Toll the Hounds Part 8

Protected for ever more by Night and its grim, silent sentinels.

The serpent of dust journeyed, then, to a place of salvation.

Among the Rhivi of North Genabackis, there was a saying. A man who stirs awake the serpent is a man without fear. A man without fear has forgotten the rules of life. A man who stirs awake the serpent is a man without fear. A man without fear has forgotten the rules of life.

Silanah heard their songs and prayers.

And she watched.

Sometimes, mortals did indeed forget. Sometimes, mortals needed . . . reminding.

CHAPTER THREE.

And he knew to stand thereWould be a task unforgivingRelentless as sacrifices madeAnd blood vows givenHe knew enough to wait aloneBefore the charge of fury's heatThe chants of vengeanceWhere swords will meetAnd where once were mortalsStill remain dreams of homeIf but one gilded doorCould be pried open.Did he waste breath in bargainOr turn aside on the momentDid he smile in pleasure Seeking chastis.e.m.e.nt?

(See him still, he stands thereWhile you remain, unforgivingThe poet d.a.m.ns youThe artist cries outThe one who weepsTurns his face awayYour mind is crowdedBy the inconsequentialListing the detailsOf the minusculeAnd every measureOf what means nothing To anyone

He takes from you every rageEvery crime . . . Whether you like itOr you do not . . .Sacrifices madeVows givenHe stands aloneBecause none of you dare Stand with him) Fisher's challenge to his listeners, breaking the telling of The Mane of Chaos

On this morning, so fair and fresh with the warm breeze coming down off the lake, there were arrivals. Was a city a living thing? Did it possess eyes? Could its senses be lit awake by the touch of footsteps? Did Darujhistan, on that fine morning, look in turn upon those who set their gazes upon it? Arrivals, grand and modest, footsteps less than a whisper, whilst others trembled to the very bones of the Sleeping G.o.ddess. Were such things the beat of the city's heart?

But no, cities did not possess eyes, or any other senses. Cut stone and hardened plaster, wood beams and corniced facades, walled gardens and quiescent pools beneath trickling fountains, all was insensate to the weathering traffic of its denizens. A city could know no hunger, could not rise from sleep, nor even twist uneasy in its grave.

Leave such things, then, to a short rotund man, seated at a table at the back of the Phoenix Inn, in the midst of an expansive breakfast to pause with a mouth crammed full of pastry and spiced apple, to suddenly choke. Eyes bulging, face flus.h.i.+ng scarlet, then launching a spray of pie across the table, into the face of a regretfully hungover Meese, who, now wearing the very pie she had baked the day before, simply lifted her bleary gaze and settled a basilisk regard upon the hacking, wheezing man opposite her.

If words were necessary, then, she would have used them.

The man coughed on, tears streaming from his eyes.

Sulty arrived with a cloth and began wiping, gently, the mess from a motionless, almost statuesque Meese.

On the narrow, sloped street to the right of the entrance to Quip's Bar, the detritus of last night's revelry skirled into the air on a rush of wild wind. Where a moment before there had been no traffic of any sort on the cobbled track, now there were screaming, froth-streaked horses, hoofs cracking like iron mallets on the uneven stone. Horses two, four, six and behind them, in a half-sideways rattling skid, an enormous carriage, its back end cras.h.i.+ng into the face of a building in a shattering explosion of plaster, awning and window cas.e.m.e.nt. Figures flew from the careering monstrosity as it tilted, almost tipping, then righted itself with the sound of a house falling over. Bodies were thumping on to the street, rolling desperately to avoid the man-high wheels.

The horses plunged on, dragging the contraption some further distance down the slope, trailing broken pieces, plaster fragments and other more unsightly things, before the animals managed to slow, then halt, the momentum, aided in no small part by a sudden clenching of wooden brakes upon all six wheels.

Perched atop the carriage, the driver was thrown forward, sailing through the air well above the tossing heads of the horses, landing in a rubbish cart almost buried in the fete's leavings. This refuse probably saved his life, although, as all grew still once more, only the soles of his boots were visible, temporarily motionless as befitted an unconscious man.

