‘My kitten remembers, all right.’
Another snort from Blend. ‘Meow.’
The grey gloom of the cellar seemed to defy the lantern’s light, but Bluepearl was used to that, and he was only marginally surprised when the ghost shuffled out from the wall at the far end where rested a half-dozen casks still sealed by the monks’ sigil. Sunk to his hips in the floor, the ghost paused and looked round, fi-nally spying the Malazan standing near the steep stone steps. The ghost waded closer. ‘Is that you, Fellurkanath?’
‘Fella what? You’re dead, monk, and you’ve been dead for some time, I’d wager-whn wears tricornered hats these days?’
‘Oh,’ the ghost moaned, clutching his face, ‘K’rul has coughed me out. Why? Why now? I’ve nothing useful to tell, especially not to any foreigner. But he’s stir-ring below, isn’t he? Is that why? Am I to be the voice of dire warning? What do you cure? It’s already too late anyway.’
‘Someone’s trying to murder us.’
‘Of course they are. You’re squatting and they don’t want company. You should broach a cask, one of these. That will tell you everything you need to know.’
‘Oh, really now. Go away.’
‘Who raised the floor and why? And look at this.’ The ghost pushed his head back to reveal that his throat had been sliced open, all the way back to his spine. Gory, bloodless flesh and slashed veins and arteries vaguely silver in the dim light. ‘Was this the ultimate sacrifice? Little do you know.’
‘Do I need to get a necromancer down here?’ Bluepearl demanded. ‘Go away!’
‘The living never heed the dead,’ muttered the ghost, lowering his head and turning round to walk back towards the far wall. ‘And that’s just it. If we didn’t know better, why, we’d be still alive. Think about that, if you dare.’
Vanishing into the heavy stones, and gone.
Bluepearl sighed, looked round until he found the bottle he was looking for. ‘Hah, I knew we had one. Quorl Milk. Why should they get all the fun?’
br />
‘My kitten remembers, all right.’
Another snort from Blend. ‘Meow.’
The grey gloom of the cellar seemed to defy the lantern’s light, but Bluepearl was used to that, and he was only marginally surprised when the ghost shuffled out from the wall at the far end where rested a half-dozen casks still sealed by the monks’ sigil. Sunk to his hips in the floor, the ghost paused and looked round, fi-nally spying the Malazan standing near the steep stone steps. The ghost waded closer. ‘Is that you, Fellurkanath?’
‘Fella what? You’re dead, monk, and you’ve been dead for some time, I’d wager-whn wears tricornered hats these days?’
‘Oh,’ the ghost moaned, clutching his face, ‘K’rul has coughed me out. Why? Why now? I’ve nothing useful to tell, especially not to any foreigner. But he’s stir-ring below, isn’t he? Is that why? Am I to be the voice of dire warning? What do you cure? It’s already too late anyway.’
‘Someone’s trying to murder us.’
‘Of course they are. You’re squatting and they don’t want company. You should broach a cask, one of these. That will tell you everything you need to know.’
‘Oh, really now. Go away.’
‘Who raised the floor and why? And look at this.’ The ghost pushed his head back to reveal that his throat had been sliced open, all the way back to his spine. Gory, bloodless flesh and slashed veins and arteries vaguely silver in the dim light. ‘Was this the ultimate sacrifice? Little do you know.’
‘Do I need to get a necromancer down here?’ Bluepearl demanded. ‘Go away!’
‘The living never heed the dead,’ muttered the ghost, lowering his head and turning round to walk back towards the far wall. ‘And that’s just it. If we didn’t know better, why, we’d be still alive. Think about that, if you dare.’
Vanishing into the heavy stones, and gone.
Bluepearl sighed, looked round until he found the bottle he was looking for. ‘Hah, I knew we had one. Quorl Milk. Why should they get all the fun?’
The two men trundled just behind the woman, so eager they trod on her heels as they fought for some imagined dominant position. Faint had never seen anything so pathetic, and the way the witch played all innocent, even when she worked her two men just to keep trouble stirred up-all of it seemingly accidental, of course, but it wasn’t accidental because Precious Thimble knew precisely what she was up to and as far as Faint was concerned that was cruel beyond all reason.
It didn’t help, either, that the two men-evidently brothers-looked so much alike. With the same way of walking, the same facial expressions, the same tone of voice. If they were no different from each other, then why not just choose one and be done with it?
Well, she didn’t expect any of them to last very long in any case. For most shareholders, the first trip was the deadliest one. It came with not knowing what to expect, with not reacting fast enough or just the right way. The first journey into the warrens killed over half first-timers. Which meant that Precious Thim-ble (who struck Faint as a survivor) might well have her choice taken from her, when either Jula or Amby Bole went down somewhere on the trail.
As they rounded the corner and came within sight of the carriage, Faint saw that Glanno Tarp was already seated up top. Various rituals had been triggered to effect repairs to the huge contrivance; the horses looked restless and eager to be away-as mad as the rest of them, they were. Off to one side and now watching Faint, Quell and their new shareholders approaching, stood Reccanto Ilk and
Sweetest Sufferance, and a third man-huge, round-shouldered, and tattooed in a pattern of-
‘Uh oh,’ said Master Quell.
That’s the one, isn’t it! The caravan guard, the one who survived the Siege of Capustan. What was his name again?
‘This is not for you, Gruntle,’ Master Quell said.
‘Why not?’
‘I’ve got some damned good reasons for saying no to you, and if you just give me a moment I’ll come up with them.’
The man’s feral smile revealed elongated canines.
‘The Trell is inside,’ Reccanto said. ‘Want me to get him, Quell? We should get going, right?’
‘Gruntle-’
‘I’d like to sign on,’ the caravan guard said, ’as a shareholder. Just like those re-cruits there behind you. Same stakes. Same rules.’
‘When did you last take an order, Gruntle? You’ve been commanding guards for years now. You really think I want arguments with everything I say?’