‘Draw your knife, human. Kneel.’
‘I am sorry, but I can barely hear you.’
She blinked. ‘Draw your knife!’
‘Barely a whisper, I’m afraid.’ He drew out a small wooden card. ‘I am Ganoes Paran. I was a soldier in the Malazan army, a marine, to be precise. But then I became the Master of the Deck of Dragons. I didn’t ask for the title, and had no real understanding of the role for quite some time. But I’m getting the hang of it now.’ He held up the card. ‘This is where your voice is going. It’s another realm, where the only things hearing you — or, rather, succumbing to your power — are insects and worms in the mud. They’re confused. They don’t know what a knife is. They don’t even know how to kneel.’
Sister Belie stepped forward. ‘Then I shall break you with my hands-’
He seemed to lean back, and suddenly he was gone. The card fell, clattered on the stones. She reached down, picked up it. The image was little more than a scratching of lines, a rough landscape, a hint of ground, low plants — and there, vague in the gloom, stood the man. He beckoned and in her mind she heard his voice.
‘Come after me, Forkrul Assail. I invite you to do battle with me here. No? Well, it was foolish of me to think you were that stupid. After all, I need only step out of this wretched place, leaving you trapped — and it’d be a long, long time before you found your way home. Well. We have now met. We are enemies known to one another, as it should be.
‘You cannot enslave my army. If you want to defeat us, you’ll have to do it the hard way. Oh, by the way, I enjoyed our little talk. I think I now understand you better than you do me, which is an advantage I intend to exploit. Oh, if you could see your expression now-’
With a snarl she snapped the card in half, flung the pieces to the ground. Whirling, she marched back to where her officers waited. ‘Summon Brother Grave — assemble the legions. We shall end this!’
One of the Watered stepped forward tremulously and bowed. ‘Pure, we need reinforcements-’
‘And you shall have them. We shall sustain this assault — give them no rest. Brother Grave waits with three legions. I will have that human’s hide nailed to the wall of this citadel.’
The Watered grinned. ‘A worthy trophy, Pure.’
She faced the edifice once more. ‘I will,’ she whispered, ‘because I can.’
‘You fool,’ snapped Noto Boil. ‘She almost had you, didn’t she?’
Paran wiped at the mud caked on his boots. ‘Find Fist Bude. Get the reserves ready. This one’s going to be messy. And tell Mathok to mount up for a sortie — before the bastards get a chance to set up.’
‘Did she seek to command you?’
‘I told you, I had an answer to that. But you’re right, those Forkrul Assail move damned fast. It was close. Closer than I would have liked, but then,’ he smiled at the healer, ‘we’ve stirred them up. Got two pure-bloods over there now — and more legions to boot.’
‘Let me guess — all according to your plan.’
‘Where’s Ormulogun? I need him to work on that etching — in case we need to get the Hood out of here.’
Noto Boil sighed, and set off to look for the Imperial Artist. He chewed on his fish spine until he tasted blood.
‘You always could pick them, couldn’t you, woman?’ She’d been walking in her sleep again, this time out and down the steps into the cellar, where waited a dead friend. He was sitting on one of the kegs Antsy called the Sours — one of those that held bodies of damned Seguleh. Not that they were there any more, but that pickling concoction was still one of the foulest brews she’d ever smelled.
Was it Bluepearl who’d given it a taste? She couldn’t remember, but … probably.
He was sitting working a knife tip under filthy fingernails.
‘Am I sleeping again?’ Picker asked.
‘Yeah,’ Bluepearl replied. ‘But I’m telling ya, Pick, getting dragged into your dreams like this ain’t much fun.’
‘You know what’s happened to this city?’
He grimaced, frowned at his nails. ‘I voted against settling here — do you remember that? But the count didn’t go my way — story of my life. And then Darujhistan went and killed me.’
‘But you didn’t know why, did you? I can tell you why now, Bluepearl. I know why now.’
He sheathed his knife and the sound the weapon made as it locked in the scabbard was sharp enough to make her breath catch. Looked across at her and said, ‘We resanctified this place, did you know that? Spilling all that blood — it was stirring when we moved in, but then we went and drenched the stones in that red stuff.’
‘Meaning?’
He shrugged, drew out his knife again and began cleaning his nails, each gesture the same as the time before. ‘In here, Pick, we’re safe.’
She snorted. ‘Maybe for you.’
‘You got to go soon, Sergeant. Out of the city. Will there be trouble, you doing that? ’
‘You called me Sergeant.’
‘Aye, I did. Because I’m passing on orders here. That’s all.’
‘Whose orders?’
He examined his nails. ‘There’s no such thing, Picker, as retiring from the Bridgeburners.’
‘Go back to Hood!’
He grunted in amusement, clicked his knife home, the sound louder and more disturbing than the first time. ‘Where Hood’s at I ain’t going, Pick. We got us the right commander again, the one we should’ve had right from the start. By whose order, Sergeant?’ He drew out his knife and set to his nails again. ‘Whiskeyjack.’
‘What’s he got to do with any of this? I know who I’m supposed to find. I even know where he’s holed up — and staying outa Darujhistan tells me he’s smarter than he looks.’ Lifting an arm, she caught a flash of silver. Stared in horror at the torcs now encircling her upper arms. ‘Gods below! How did these come back! Get ’em off me!’
‘Treach needs you now. Tiger of Summer and all that.’ He grinned at her. ‘It’s all brewing up, my love.’
‘Shit! I just put ’em on because they looked nice!’
He was studying her, head cocked. ‘Getting fat on us, Sergeant?’
She scowled. ‘Taken to wearing chain under everything.’
‘Even when you’re asleep? And you say you ain’t a Bridgeburner no more?’
‘What kind of dream is this?’
He sheathed his dagger. This time the click was sharp enough to make her flinch. ‘The important kind, Sergeant. Look at it this way. Hood’s gone. Death’s Gate was just … gaping. But someone sanctified us. We’ve seen more death than a sane person could stand. But we ain’t sane, are we? We’re soldiers. Veterans. We’re past sane. We’re in that other place, where all the insanity’s been storming around us for so long it can’t touch us no more either. Meaning we’re outside both. What makes us perfect for Death’s Gate? Simple, Picker. It don’t matter what we look at, we don’t blink.’
‘I can get out of the city,’ she said. ‘But it won’t be easy.’
He began cleaning his fingernails, the knife blade flashing dull in the misty gloom. ‘Glad to hear all that confidence has come roaring back. Thing is, we ain’t in the mood to challenge what’s going on here. Besides, we’re kinda busy at the moment.’
‘So I’m on my own, is that it?’
‘Not quite. We arranged for a reliable … guide.’ He rose. The dagger slammed back into its
