions will be insatiably aroused—’
‘Stop staring at the railing, master.’
‘Errant’s dreams! Let’s get out of here.’
The storm had passed. Rainwater still flowed down the streets, but people were venturing out once more. It was late afternoon. Shurq Elalle halted at the foot of the Temple’s steps. ‘I will rejoin you tonight, on your roof, Tehol Beddict. Midnight.’
‘What about Ublala Pung?’
‘I admit to having second thoughts.’
‘Shurq Elalle. Ublala Pung survived a Drowning. He walked across the bottom of the canal. You two have a lot in common, if you think about it.’
‘He’s also massively endowed,’ Bugg added.
Tehol made a face at him. ‘You are being crude—’
‘Bring him to the roof tonight,’ Shurq said.
‘This is a conspiracy to make me miserable, isn’t it? Both of you, leave me. I’m going for a walk. Bugg, when you get back home, give it a tidy. No doubt Shand will be storming in before too long. Tell her I’ll drop by tomorrow on some important business—’
‘What important business?’
‘I don’t know. I’ll invent something. You have other things to worry about—how’s the foundation work coming along, anyway?’
‘It’s piling up.’
‘Then sort it out.’
‘You misunderstand, master. We’re on schedule.’
‘I didn’t misunderstand. I was being obdurate. Now, I’m off to find a more reasonable conversation, somewhere.’ He swung round for a final word with Shurq, but she was gone. ‘Damned thief. Go on, Bugg. Wait, what’s for supper?’
‘Banana leaves.’
‘Not fishy ones, I trust.’
‘Of course not, master.’
‘Then what?’
‘The material they were wrapped around was unidentifiable, which, if you think about it, is probably a good thing.’
‘How do we live on this stuff?’
‘A good question, master. It is indeed baffling.’
Tehol studied his servant for a long moment, then he gestured the man away.
Bugg turned right, so Tehol went left. The air was warming, yet still fresh after the rain. Wet dogs nosed the rubbish in the settling puddles. Cats chased the cockroaches that had swarmed up from the drains. A beggar had found a sliver of soap and stood naked beneath a stream of water coming from a cracked eaves trough, working up a murky lather while he sang a lament that had been popular a hundred years ago. Residents had taken advantage of the unexpected downpour, emptying chamber pots from their windows rather than carrying them a few dozen paces to the nearest communal dump-hole. As a result, some of the pools held floating things and the streams in the gutters carried small flyblown islands that collected here and there in buzzing rafts that bled yellowy brown slime.
It was a fine evening in the city of Letheras, Tehol reflected, testing the air a moment before taking a deep breath and releasing it in a contented sigh. He went on down the street until he reached Quillas Canal, then walked along it towards the river. To his right rose a forest of masts from fisherboats moored to wait out the storm. Tarps were being pulled aside, water splashing as the crews bailed feverishly so they could make for open water before the day’s light failed. Near one jetty a half-dozen city guardsmen were fishing a corpse from the murky water, a crowd of onlookers shouting advice as the squad struggled with hook-poles. Above them flapped seagulls.
Tehol came within sight of the old palace, then took a side street away from the canal, proceeding on a winding, confused route until he came to the grounds of the towers. Gathering dusk made the air grainy as Tehol reached the low crumbling wall and stared across the short expanse of broken, uneven yard to the one, battered tower that was clearly different in construction from all the others, being square instead of round.
The strange triangular windows were dark, crowded with dead vines. The inset, black-stained wooden door was shrouded in shadow. Tehol wondered how such a door could have survived—normal wood would have rotted to dust centuries ago.
He could see no-one in the yard. ‘Kettle! Child, are you in there?’
A small bedraggled figure stepped out from behind a tree.
Startled, Tehol said, ‘That was a good trick, lass.’
She approached. ‘There’s an artist. A painter. He comes to paint the tower. He wants to paint me too, but I stay behind trees. It makes him very angry. You are the man who sleeps on the roof of your house. Lots of people try spying on you.’
‘Yes, I know. Shurq tells me you, uh, take care of them.’
‘She said maybe you could help find out who I was.’
He studied her. ‘Have you seen Shurq lately?’
‘Only once. She was all fixed. I barely recognized her.’
‘Well, lass, we could see the same done for you, if you like.’
The grubby, mould-patched face wrinkled into a frown. ‘Why?’
‘Why? To make you less noticeable, I suppose. Wouldn’t you enjoy looking the way Shurq does now?’
‘Enjoy?’
‘Think about it at least?’
‘All right. You look friendly. You look like I could like you. I don’t like many people, but I could like you. Can I call you Father? Shurq is my mother. She isn’t, really, but that’s what I call her. I’m looking for brothers and sisters, too.’ She paused, then asked, ‘Can you help me?’
‘I’ll try, Kettle. Shurq tells me the tower talks to you.’
‘Not words. Just thoughts. Feelings. It’s afraid. There’s someone in the ground who is going to help. Once he gets free, he’ll help us. He’s my uncle. But the bad ones scare me.’
‘The bad ones? Who are they? Are they in the ground, too?’
She nodded.
‘Is there a chance they will get out of the ground before your uncle does?’
‘If they do, they’ll destroy us all. Me, Uncle and the tower. They’ve said so. And that will free all the others.’
‘And are the others bad, too?’
She shrugged. ‘They don’t talk much. Except one. She says she’ll make me an empress. I’d like to be an empress.’
‘Well, I wouldn’t trust that one. Just my opinion, Kettle, but promises like that are suspect.’
‘That’s what Shurq says, too. But she sounds very nice. She wants to give me lots of treats and stuff.’
‘Be careful, lass.’
‘Do you ever dream of dragons, Father?’
‘Dragons?’
Shrugging again, she turned away. ‘It’s getting dark,’ she said over her shoulder. ‘I need to kill someone…. maybe that artist…’
Turudal Brizad, the consort to Queen Janall, stood leaning against the wall whilst Brys Beddict led his students through the last of the counter-attack exercises.
Audiences were not uncommon during his training regime with the king’s own guard, although Brys had been mildly surprised that Turudal was among the various onlookers, most of whom were practitioners with the weapons he used in his instruction. The consort was well known for his indolent ways, a privilege that, in the days of Brys’s grandfather, would not have been tolerated in a young, fit Letherii. Four years of military service beginning in the seventeenth year had been mandatory. In those days there had been external threats aplenty. Bluerose to the north, the independent, unruly city-states of the archipelago in Dracons Sea, and the various tribes on the eastern plain had been pressuring Lether, driven against the outposts by one of the cyclical expansionist regimes of far Kolanse.
Bluerose now paid tribute to King Ezgara Diskanar, the city-states had been crushed, leaving little more than a handful of goat-herders and fisherfolk on the islands, and Kolanse had subsided into isolation following some sort of civil war a few decades past.
It was difficult for Brys to imagine a life possessing virtually no ability to defend itself, at least upon the attainment of adulthood, but Turudal Brizad was such a creature. Indeed, the consort had expressed the opinion that he was but a forerunner, a pioneer of a state of human life wherein soldiering was left to the Indebted and the mentally inadequate. Although Brys had initially scoffed at hearing a recounting of Brizad’s words, his disbelief had begun to waver. The Letherii military was still strong, yet increasingly it was bound to economics. Every campaign was an opportunity for wealth. And, among the civilian population of traders, merchants and all those who served the innumerable needs of civilization, few were bothering with martial training any more. An undercurrent of contempt now coloured their regard of soldiers.
Until they need us, of course. Or they discover a means to profit by our actions.
