of the sandpit.
But that Shurq, she was damned watchful. Probably a lot more dangerous than the usurper of this cruddy island.
The Adjunct had been explaining, in decent traders’ tongue, the new rules of governance on Second Maiden Fort, and with each statement Brullyg’s expression had sagged yet further.
Entertaining, if one was inclined towards sardonic humour.
‘Ships from our fleet,’ she was now explaining, ‘will be entering the harbour to resupply. One at a time, since it wouldn’t do to panic your citizens-’
A snort from Shurq Elalle, who had drawn her chair to one side, almost in front of where Throatslitter leaned against the wall, to permit herself a clear view of host and guests. Beside her, Skorgen was filling his prodigious gut with Brullyg’s favourite ale, the tankard in one hand, the finger of the other hand exploring the depths of one mangled, rose-red ear. The man had begun a succession of belches, each released in a heavy sigh, that had been ongoing for half a bell now, with no sign of ending. The entire room stank of his yeasty exhalations.
The captain’s derisive expostulation drew the Adjunct’s attention. ‘I understand your impatience,’ Tavore said in a cool voice, ‘and no doubt you wish to leave. Unfortunately, I must speak to you and will do so shortly-’
‘Once you’ve thoroughly detailed Brullyg’s emasculation, you mean.’ Shurq lifted one shapely leg and crossed it on the other, then laced together her hands on her lap, smiling sweetly up at the Adjunct.
Tavore’s colourless eyes regarded the pirate captain for a long moment, then she glanced over to where stood her retinue. ‘Banaschar.’
‘Adjunct?’
‘What is wrong with this woman?’
‘She’s dead,’ the ex-priest replied. ‘A necromantic curse.’
Are you certain?’
Throatslitter cleared his throat and said, Adjunct, Corporal Deadsmell said the same thing when we saw her down in the tavern.’
Brullyg was staring at Shurq with wide, bulging eyes, his jaw hanging slack.
At Shurq’s side, Skorgen Kaban was suddenly frowning, his eyes darting. Then he withdrew the finger that had been plugging one ear and looked down at the gunk smeared all over it. After a moment, Pretty slid that finger into his mouth.
‘Well,’ Shurq sighed up at Tavore, ‘you’ve done it now, haven’t you? Alas, the coin of this secret is the basest of all, namely vanity. Now, if you possess some unpleasant bigotry regarding the undead, then I must re-evaluate my assessment of you, Adjunct. And your motley companions.’
To Throatslitter’s surprise, Tavore actually smiled. ‘Captain, the Malazan Empire is well acquainted with undead, although few possessing your host of charms.’
Gods below, she’s flirting with this sweet’Scented corpse!
‘Host indeed,’ murmured Banaschar, then was so rude as to offer no elaboration. Hood-damned priests. Good for nothing at all.
‘In any case,’ Tavore resumed, ‘we are without prejudice in this matter. I apologize for posing the question leading to this unveiling. I was simply curious.’
‘So am I,’ Shurq replied. ‘This Malazan Empire of yours-do you have any particular reason for invading the Lether Empire?’
‘I was led to understand that this island is independent-’
‘So it is, since the Edur Conquest. But you’re hardly invading one squalid little island. No. You’re just using this to stage your assault on the mainland. So let me ask again, why?’
‘Our enemy,’ the Adjunct said, all amusement now gone, ‘are the Tiste Edur, Captain. Not the Letherii. In fact, we would encourage a general uprising of Letherii-’
‘You won’t get it,’ Shurq Elalle said.
‘Why not?’ Lostara Yil asked.
‘Because we happen to like things the way they are. More or less.’ When no-one spoke, she smiled and continued, ‘The Edur may well have usurped the rulers in their absurd half-finished palace in Letheras. And they may well have savaged a few Letherii armies on the way to the capital. But you will not find bands of starving rebels in the forests dreaming of independence.’
‘Why not?’ Lostara demanded again in an identical tone.
‘They conquered, but we won. Oh, I wish Tehol Beddict was here, since he’s much better at explaining things, but let me try. I shall imagine Tehol sitting here, to help me along. Conquest. There are different kinds of conquests. Now, we have Tiste Edur lording it here and there, the elite whose word is law and never questioned. After all, their sorcery is cruel, their judgement cold and terribly simplistic. They are, in fact, above all law-as the Letherii understand the notion-’
‘And,’ Lostara pressed, ‘how do they understand the notion of law?’
‘Well, a set of deliberately vague guidelines one hires an advocate to evade when necessary.’
‘What were you, Shurq Elalle, before you were a pirate?’
A thief. I’ve employed a few advocates in my day. In any case, my point is this. The Edur rule but either through ignorance or indifference-and let’s face it, without ignorance you don’t get to indifference-they care little about the everyday administration of the empire. So, that particular apparatus remains Letherii and is, these days, even less regulated than it has been in the past.’ She smiled again, one leg rocking. As for us lower orders, well, virtually nothing has changed. We stay poor. Debt-ridden and comfortably miserable and, as Tehol might say, miserable in our comfort.’
‘So,’ Lostara said, ‘not even the Letherii nobles would welcome a change in the present order.’
‘Them least of all.’
‘What of your Emperor?’
‘Rhulad? From all accounts, he is insane, and effectively isolated besides. The empire is ruled by the Chancellor, and lie’s Letherii. He was also Chancellor in the days of King Diskanar, and he was there to ensure that the transition went smoothly.’
A grunt from Blistig, and he turned to Tavore. ‘The marines, Adjunct,’ he said in a half-moan.
And Throatslitter understood and felt a dread chill seeping through him. We sent them in, expecting to find allies, expecting them to whip the countryside into a belligerent frenzy. But they won’t get that.
The whole damned empire is going to rise up all right. To tear out their throats.
Adjunct, you have done it again.
Chapter Fifteen
Crawl down sun this is not your time
Black waves slide under the sheathed moon
upon the shore a silent storm
a will untamed heaves up from the red-skirled foam
Scud to your mountain nests you iron clouds
to leave the sea its dancing refuse of stars
on this host of salty midnight tides
Gather drawn and swell tight your tempest
lift like scaled heads from the blind depths
all your effulgent might in restless roving eyes
Reel back you tottering forests
this night the black waves crash on the black shore
to steal the flesh from your bony roots
death comes, shouldering aside in cold legion
in a marching wind this dread this blood this reaper’s gale
