‘Aye, sir.’
Various movement, boots on flagstones, the clang of an iron-barred door; then, as these echoes dwindled, the Teblor heard, closer by, the sound of breathing.
In the distance there was some shouting, faint and muted by intervening walls of stone, yet Karsa thought he recognized the voice as belonging to the slavemaster, Silgar. The Teblor opened his eyes. A low, smoke-stained ceiling-not high enough to permit him to stand upright. He was lying on a straw-littered, greasy floor. There was virtually no light, apart from a dim glow reaching in from the walkway beyond the barred door.
His face hurt, a strange stinging sensation prickling on his cheeks, forehead and along his jaw.
Karsa sat up.
There was someone else in the small, windowless cell, hunched in a dark corner. The figure grunted and said something in one of the languages of the Seven Cities.
A dull ache remained in Karsa’s hands and feet. The inside of his mouth was dry and felt burnt, as if he’d just swallowed hot sand. He rubbed at his tingling face.
A moment later the man tried Malazan, ‘You’d likely understand me if you were Fenn.’
‘I understand you, but I am not one of these Fenn.’
‘I said it sounds like your master isn’t enjoying his stay in the stocks.’
‘He has been arrested?’
‘Of course. The Malazans like arresting people. You’d no brand. At the time. Keeping you as a slave is therefore illegal under imperial law.’
‘Then they should release me.’
‘Little chance of that. Your master confessed that you were being sent to the otataral mines. You were on a ship out of Genabaris that you’d cursed, said curse then leading to the ship’s destruction and the deaths of the crew and the marines. The local garrison is only half-convinced by that tale, but that’s sufficient-you’re on your way to the island. As am I.’
Karsa rose. The low ceiling forced him to stand hunched over. He made his way, hobbling, to the barred door.
‘Aye, you could probably batter it down,’ the stranger said. ‘But then you’ll be cut down before you manage three steps from this gaol. We’re in the middle of the Malazan compound. Besides, we’re about to be taken outside in any case, to join the prisoners’ line chained to a wall. In the morning, they’ll march us down to the imperial jetty and load us onto a transport.’
‘How long have I been unconscious?’
‘The night you were carried in, the day after, the next night. It’s now midday.’
‘And the slavemaster has been in the stocks all this time?’
‘Most of it.’
‘Good,’ Karsa growled. ‘What of his companion? The same?’
‘The same.’
‘And what crime have you committed?’ Karsa asked.
‘I consort with dissidents. Of course,’ he added, ‘I am innocent.’
‘Can you not prove that?’
‘Prove what?’
‘Your innocence.’
‘I could if I was.’
The Teblor glanced back at the figure crouched in the corner. ‘Are you, by any chance, from Darujhistan?’
‘Darujhistan? No, why do you ask?’
Karsa shrugged. He thought back to Torvald Nom’s death. There was a coldness surrounding the memory, but he could sense all that it held at bay. The time for surrender, however, was not now.
The barred door was set in an iron frame, the frame fixed to the stone blocks with large iron bolts. The Teblor gave it a shake. Dust sifted out from around the bolts, pattered onto the floor.
‘I see you’re a man who ignores advice,’ the stranger observed.
‘These Malazans are careless.’
‘Overconfident, I’d suggest. Then again, perhaps not. They’ve had dealings with Fenn, with Trell, Barghast-a whole host of oversized barbarians. They’re tough, and sharper than they let on. They put an otataral anklet on that slavemaster-no magic from him any more-’
Karsa turned. ‘What is this “otataral” everyone speaks of?’
‘A bane to magic.’
‘And it must be mined.’
‘Yes. It’s usually a powder, found in layers, like sandstone. Resembles rust.’
‘We scrape a red powder from cliffsides to make our blood-oil,’ the Teblor murmured.
‘What is blood-oil?’
‘We rub it into our swords, and into our armour. To bring on battle madness, we taste it.’
The stranger was silent for a moment, though Karsa could feel the man’s eyes on him. ‘And how well does magic work against you?’
‘Those who attack me with sorcery usually reveal surprise on their faces… just before I kill them.’
‘Well now, that is interesting. It is believed that otataral is only found on the single large island east of here. The empire controls its production. Tightly. Their mages learned the hard way during the conquest, in the battles before the T’lan Imass got involved. If not for the T’lan Imass, the invasion would have failed. I have some more advice for you. Reveal nothing of this to the Malazans. If they discover there is another source of otataral, a source they do not control, well, they will send into your homeland-wherever that is-every regiment they possess. They will crush your people. Utterly.’
Karsa shrugged. ‘The Teblor have many enemies.’
The stranger slowly sat straighten ‘Teblor? That is what you call yourselves?
‘What do you find so amusing?’
An outer door clanged open, and Karsa stepped back from the barred door as a squad of soldiers appeared. The three at the front had unsheathed their swords, while the four behind them held large, cocked crossbows. One of the swordsmen stepped up to the door. He paused upon seeing Karsa. ‘Careful,’ he called to his companions, ‘the savage has awakened.’ He studied the Teblor and said, ‘Do nothing stupid, Fenn. It matters nothing to us whether you live or die-the mines are crowded enough for them not to miss you. Understand me?’
Karsa bared his teeth, said nothing.
‘You there, in the corner, on your feet. It’s time for some sunshine.’
The stranger slowly straightened. He was wearing little more than rags. Lean and dark-skinned, his eyes were a startling light blue. ‘I demand a proper trial, as is my right under imperial law.’
The guardsman laughed. ‘Give it up. You’ve been identified. We know precisely who you are. Aye, your secret organization is not as seamless as you might think. Betrayed by one of your own-how does that feel? Let’s go, you come out first. Jibb, you and Gullstream keep your crossbows on that Fenn-I don’t like his smile. Especially now,’ he added.
‘Oh look,’ another soldier said, ‘you’ve confused the poor ox. Bet he doesn’t even know his entire face is one big tattoo. Scrawl did good work, though. Best I’ve seen in a long while.’
‘Right,’ another drawled, ‘and how many escaped prisoner tattoos have you seen, Jibb?’
‘Just one, and it’s a work of art.’
The source of the stinging sensation on Karsa’s face was revealed now. He reached up, seeking to feel something of the pattern, and slowly began tracing lines of slightly raised, damp strips of raw skin. They were not contiguous. He could make no sense of what the tattoo portrayed.
‘Shattered,’ the other prisoner said as he walked over to the door, which the first guard unlocked and swung open. ‘The brand makes your face look like it’s been shattered.’
Two guards escorted the man outside, whilst the others, nervously eyeing Karsa, waited for their return. One of the crossbowmen, whose high forehead revealed white blotches-leading the Teblor to speculate that he was the one named Gullstream-leaned back against the opposite wall and said, ‘I don’t know, I’m thinking Scrawl made it
