Toll the Hounds (The Malazan Book of the Fallen 8)

‘So you say. Of course, you were on that boat for a long time, pretty much alone, I’d wager-unless Spite decided-’

‘No,’ he cut in firmly. ‘Spite decided nothing of the sort.’

‘Well then, the city beckons with all its carnal delights! This very street, in fact-’

‘Enough of that, please.’

‘You can’t think I’ll ease up on you, Barathol?’

Grimacing, he squinted at Chaur. ‘This is disturbing him-’

‘It is not! It’s exciting him, and why wouldn’t it?’

‘Scillara, he may have a man’s body, but his is a child’s mind.’

Her smile went away and she nodded thoughtfully. ‘I know. Awkward.’

‘Best we leave this,’ Barathol said.

‘Right. Let us find somewhere to eat supper-we can make plans there. But the issue won’t go away, I suspect-he’s caught the scent, after all.’

Moving to either side of Chaur, they turned him about and began guiding him away. He resisted briefly, but then fell in step, joining in a nearby chorus of singers with loud, wordless sounds not quite matching their somewhat better efforts.

‘We really are the lost ones, aren’t we?’ Scillara said. ‘We need to find ourselves a purpose… in life. Aye, let’s grasp our biggest, most glaring flaw, shall we? Never mind what to do tomorrow or the day after. What to do with the rest of our lives, now there’s a worthy question.’

He groaned.

‘Seriously. If you could have anything, anything at all, Barathol, what would it be?’

A second chance. ‘There’s no point in that question, Scillara. I’ll settle for a smithy and a good day’s work, each and every day. I’ll settle for an honest life.’

‘Then that’s where we’ll start. A list of necessary tasks. Equipment, location, Guild fees and all that.’

She was trying hard, he could see. Trying hard to keep her own feelings away from this moment, and each moment to come, for as long as she could.

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‘So you say. Of course, you were on that boat for a long time, pretty much alone, I’d wager-unless Spite decided-’

‘No,’ he cut in firmly. ‘Spite decided nothing of the sort.’

‘Well then, the city beckons with all its carnal delights! This very street, in fact-’

‘Enough of that, please.’

‘You can’t think I’ll ease up on you, Barathol?’

Grimacing, he squinted at Chaur. ‘This is disturbing him-’

‘It is not! It’s exciting him, and why wouldn’t it?’

‘Scillara, he may have a man’s body, but his is a child’s mind.’

Her smile went away and she nodded thoughtfully. ‘I know. Awkward.’

‘Best we leave this,’ Barathol said.

‘Right. Let us find somewhere to eat supper-we can make plans there. But the issue won’t go away, I suspect-he’s caught the scent, after all.’

Moving to either side of Chaur, they turned him about and began guiding him away. He resisted briefly, but then fell in step, joining in a nearby chorus of singers with loud, wordless sounds not quite matching their somewhat better efforts.

‘We really are the lost ones, aren’t we?’ Scillara said. ‘We need to find ourselves a purpose… in life. Aye, let’s grasp our biggest, most glaring flaw, shall we? Never mind what to do tomorrow or the day after. What to do with the rest of our lives, now there’s a worthy question.’

He groaned.

‘Seriously. If you could have anything, anything at all, Barathol, what would it be?’

A second chance. ‘There’s no point in that question, Scillara. I’ll settle for a smithy and a good day’s work, each and every day. I’ll settle for an honest life.’

‘Then that’s where we’ll start. A list of necessary tasks. Equipment, location, Guild fees and all that.’

She was trying hard, he could see. Trying hard to keep her own feelings away from this moment, and each moment to come, for as long as she could.

I accept no payment, Scillara, but I will take your gift. And give you one in turn. ‘Very well. I can certainly use your help in all that.’

‘Good. Look, there’s a crowded courtyard with tables and I see food and people eating. We can stand over a table until the poor fool sitting at it leaves. Shouldn’t take long.’

Blend withdrew her bared foot from Picker’s crotch and slowly sat straight. ‘Be subtle,’ she murmured, ‘but take a look at the trio that just showed up.’

Picker scowled. ‘Do you always have to make me uncomfortable in public, Blend?’

‘Don’t be silly. You’re positively glowing-’

‘With embarrassment, yes! And look at Antsy-his face is like a sun-baked crabshell.’

‘It’s always like that,’ Blend said.

‘I don’t mind,’ Antsy said, licking his lips. ‘I don’t mind at all what you two get up to, in public or in that favourite room you use, the one with the thin walls and creaking floor and ill-fitting door-’

‘A door you were supposed to fix,’ snapped Pieker, only now half turning to take in the newcomers. She flinched, then huddled down over the table. ‘Gods below. Now, don’t that grizzed one look familiar’.’

‘I been trying to fix it, honest. I work on it all the time-’

‘You work all right, with one eye pressed to the crack,’ Blend said. ‘You think we don’t know you’re there, sweating and grunting as you-’

‘Be quiet!’ Picker hissed. ‘Didn’t you two hear me? I said-’

‘He looks just like Kalam Mekhar, aye,’ Antsy said, poking with his knife at the chicken carcass on the platter in the centre of the table. ‘But he’s not Kalam, is he? Too tall, too big, too friendly-looking.’ He frowned and tugged at his moustache. ‘Who was it said we should eat here tonight?’

‘That bard,’ said Picker.

‘Our bard?’

‘For the rest of the week, aye.’

‘He recommended it?’

‘He said we should eat here tonight, is what he said. Is that a recommendation? Might be. But maybe not. He’s an odd one. Anyway, he said it would be open till dawn.’

‘The chicken was too scrawny. And I don’t know who they got to pluck the damned thing, but I’m still chewing on feathers.’

‘You were supposed to avoid the feet, Antsy. They didn’t even wash those.’

‘Of course they did!’ Antsy protested. ‘That was sauce-’