The Malazan Empire, page 614
‘Time, I think,’ said Janath, ‘for some mitigation, Tehol. I seem to recall you having some talent for that, especially working your way around the many attempts at expelling you.’
‘Yeah,’ said Ublala, ‘where do we do that?’
‘Do what?’ Janath asked.
‘I gotta go.’
‘Over to the warehouse,’ Tehol said, pushing Ublala towards the door – without much success. ‘Ublala, do your expelling back of the warehouse, near the drain spout. Use the comfrey bush poking out of the rubbish heap then wash your hands in the tilted trough.’
Looking relieved, the huge man ducked his way out into the alley.
Turning, Tehol regarded Bugg. ‘All right, a moment of silence, then, for the retired hen.’
Rubbing his brow, Bugg leaned back and sighed. ‘Sorry. I’m not used to these…crowds.’
‘What amazes me,’ Tehol said, now studying the surviving hens, ‘is their eerie indifference. They just walk around their crushed sister—’
‘Wait a moment and they’ll start ripping it apart,’ Bugg said, shambling over to collect the carcass. ‘Between the two, I prefer indifference.’ He picked the limp form up, frowned at the dangling neck. ‘Quiet in death, as with all things. Almost all things, I mean…’ Abruptly he shook his head and tossed the dead creature onto the floor in front of Janath. ‘More feathers for you, Scholar.’
‘A most appropriate task,’ Tehol murmured, ‘plucking lovely plumage to reveal the pimpled nightmare beneath.’
‘Sort of like inadvertently looking up your tunic, Tehol Beddict.’
‘You are a cruel woman.’
She paused and looked up at him. ‘Assuming those were just pimples.’
‘Most cruel, leading me to suspect that you in fact fancy me.’
Janath shot Bugg a glance. ‘What kind of healing did you do on me, Bugg? My world seems…smaller.’ She tapped one temple. ‘In here. My thoughts travel any distance – any distance at all – and they vanish in a…in a white nothing. Blissful oblivion. So, I do remember what happened, but not even a whisper of emotion reaches me.’
‘Janath, most of those protections are of your own making. Things will…expand. But it will take time. In any case, it is not too surprising that you are developing an attachment to Tehol, seeing him as your protector—’
‘Now hold on, old man! Attachment? To Tehol? To an ex-student? That is, in every way imaginable, disgusting.’
‘I thought it was a common occurrence,’ Tehol said. ‘Why, some of the stories I’ve heard—’
‘Common for those fools who confuse love with worship – all to feed their paltry egos, I might add. Usually men, too. Married men. It’s pathetic—’
‘Janath, did—No, never mind.’ Rubbing his hands together, Tehol faced Bugg. ‘My, that soup smells wonderful.’
Ublala Pung returned, shouldering his way through the doorway. ‘That comfrey tasted awful,’ he said.
The three stared at him for a long moment.
Then Bugg spoke. ‘See those half-gourds, Ublala? Bring them over and get your voyeur soup.’
‘I could eat a whole one all by myself, I’m so hungry.’
Tehol pointed. ‘There’s one right there, Ublala.’
The huge man paused, glanced over at the bedraggled carcass. Then pushed the gourds into Tehol’s hands and said, ‘Okay.’
‘Leave me some feathers?’ Janath asked.
‘Okay.’
Tehol said, ‘Do you mind, Ublala, if the rest of us eat…uh, up on the roof?’
‘Go ahead.’
‘After supper,’ Tehol continued as the half-blood lowered himself into a cross-legged position, reached for the carcass and tore off a leg. ‘After, I mean, Ublala, we can talk about what’s worrying you, all right?’
‘No point talking,’ Ublala said around a mouthful of feathers, skin and meat. ‘I got to take you to him.’
‘Who?’
‘A champion. The Toblakai.’
Tehol met Bugg’s eyes, and saw in them unfeigned alarm.
‘We got to break into the compound,’ Ublala continued.
‘Uh, right.’
‘Then make sure he doesn’t kill us.’
‘I thought you said there was no point in talking!’
‘I did. There isn’t.’
Janath collected her gourd of soup. ‘So we have to climb one-handed up that ladder? And I expect you want me to go first? Do you think me an idiot?’