Strewn in the carriage's wake, amidst mundane detritus, were human remains in various stages of decay; some plump with rotting flesh, others mere skin stretched over bone. A few of these still twitched or groped aimlessly on the cobbles, like the plucked limbs of insects. Jammed into the partly crushed wall of the shop the conveyance's rear right-side corner had clipped was a corpse's head, driven so deep as to leave visible but one eye, a cheek and one side of the jaw. The eye rolled ponderously. The mouth twitched, as if words were struggling to escape, then curled in an odd smile.

Those more complete figures, who had been thrown in various directions, were now slowly picking themselves up, or, in the case of two of them, not moving at all and by the twist of limbs and neck it was clear that never again would their unfortunate owners move of their own accord, not even to draw breath.

From a window on the second level of a tenement, an old woman leaned out for a brief glance down on the carnage below, then retreated, hands snapping closed the wooden shutters.

Clattering sounds came from within the partly ruined shop, then a muted shriek that was not repeated within the range of human hearing, although in the next street over a dog began howling.

The carriage door squealed open, swung once on its hinges, then fell off, landing with a rattle on the cobbles.

On her hands and knees fifteen paces away, Shareholder Faint lifted her aching head and gingerly turned it towards the carriage, in time to see Master Quell lunge into view, tumbling like a Rhivi doll on to the street. Smoke drifted out in his wake.

Closer to hand, Reccanto Ilk stood, reeling, blinking stupidly around before his eyes lit on the battered sign above the door to Quip's Bar. He staggered in that direction.

Faint pushed herself upright, brushed dust from her meat-spattered clothes, and scowled as scales of armour clinked down like coins on to the stones. From one such breach in her hauberk she prised loose a taloned finger, which she peered at for a moment, then tossed aside as she set out after Reccanto.

Before she reached the door she was joined by Sweetest Sufferance, the short, plump woman waddling but determined none the less as both her small hands reached out for the taproom's door.

From the rubbish cart, Glanno Tarp was digging himself free.

Master Quell, on his hands and knees, looked up, then said, 'This isn't our street.'

Ducking into the gloom of Quip's Bar, Faint paused briefly until she heard a commotion at the far end, where Reccanto had collapsed into a chair, one arm sweeping someone's leavings from the table. Sweetest Sufferance dragged up another chair and thumped down on it.

The three drunks who were the other customers watched Faint walk across the room, each of them earning a scowl from her.

Quip Younger whose father had opened this place in a fit of ambition and optimism that had lasted about a week was shambling over from the bar the same way his old man used to, and reached the table the same time as Faint.

No one spoke.

The keep frowned, then turned round and made his way back to the bar.

Master Quell arrived, along with Glanno Tarp, still stinking of refuse.

Moments later, the four shareholders and one High Mage navigator of the Trygalle Trade Guild sat round the table. No exchange of glances. No words.

Quip Younger who had once loved Faint, long before anyone ever heard of the Trygalle Trade Guild and long before she hooked up with this mad lot delivered five tankards and the first pitcher of ale.

Five trembling hands reached for those tankards, gripping them tight.

Quip hesitated; then, rolling his eyes, he lifted the pitcher and began pouring out the sour, cheap brew.

Kruppe took a mouthful of the dark magenta wine a council a bottle, no less and swirled it in his mouth until all the various bits of pie were dislodged from the innumerable creva.s.ses between his teeth, whereupon he leaned to one side and spat on to the floor. 'Ah.' He smiled across at Meese. 'Much better, yes?'

'I'll take payment for that bottle right now,' she said.

'That way I can leave before I have to witness one more abuse of such an exquisite vintage.'

'Why, has Kruppe's credit so swiftly vanished? Decided entirely upon an untoward breaking of fast this particular morning?'

'It's the insults, you fat pig, piled one on another until it feels I'm drowning in offal.' She bared her teeth. 'Offal in a red waistcoat.'

'Aaii, vicious jab. Kruppe is struck to the heart . . . and,' he added, reaching once more for the dusty bottle, 'has no choice but to loosen said constricture of the soul, with yet another tender mouthful.'

Meese leaned forward. 'If you spit that one out, Kruppe, I will wring your neck.'

He hastily swallowed, then gasped. 'Kruppe very nearly choked once more. Such a morning! Portents and pastry, wails and wine!'

