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

‘No. Of course not. I’d have remembered.’

‘Why?’

‘Why? Are you a Hood-damned idiot?’

‘What are we doing here, Leff?’

‘Torvald said no, remember? To everything. He’s too good for us now. So we’ll show him. We’ll get hired on this fancy estate. As guards. With uniforms and polished buckles and those braided peace-straps for our swords. And so he’ll curse himself that he didn’t want us no more, as partners or anything. It’s his wife, I bet-she never liked us at all, especially you, Scorch, so that’s what you’ve done to us and I won’t forget any time soon neither so don’t even think otherwise.’

He shut his mouth then and stood at attention since the foreman was returning and at his side pitter-pattered a figure so wrapped up in swaddles of cotton it took three steps for every pendulum pitch forward from the foreman. The feet beneath the ragged hem were small enough to be cloven hoofs. A hood covered thecastellan’s head and in the shadow of the hood’* broad mouth there was some-thing that might have been a mask. Gloved hands were drawn up in a way that to minded Leff-and, a moment later, Scorch-of a praying mantis, and if this was the estate castellan then someone had knocked the world askew in ways unimag-inable to either Leff or Scorch.

The foreman said, ‘Here they are, sir.’

Were there eyes in the holes of that smooth mask? Who could tell? But the head shifted and something told both men-like spider legs dancing up their spines-that they were under scrutiny.

‘So true,’ Castellan Studlock said in a voice that made Leff think of gravel under the fingernails while Scorch thought about the way there was always one gull that bullied all the rest and if the others just ganged up, why, equality and freedom would belong to everyone! ‘So true,’ said the swaddled, masked man (or woman, but then the foreman had said ‘sir’, hadn’t he), ‘there is need for estate guards. The Mistress will be arriving today, in fact, from the out-country. Proper presentation is desired.’ The castellan paused and then leaned forward from the waist and Leff saw the red glint of unhuman eyes in the holes of the mask. ‘You, what is your name?’

‘Leff Bahan, sir, is my name.’

‘You have been eating raw lake conch?’

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‘No. Of course not. I’d have remembered.’

‘Why?’

‘Why? Are you a Hood-damned idiot?’

‘What are we doing here, Leff?’

‘Torvald said no, remember? To everything. He’s too good for us now. So we’ll show him. We’ll get hired on this fancy estate. As guards. With uniforms and polished buckles and those braided peace-straps for our swords. And so he’ll curse himself that he didn’t want us no more, as partners or anything. It’s his wife, I bet-she never liked us at all, especially you, Scorch, so that’s what you’ve done to us and I won’t forget any time soon neither so don’t even think otherwise.’

He shut his mouth then and stood at attention since the foreman was returning and at his side pitter-pattered a figure so wrapped up in swaddles of cotton it took three steps for every pendulum pitch forward from the foreman. The feet beneath the ragged hem were small enough to be cloven hoofs. A hood covered thecastellan’s head and in the shadow of the hood’* broad mouth there was some-thing that might have been a mask. Gloved hands were drawn up in a way that to minded Leff-and, a moment later, Scorch-of a praying mantis, and if this was the estate castellan then someone had knocked the world askew in ways unimag-inable to either Leff or Scorch.

The foreman said, ‘Here they are, sir.’

Were there eyes in the holes of that smooth mask? Who could tell? But the head shifted and something told both men-like spider legs dancing up their spines-that they were under scrutiny.

‘So true,’ Castellan Studlock said in a voice that made Leff think of gravel under the fingernails while Scorch thought about the way there was always one gull that bullied all the rest and if the others just ganged up, why, equality and freedom would belong to everyone! ‘So true,’ said the swaddled, masked man (or woman, but then the foreman had said ‘sir’, hadn’t he), ‘there is need for estate guards. The Mistress will be arriving today, in fact, from the out-country. Proper presentation is desired.’ The castellan paused and then leaned forward from the waist and Leff saw the red glint of unhuman eyes in the holes of the mask. ‘You, what is your name?’

‘Leff Bahan, sir, is my name.’

‘You have been eating raw lake conch?’

‘What? Er, not recently.’

A wrapped finger darted upward and wagged slowly back and forth. ‘Risky. Please, open your mouth and stick out your tongue.’

‘What? Er, like this?’

‘That is fine, very fine, yes. So.’ The castellan leaned back. ‘Greva worms. You are infected. Pustules on your tongue. Dripping sinuses, yes? Itchy eyelids-the eggs do that, and when they hatch, why,” the worms will crawl out from the corners of your eyes. Raw lake conch, tsk tsk.’

Leff clawed at his face. ‘Gods, I need a healer! I gotta go-’

‘No need. I will happily see your ailment treated-you must be presentable to the Mistress, yes, each standing at attention on either side of the gate. Well attired, hale.of complexion and parasite-free. A small barracks is being readied. It will be necessary to hire at least three more to complete the requirements-do you have reliable friends capable of such work?’

‘Er,’ said Scorch when it was obvious that Leff had momentarily lost his facility for speech, ‘we might. I could go and see…’

‘Excellent, and your name is?’

‘Scorch. Er, we got references-’

‘No need. I am confident in my ability to judge character, and I have concluded that you two, while not to be considered vast of intellect, are nevertheless inclined to loyalty. This here will mark an advancement in your careers, I am sure, and so you will be diligent as befits your secret suspicion that you have exceeded your competence. All this is well. Also, I am pleased to note that you do not possess any parasites of a debilitating, unsightly sort. So, Scorch, go yonder and find us one, two or three additional guards. In the meantime, I will attend to Leff Bahan.’

‘Right. Yes sir, I will do just that!’The foreman was standing nearby, smirking. Neither Scorch nor a stunned Leff noticed this detail, and yes, they should have.

‘A woman needs her secrets,’ said Tiserra, lifting up an eggshell-thin porcelain cup and holding it in front of the bright sunlight. ‘This one is good, darling. No flaws.’ And the hag in the stall grinned, head bobbing.

Torvald Nom nodded happily, then licked his lips. ‘Isn’t this fun?’ he said. ‘Fine crockery to go into our new kitchen and the fancy oven on its four legs and all. Real drapes. Plush furniture, colourful rugs. We can get the storage shed rebuilt, too. Bigger, solid-’