Tehol scowled at her, then brightened. ‘You have a choice, Janath. You follow me and Bugg, at the risk of your appetite, or we follow you, lifting you skyward with our sighs of admiration.’
‘How about neither?’ With that, she headed out into the alley.
Horrible crunching sounds came from where Ublala sat. After a moment, both Tehol and Bugg followed in Janath’s wake.
Ormly, once Champion Rat Catcher, sat down opposite Rucket.
After a nod of greeting, she returned to her meal. ‘I’d offer you some of these crisped hog ears, but as you can see, there’s not many left and they are one of my favourites.’
‘You do it on purpose, don’t you?’
‘Men always assume beautiful women think of nothing but sex, or, rather, are obsessed with the potential thereof, at any and every moment. But I assure you, food poses a sensuality rarely achieved in clumsy gropings on some flea-bitten mattress with errant draughts sending chills through you at every change of position.’
Ormly’s withered face twisted into a scowl. ‘Change of position? What does that mean?’
‘Something tells me there is no legion of beleaguered women bemoaning the loss of one Ormly.’
‘I wouldn’t know nothing about that. Listen, I’m nervous.’
‘How do you think I feel? Care for some wine? Oh, I was hoping you’d decline. You know, hiding in this burial crypt has put a strain on select vintages. It’s all very well for you, skulking in the shadows every night, but as the new commander of our insurgent organization, I have to hide down here, receiving and despatching all day, doing endless paperwork—’
‘What paperwork?’
‘Well, the paperwork I do to convince the minions how busy I am, so they don’t come running to me every damned moment.’
‘Yes, but what are you writing down, Rucket?’
‘I record snatches of overheard conversations – the acoustics down here are impressive if a tad wayward. One can achieve sheer poetry on occasion, with judicial use of juxtaposition.’
‘If it’s random then it ain’t poetry,’ Ormly said, still scowling.
‘Clearly you don’t keep up with modern movements, then.’
‘Just one, Rucket, and that’s what I’m nervous about. It’s Tehol Beddict, you see.’
‘A most extraordinary juxtaposition there,’ she replied, reaching for another hog’s ear. ‘Idiocy and genius. In particular, his genius for creating idiotic moments. Why, the last time we made love—’
‘Rucket, please! Don’t you see what’s going on out there? Oh, sorry, I guess you don’t. But listen to me, then. He’s too successful! It’s going too fast! The Patriotists are stirred up something awful, and you can be sure the Liberty Consign is backing them with every resource at its disposal. In the Low Markets they’re starting to barter because there’s no coin.’
‘Well, that was the plan—’
‘But we’re not ready!’
‘Ormly, Scale House collapsed, didn’t it?’
He glared at her suspiciously, then grunted and looked away. ‘All right, so we knew that was coming. We’ve been ready for that, yes. True enough. Even though we’re no closer to knowing what’ll happen when whatever it is happens, assuming we’ll even know it’s happening when it does. Anyway, you’re just trying to confuse me, because you’ve lost all objectivity when it comes to Tehol.’
‘Oh now really, do you take me for a fool?’
‘Yes. Love, lust, whatever, it’s affected your ability to think straight when it comes to that madman.’
‘You’re the one not thinking straight. Tehol’s not the mystery here. Tehol’s easy – no, not that kind of – oh, very well, that kind, too. Anyway, like I said. Easy. The true mystery before us, Ormly, is his damned manservant.’
‘Bugg?’
‘Bugg.’
‘But he’s just the front man—’
‘You sure it’s not the other way round? What does he do with all that coin they’ve leveraged into their hands? Bury it in the back yard? They don’t even have a back yard. Ormly, we’re talking tons of coinage here.’ She waved a hand about. ‘Could fill this crypt twenty times over. Now, sure, there’re other crypts under the city, but we know them all. I’ve sent runners to every one of them, but they’re empty, the dust underfoot not disturbed in years. We’ve sent rats into every fissure, every crevasse, every crack. Nothing.’ She snapped her fingers. ‘Gone. As if into thin air. And not just in this city, either.’
‘So maybe Tehol’s found a hiding place we ain’t looked at yet. Something both clever and idiotic, like you said.’
‘I thought of that, Ormly. Trust me when I tell you, it’s all gone.’