Heavy steps descending from the upper floor.

'Ah, here comes yon Malazan saviour. Mallet, dear friend of Kruppe, will Murillio sweet Prince of Disenchantment recover to his fullest self? Come, join me in this pa.s.sing ferment. Meese, sweet la.s.s, will you not find Mallet a goblet?'

Her eyes narrowed into thin slits. 'How about one for yourself, Kruppe?'

'Delightful suggestion.' Kruppe wiped at the bottle's mouth with one grimy sleeve, then beamed across at her.

She rose, stalked off.

The Malazan healer sat down with a heavy sigh, closed his eyes and rubbed vigorously at his round, pallid face, then looked round the bar. 'Where is everyone?'

'Your companion of the night just past Kruppe has sent home, with the a.s.surance that your self is safe from all harm. 'Tis dawn, friend, or rather morning's fresh stumping on dawn's gilt heels. s.h.i.+ps draw in alongside berths, gangplanks clatter and thump to form momentous bridges from one world to the next. Roads take sudden turns and out trundle macabre mechanisms scattering bits of flesh like dark seeds of doom! Hooded eyes scan strangers, shrikes cry out above the lake's steaming flats, dogs scratch vigorously behind the ears ah, Meese has brought us her finest goblets! A moment, whilst Kruppe sweeps out cobwebs, insect husks and other a.s.sorted proofs of said goblets' treasured value there, now, let us sit back and watch, with pleased eyes, as Meese fills our cups to br.i.m.m.i.n.g glory. Why-'

'For Hood's sake,' Mallet cut in, 'it's too early for your company, Kruppe. Let me drink this wine and then escape with my sanity, I beg you.'

'Why, friend Mallet, we await your a.s.sessment of Murillio's physical state.'

'He'll live. But no dancing for a week or two.' He hesitated, frowning down into his goblet, as if surprised to find it suddenly empty once more. 'a.s.suming he comes out of his funk, that is. A mired mind can slow the body's recovery. Can reverse it, in fact.'

'Fret not over Murillio's small but precise mind, friend,' Kruppe said. 'Such matters ever find solution through Kruppe's wise ministrations. Does Coll remain at bedside?'

Mallet nodded, set the goblet down and rose. 'I'm going home.' He glowered across at Kruppe. 'And with Oponn's pull, I might even get there.'

'Nefarious nuisances thrive best in night's noisome chaos, dear healer. Kruppe confidently a.s.sures you a most uneventful return to your atypical abode.'

Mallet grunted, then said, 'And how do you plan on a.s.suring that?'

'Why, with worthy escort, of course!' He poured himself the last of the wine and smiled up at the Malazan. 'See yon door and illimitable Irilta positioned before it? Dastardly contracts seeking your sad deaths cannot indeed be permitted. Kruppe extends his formidable resources to guarantee your lives!'

The healer continued staring down at him. 'Kruppe, do you know who offered this contract?'

'Ringing revelations are imminent, treasured friend. Kruppe promises.'

Another grunt, then Mallet wheeled and walked towards the door and his escort, who stood smiling with brawny arms crossed.

Kruppe watched them leave and weren't they just quite the pair.

Meese slouched down in the chair Mallet had vacated. 'Guild contract,' she muttered. 'Could simply be some imperial cleaning up, you know. New emba.s.sy's now up and running after all. Could be somebody in it caught word of Malazan deserters running a d.a.m.ned bar. Desertion's a death sentence, ain't it?'

'Too great a risk, sweet Meese,' Kruppe replied, drawing out his silk handkerchief and blotting at his brow. 'The Malazan Empire, alas, has its own a.s.sa.s.sins, of which two are present in said emba.s.sy. Yet, by all accounts, 'twas a Hand of Krafar's Guild that made the attempt last night.' He raised a pudgy finger. 'A mystery, this one who so seeks the death of inoffensive Malazan deserters, but not a mystery for long, oh no! Kruppe will discover all that needs discovering!'

'Fine,' Meese said, 'now discover that council, Kruppe, for the bottle.'

Sighing, Kruppe reached into the small purse strapped to his belt, probed within the leather pouch, then, brows lifted in sudden dismay: 'Dearest Meese, yet another discovery . . .'

