Reaper's Gale (The Malazan Book of the Fallen 7)

‘Smells. Smells, smells, smells.’

The words were a whining whisper in Banaschar’s head.

‘That’s the problem, Telorast. With this island. With this entire continent! Oh, why did we come here? We should have stolen the bodies of two gulls, never mind these rotting stick-things with empty bellies we can’t never fill! How many rats have we killed, Telorast? Answer me!’

‘So we couldn’t eat them,’ muttered Telorast. ‘Killing them was fun, wasn’t it? Cleanest ships in the world. Enough of your complaining, Curdle. Can’t you feel how close we are?’

‘She’s walked here!’ Now there was terror in Curdle’s voice. ‘What are we doing in this place?’

Banaschar turned. The two knee-high skeletal reptiles were pacing back and forth the length of the cot, clambering awkwardly amidst the dishevelled folds of bedding. ‘A good question,’ he said. ‘What are you doing here? In my room? And who is “she”?’

Curdle’s head bobbed, jaws clacking. ‘Not-Not-Apsalar drove us away. But we need to tell someone!’

‘Anyone!’ chimed Telorast. ‘Even you!’

‘Her name is Lostara Yil,’ Banaschar said. ‘Not Not-Not-Apsalar-gods, did I just say that?’

‘ “She”,’ Curdle said, tail whipping, ‘is the one who walked here. Long ago. More long ago than you could even think of, that long ago. Telorast is mad. She’s excited, but how can anyone be excited when we’re so close to her? Madness!’

‘just because she walked here,’ Telorast said, ‘doesn’t mean she’s still hanging around. Got no big skulls to push her fist through, not for a long time, right? And look at us, Curdle. We could dance in the palm of her hand. Either one. Or both, one for me and one for you-and she wouldn’t be able to tell anything about us, not anything.’ The creature swung to face Banaschar again. ‘So there’s no reason to panic, and that’s what you need to tell Curdle, Wormfood. So, go on, tell her.’

Banaschar slowly blinked, then said, ‘There’s nothing to worry about, Curdle. Now, will you two leave? I have more brooding to do and half the night’s gone.’

Telorast’s razor-beaked head swung to Curdle. ‘See?

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‘Smells. Smells, smells, smells.’

The words were a whining whisper in Banaschar’s head.

‘That’s the problem, Telorast. With this island. With this entire continent! Oh, why did we come here? We should have stolen the bodies of two gulls, never mind these rotting stick-things with empty bellies we can’t never fill! How many rats have we killed, Telorast? Answer me!’

‘So we couldn’t eat them,’ muttered Telorast. ‘Killing them was fun, wasn’t it? Cleanest ships in the world. Enough of your complaining, Curdle. Can’t you feel how close we are?’

‘She’s walked here!’ Now there was terror in Curdle’s voice. ‘What are we doing in this place?’

Banaschar turned. The two knee-high skeletal reptiles were pacing back and forth the length of the cot, clambering awkwardly amidst the dishevelled folds of bedding. ‘A good question,’ he said. ‘What are you doing here? In my room? And who is “she”?’

Curdle’s head bobbed, jaws clacking. ‘Not-Not-Apsalar drove us away. But we need to tell someone!’

‘Anyone!’ chimed Telorast. ‘Even you!’

‘Her name is Lostara Yil,’ Banaschar said. ‘Not Not-Not-Apsalar-gods, did I just say that?’

‘ “She”,’ Curdle said, tail whipping, ‘is the one who walked here. Long ago. More long ago than you could even think of, that long ago. Telorast is mad. She’s excited, but how can anyone be excited when we’re so close to her? Madness!’

‘just because she walked here,’ Telorast said, ‘doesn’t mean she’s still hanging around. Got no big skulls to push her fist through, not for a long time, right? And look at us, Curdle. We could dance in the palm of her hand. Either one. Or both, one for me and one for you-and she wouldn’t be able to tell anything about us, not anything.’ The creature swung to face Banaschar again. ‘So there’s no reason to panic, and that’s what you need to tell Curdle, Wormfood. So, go on, tell her.’

Banaschar slowly blinked, then said, ‘There’s nothing to worry about, Curdle. Now, will you two leave? I have more brooding to do and half the night’s gone.’

Telorast’s razor-beaked head swung to Curdle. ‘See?

Everything’s fine. We’re close because we have to be. Because it’s where Edgewalker wants-’

‘Quiet!’ Curdle hissed.

Telorast ducked. ‘Oh. We have to kill him now, don’t we?’

‘No, that would be messy. We just have to hope for a terrible accident. Quick, Telorast, think of a tenible accident!’

‘I’ve never heard of Edgewalker,’ Banaschar said. ‘Relax and go away and forget thinking about killing me. Unless you want to awaken D’rek, that is. The goddess might well know who this Edgewalker is, and from that might be able to glean something of your deadly secret mission, and from that she might decide it would be better if you two were crushed into dust.’

Curdle leapt down from the cot, crept closer to Banaschar, then began to grovel. ‘We didn’t mean anything by any of that. We never mean anything, do we, Telorast? We’re most useless and tiny besides.’

‘We can smell the Worm all right,’ Telorast said, head bobbing. ‘On you. In you. Just one more dread smell hereabouts. We don’t like it at all. Let’s go, Curdle. He’s not the one we should be talking to. Not as dangerous as Not-Apsalar, but just as scary. Open those shutters, Wormfood; we’ll go out that way.’

‘Easy for you,’ Banaschar muttered, turning back to pull the slatted barriers aside. The wind gusted in like Hood’s own breath, and the reborn priest shivered.

In a flash the two reptiles were perched on the sill.

‘Look, Telorast, pigeon poo.’

Then the two creatures leapt from sight. After a moment, Banaschar closed the shutters once more. Making right his vision of the world. His world, at least.

‘Shillydan the dark’eyed man Pokes his head up for a look round Hillyman the black-clawed man Came up the well for a look round

“Well and and/” says the twelve-toed man And round down the hill he bound Still-me-hand the dead’Smile man Went bounding bound down he did bound

Shitty dan the red’Water man Croaks and kisses die lass’s brow Hillyman the blue-Cocked man-’

‘For Hood’s sake, Crump, stop that damned singing!’

The gangly sapper straightened, stared with mouth agape, then ducked down once more and resumed digging the pit. Under his breath he began humming his mad, endless swamp song.