His scowl suddenly cleared and he reached for a refill of the wine. ‘I figured it out. It’s all dumped into the river. Simple. Easy.’
‘Except that Tehol insists it can be recovered – to flood the market, if the Consign financiers panic and start minting more than the usual quota. And even that quota is proving inflationary, since there’s no recycling of old coins taking place. There’s no return for recasting. I hear even the Imperial Treasury is hurting. Tehol says he can dump it all back onto the streets, at a moment’s notice.’
‘Maybe he’s lying.’
‘Maybe he isn’t.’
‘Maybe I’ll have that last hog ear.’
‘Forget it.’
‘Fine. We got another problem. Tensions are high between the Edur and the Patriotists – and the Chancellor and his army of thugs and spies. Blood was spilled.’
‘Not surprising,’ Rucket replied. ‘It was bound to happen. And don’t think the financial strain has nothing to do with it.’
‘If it does it’s only indirectly,’ Ormly said. ‘No, this clash was, I think, personal.’
‘Can we make use of it?’
‘Ah, finally we can discuss something and actually get somewhere.’
‘You’re just jealous of Tehol Beddict.’
‘So what if I am. Forget it. Let’s make plans.’
Sighing, Rucket gestured to one of her servants. ‘Bring us another bottle, Unn.’
Ormly’s brow lifted, and, as the huge man shambled off into a side chamber, he leaned closer. ‘Unn? The one who…?’
‘Murdered Gerun Eberict? Indeed, the very man. With his own two hands, Ormly. His own two hands.’ Then she smiled. ‘And those hands, well, murdering isn’t the only thing they’re good at.’
‘I knew it! It is all you ever think about!’
She settled back in her chair. Make them feel clever. The only sure way to keep the peace.
Beneath the city of Letheras was a massive core of ice. A fist of Omtose Phellack, clutching in its implacable grip an ancient spirit. Lured, then trapped by a startling alliance of Ceda Kuru Qan, a Jaghut sorceress and an Elder God. For the Errant, it was a struggle to appreciate that conjoining, no matter how advantageous the consequence. A spirit imprisoned, until such time as that hoary ritual weakened – or, more likely, was shattered in wilful malice. So, though temporary – and what truly wasn’t? – it had prevented death and destruction on a colossal scale. All very well.
Kuru Qan treating with a Jaghut sorceress – surprising but not disturbing. No, it was Mael’s involvement that gnawed ceaselessly in the Errant’s thoughts.
An Elder God. But not K’rul, not Draconus, not Kilmandaros. No, this was the one Elder God who never got involved. Mael’s curse was everyone else’s blessing. So what changed? What forced the old bastard’s hand, enough so that he forged alliances, that he unleashed his power in the streets of the city, that he emerged onto a remote island and battered a broken god senseless?
Friendship towards a pathetic mortal?
And what, dear Mael, do you now plan to do about all those worshippers? The ones so abusing your indifference? They are legion and their hands drip blood in your name. Does this please you? From them, after all, you acquire power. Enough to drown this entire realm.
War among the gods, but was the battle line so simply drawn as it seemed? The Errant was no longer sure.
He stood in solid rock, within reach of the enormous knot of ice. He could smell it, that gelid ancient sorcery that belonged to another era. The spirit imprisoned within it, frozen in the act of rising through a fetid lake, was a seething storm of helpless rage, blurred and indistinct at its centre. One of Mael’s own kin, the Errant suspected, like a piece torn free only to suffer a geas of the Crippled God. Entirely unaware – so far – of the terrible fissures spread like crazed webs through that ice, fissures even now working their way inwards.
Shattered indeed. With intent? No, not this time, but in imagining a place of permanence they chose in error. And no, they could not have known. This…nudge…not mine. Just…dread circumstance.
Does Mael know? Abyss take me, I need to speak to him – ah, how I recoil at the notion! How much longer can I delay? What rotted commodity would my silence purchase? What meagre reward my warning?
Perhaps another word with that war god, Fener. But no, that poor creature probably knew even less than he did. Cowering, virtually usurped…usurped, now there’s an interesting notion. Gods at war…yes, possibly.
The Errant withdrew, passing ghostly through rock. Sudden desire, impatience, pushed him onward. He would need a mortal’s hand for what he planned. A mortal’s blood.