Grainy-eyed, Scorch scowled at the teeming quayside. 'It's the morning fisher boats,' he said, 'comin' in right now. Ain't no point in hangin' round, Leff.'

'People on the run will be coming here early,' Leff pointed out, scooping out with his knife the freshwater conch he had purchased a moment ago. He slithered down a mouthful of white, gleaming meat. 'T'be waitin' for the first s.h.i.+ps in from Gredfallan. Midmorning, right? The new locks at Dhavran have made it all regular, predictable, I mean. A day through with a final scoot to Gredfallan, overnight there, then on with the dawn to here. Desperate folk line up first, Scorch, 'cause they're desperate.'

'I hate sitting anywhere my feet have to dangle,' Scorch complained, s.h.i.+fting uncomfortably on the stack of crates.

'Decent line of sight,' Leff said. 'I'll join ya up there anon.'

'Don't know how you can eat that. Meat should have blood in it. Any meat without blood in it ain't meat.'

'Aye, it's conch.'

'It's a thing with eyes on the ends of its tentacles, watching as you cut its body apart see how the stalks swivel, following up to your mouth, tracking every swallow? It's watching you eat it!'

'So what?'

Gulls shrieked in swarming clouds over the low jetties where the fishers were heaving baskets of sliverfish on to the slimy stone, children scurrying about in the hopes of being hired to slip the wriggling fish on to monger-strings in time for the morning market. Grey-backed Gadrobi cats, feral now for a thousand generations, leapt out in ambush to kill gulls. Frenzied battles ensued, feathers skirling, tufts of cat hair drifting on the breeze like thistle heads.

Below the inside docks old women wandered in the gloom between pylons, using long, thin, barbed pokers to collect up the small, hand's-length sliverfish that managed to slip through the baskets and fall in gleaming rain as the catch was carried ash.o.r.e. When the harvest was small, the old hags were wont to use those toothed pokers on each other.

Scorch could see them from where he was perched, m.u.f.fled forms moving this way and that, pokers darting in the perpetual shadows. 'I swore to never again eat anything this lake gave up,' he muttered. 'Gran above,' he added in a hoa.r.s.e whisper, 'y'see I remember them cuts an' holes in your scrawny arms. I remember 'em, Gran, an' so I swore.'

'What's that?' Leff asked from below.

'Nothing, only we're wasting our time-'

'Patience, Scorch. We got us a list. We got us trouble. Didn't we hear that Brokul might be making a run?'

'The place is a d.a.m.ned mob, Leff.'

'We just need to concentrate on the lines forming up.'

'Ain't no lines, Leff.'

Leff tossed the sh.e.l.l over the end of the lake wall, where it clattered down below on to ten thousand others. 'Not yet,' he said. 'Soon.'

Just past the fork at Urs, the battered remnants of the caravan headed up towards South Worrytown. Herders and quarry workers on their way out to the Ravens edged to the sides of the road, then stopped and stared at the four charred and smoke-streaked trader-wagons rocking past. A single horse struggled in a makes.h.i.+ft yoke before each wain.

Of the usual a.s.sortment of guards that might be expected, even for a caravan as small as this one seemed to be, only one was visible, slouched down in a Gadrobi saddle and almost entirely hidden beneath a dusty, hooded cloak. From seamed slits in the faded brown cape, just above the man's shoulder blades, jutted the worn grips and pommels of twin cutla.s.ses. The leather gauntlets covering his hands where they rested on the high saddle horn were stained and mostly in shreds, revealing to those close enough to see skin tattooed to very nearly solid black.

From the shadow of the hood, strangely feline eyes held fixed on the road ahead. The first decrepit shanties of South Worrytown emerged from the morning mist like the dishevelled nests of some oversized carrion bird, lining the dirt track to either side. From cracks and holes in the leaning walls, liquid eyes peered out as the guard led his clattering train past.

Before long, they were well and truly within the maze and its crowds of life's refugees, rising like ghosts from the shadows, raising faint voices to beg for coin and food. Few caravans coming up from the south chose this route into Darujhistan, since the track through the city's shabby outskirts was both narrow and twisting. And those that proved insufficiently defended could become victims of the raw, desperate need drawing ever closer on all sides.