then. We bribed our way past them. Then a band of other looters jumped us. I guess they waited there for fools like us to go to all the effort to bring the riches to them. I got away with a bare fraction and reached the Gap.’
‘What is it?’ Malakai demanded.
‘It’s just what it says — an exit. A big series of terraces open to the outside. I guess the Andii used them to view the night sky or some such thing. The water comes right up to them now. They pull their boats up there, take their cut then take you out. Least, that’s what everyone said happens …’
‘But … that’s not what happened,’ Corien said.
‘No. That’s not what happened.’ The man’s voice thickened, almost choking. ‘I handed over all my best pieces, the cream of the riches — and do you know what they said?’
‘It wasn’t enough,’ Malakai said.
‘That’s right. It wasn’t enough. I threw them everything I had, even my weapons. They still claimed I was short of the payment for passage.’ The man sounded as if he was on the verge of tears. ‘You’ve all probably figured it out, haven’t you? But only then did I realize what was going on. Up until that moment I truly believed they would take their cut and let me go. God of the Oceans, what a fool I was.’
‘They just sent you back to collect more,’ Malakai said.
‘Yes. This is their gold mine and they need the labour. They said they’d keep what I’d brought as a down payment on my exit fee. Ha! That’s a joke. I had nothing left, just the shirt I’m wearing. I simply wandered off and ended up here.’
That mailed fist of rage brought stars to Antsy’s vision once more.
Orchid was saying, ‘How do you survive down here?’
‘Oh, we scrape together enough to buy food and water from the Confederation crews. At astounding prices, of course. Water is truly worth its weight in gold.’
‘We want up,’ Malakai cut in. ‘Which way do we go?’
‘There are stairs … it’s the only way. It’s-’
A second scream exploded in the night, making Antsy flinch and raising an answering cry from Orchid. It wailed, rising in terror and agony until it cracked as if the throat carrying it had been torn out.
In the long silence following that terrifying sound Malakai asked mildly, ‘And what was that?’
‘Ah. That. The Spawn is an ancient place, you know. Full of inhuman spirits and sorcery. Some claim it’s a curse on all of us. Humans aren’t welcome here. Myself, I believe it to be an escaped demon. Every few days it comes to feed. I was rather hoping it would show up here.’
‘That’s enough,’ Malakai said. ‘Let’s get going.’
‘And … what of me?’
‘You we leave behind. Congratulations. Maybe you’ll be the last off this rock.’
‘But — as I told you — there’s nothing left.’ The man sounded genuinely puzzled. ‘What could you possibly be looking for?’
A long awkward silence followed that seemingly simple question. Antsy wasn’t looking for anything beyond someone to pay him handsomely for his skills. And to look into rumours he’d heard about this place. Corien wanted riches and the influence they could bring. Malakai similarly so, he imagined. He had no idea what Orchid wanted.
Malakai spoke into the silence: ‘Myself, I’m searching for the gardens of the moon.’
Antsy blinked in the night. There was no such thing; it was just poetic — wasn’t it? But Orchid’s gasp of recognition told him she knew something of it. As for Panar, he started laughing. He laughed on and on and would not stop. It seemed the man was laughing not so much at Malakai’s gallows jest as at them, and himself, and at the entire absurd fate they’d all so deftly manoeuvred themselves into through greed, and ambition, and short- sightedness — all the classic character flaws that lead men and women to their self-inflicted dooms.
And he kept on laughing even after Malakai threw him aside.
Nathilog had been among the first of the settlements of northwestern Genabackis to fall to the Malazans. It had been a notorious pirate haven before that, ruled by might of fist under a series of self-styled barons. Now, after decades of Malazan occupation, its aristocracy was thoroughly Talianized. Trade across the top of the Meningalle Ocean was heavy as the raw resources and riches of a continent passed across to the Imperial homeland, and troops and war materiel returned.
Agull’en, the Malazan governor, resided in the rebuilt hall of rulership once occupied by his robber baron antecedents. It was here at the end of his daily reception that a mage suddenly appeared in the hall. His picked bodyguard of twenty Barghast surged forward to interpose themselves between him and the interloper. His own mage, a Rhivi shaman, stared frozen at the apparition, clearly stunned.
The governor steeled himself and hardened his voice: ‘What is the meaning of this? Who has sent you?’
The man bowed low, hand at goatee. ‘Greetings, Agull’en, governor of north-west Genabackis. I am come with salutations from my master, the newly installed Legate of Darujhistan.’
Agull’en frowned, puzzled. ‘Legate? Darujhistan has a Legate?’
‘Newly installed.’
‘I see.’ Agull’en peered around, thinking. His mage, he noted, was nowhere to be seen. Had the man fled? Damn him! He’d see him flogged! Then the instincts that had guided his path these many years over so many rivals and up so many rungs asserted themselves and his lips eased into a knowing, rather condescending smile. ‘You wish to renegotiate trade agreements. Very well. A trade delegation may be sent.’
‘No, Governor. My master does not wish to renegotiate details of trade.’
‘No? Treaties then? This “Legate” must speak with the Malazan ambassador there in Darujhistan regarding any treaties.’
‘Be assured that my master will deal with the ambassador when his time comes. No, I am come as the mouthpiece of the one who is the rightful spokesman for all Genabackis. And he demands, my good governor, that you swear allegiance to him.’
Agull’en sat forward in his chair. ‘I’m sorry? Swear allegiance to this Legate of Darujhistan?’ He laughed his utter disbelief. ‘Are you mad? Is he mad?’
The mage bowed once more. ‘No, sir. I assure you he is not.’
‘And what if I refuse this demand? What will this self-styled Legate do should I decline his invitation? You may be an accomplished practitioner in your field, mage. But I offer a lesson in stark politics for your consideration. Malazans have thousands of troops. Darujhistan has none.’
‘If you do not swear, then we will find someone who will,’ the mage answered simply.
Agull’en’s face darkened as his rage climbed beyond his control. He waved his guards forward. ‘Flay this bastard!’
The guards did not live long enough to draw weapons. And the hall of rulership at Nathilog was once more in need of rebuilding.
Similar scenes played themselves out across the north of the continent from one ex-free city to the next: Cajale, Genalle, and Tulips. Last of all was a visitation within the temporary wood hall of mayorship in Pale. The mayor was dining with guests when an apparition wavered into view before the long table. The guests started up in panic, raising eating daggers. Guards were called. The ghostly figure of a tall man opened his hands in greeting. ‘I would speak to the Lord Mayor,’ he called.
Guards came scrambling in, crossbows raised. A portly bearded man raised his arms, bellowing, ‘Hold!’ The guards halted, taking aim. ‘Who are you and what do you wish?’ the man demanded of the apparition.
The figure bowed. ‘Lord Mayor of Pale. I am come as the mouth of the newly installed Legate of Darujhistan.’
The mayor frowned behind his beard, clearly astonished. He glanced aside to another guest, a balding dark man in a black leather jerkin. ‘Is that so? A Legate in Darujhistan?’
‘Yes. Newly installed. As such, he claims his traditional position as spokesman for all Genabackis. And in such