He emerged onto a floor of mouldy, uneven pavestones. How far had he travelled? How much time had passed? Darkness and the muted sound of dripping water. He sniffed the air, caught the scent of life. Tainted acrid by delving into old magic. And knew where he was. Not far, then. Not long. Never hide in the same place, child. Mouth dry – something like anticipation – he hurried down the crooked corridor.
I can do nothing, weak as I am. Edging askew the course of fates – I was once far more. Master of the Tiles. All that power in those scribed images, the near-words from a time when no written words existed. They would have starved without my blessing. Withered. Does this mean nothing? Am I past bargaining?
He could feel now, within him, flaring to life, a once-dull ember of…of…of what? Ah, yes, I see it clear. I see it.
Ambition.
The Errant reached the secret chamber, could discern trickling heat at the entrance.
Crouched over a brazier, she spun round when he stepped into the room. The heady, damp air, thick with spices, made him feel half drunk. He saw her eyes widen.
‘Turudal Brizad—’
The Errant staggered forward. ‘It’s this, you see. A bargain—’
He saw her hand edge out, hovering over the coals of the brazier. ‘They all want to bargain. With me—’
‘The Holds, witch. They clash, clumsy as crones. Against the young ones – the Warrens. Only a fool would call it a dance of equals. Power was robust, once. Now it is…’ he smiled, taking another step closer, ‘gracile. Do you understand? What I offer you, witch?’
She was scowling to hide her fear. ‘No. You stink like a refuse pit, Consort – you are not welcome here—’
‘The tiles so want to play, don’t they? Yet they clatter down in broken patterns, ever broken. There is no flow. They are outmoded, witch. Outmoded.’
A gesture with the hovering hand, and Feather Witch’s eyes flicked past the Errant.
A faint voice behind him. ‘Do not do this.’
The Errant turned. ‘Kuru Qan. She summoned you?’ He laughed. ‘I could banish you with the blink of an eye, ghost.’
‘She was not to know that. Heed my warning, Errant; you are driven to desperation. And the illusion of glory – do you not understand what has so afflicted you? You stood too close to the ice. Assailed by a storm of desire from the trapped demon. Its ambition. Its lust.’
A sliver of doubt, stinging, then the Errant shook his head. ‘I am the Master of the Tiles, Elder. No pathetic wellspring spirit could so infect me. My thoughts are clear. My purpose—’ He turned again, dismissing the ghost behind him. And reeled slightly, needing a step to right himself.
The ghost of the Ceda spoke. ‘Errant, you think to challenge the Warrens? Do you not realize that, as the Tiles once had a Master, so too the Warrens?’
‘Don’t be a fool,’ the Errant said. ‘There are no tiles describing these warrens—’
‘Not Tiles. Cards. A Deck. And yes, there is a Master. Do you now choose to set yourself against him? To achieve what?’
The Errant made no reply, although his answer whispered in his skull. Usurpation. As a child before one such as myself. I might even pity him, as I wrest from him all power, every drop of blood, his very life.
I shall retreat from this world no longer.
Kuru Qan continued, ‘If you set the Holds to battle against the Warrens, Errant, you will shatter alliances—’
The Errant snorted. ‘They are already shattered, Ceda. What began as yet another march on the Crippled God to exact brutal punishment – as if the Fallen One commits a crime by virtue of his very existence – well, it is that no more. The Elders are awakened, awakened to themselves – the memory of what they once were, what they could be again. Besides,’ he added as he took another step towards the now trembling Letherii witch, ‘the enemy is divided, confused—’
‘All strangers to you. To us. Are you so certain that what you sense is true? Not simply what your enemy wants you to believe?’
‘Now you play games, Kuru Qan. Ever your flaw.’
‘This is not our war, Errant.’
‘Oh, but it is. My war. Rhulad’s war. The Crippled God’s. After all, it is not the Elder Gods who so hunger to destroy the Fallen One.’
‘They would if they but understood, Errant. But they are blinded by the lure of resurrection – as blinded as you, here, now. All but one, and that is the maker of the Warrens. K’rul himself. Errant, listen to me! To set the Holds against the Warrens, you declare war upon K’rul—’
