heard the man's head thump on the boards, once.
Yes, that'd be nice. Exent Hadar. Gods, woman, really! 'So how does Kalam get from Herald Death to Obelisk? Let's see. Ah, King of High House Shadows! That shifty slime bung, oh, doesn't he look smug! Despite the sweat on his upper lip – who's gone all chilled in here? Hands up, please.'
Reluctantly… Kalam, T'amber, then Apsalar all lifted hands.
'Well, that's ugly as ugly gets – you've got the bottles now, Apsalar, now that Bottle's corked. This one's for you, T'amber. Virgin of Death, as far as you go. You're out, so relax. Kalam's cold, but he don't get another card 'cause he don't need one and now I know who gets pushed and who gets pulled and I'll add the name to the dirge to come. Now for the hot bloods. Quick Ben gets the Consort in Chains but he's from Seven Cities and he just saved his sister's life so it's not as bad as it could've been. Anyway, that's it for you. And so, who does that leave?'
Silence for a moment. Keneb managed to lift his leaden head, frowning confusedly at the scatter of cards all over the table.
'That would be me and you, Sergeant,' the Adjunct said in a low voice.
'You cold?' Fiddler asked her, drinking down yet another cup of Rusty Gauntlet.
'No.'
'Hot?'
'No.'
Fiddler nodded, slamming his empty cup down for Apsalar to refill with wine and rum. 'Aye,' He floated a card down the length of the table.
It landed atop the first card. 'Master of the Deck. Ganoes Paran, Adjunct. Your brother. Even cold iron, Tavore Paran, needs tempering.'
He lifted up another card and set it down before him. 'Priest of Life, hah, now that's a good one. Game's done.'
'Who wins?' the Adjunct, her face pale as candlewax, asked in a whisper.
'Nobody,' Fiddler replied. 'That's Life for you.' He suddenly rose, tottered, then staggered for the door.
'Hold it!' Quick Ben demanded behind him. 'There's this face-down card in front of me! You said it closes the game!'
'It just did,' mumbled the sergeant as he struggled with the latch.
'Do I turn it over, then?'
'No.'
Fiddler stumbled out into the corridor and Keneb listened to the man's ragged footsteps receding towards the stairs leading to the deck. The Fist, shaking his head, pushed himself upright. He looked at the others.
No-one else had moved.
Then, with a snort, Apsalar rose and walked out. If she was as drunk as Keneb felt, she did not show any signs of it.
A moment later both Quick Ben and Kalam followed.
Under the table, Bottle was snoring.
The Adjunct and T'amber, Keneb slowly realized, were both looking at the unturned card. Then, with a hiss of frustration, Tavore reached out and flipped it over. After a moment, she half-rose and leaned forward on the table to read its title. 'Knight of Shadow. I have never heard of such a card. T'amber, who, what did you-'
'I didn't,' T'amber interrupted.
'You didn't what?'
She looked up at the Adjunct. 'Tavore, I have never seen that card before, and I certainly didn't paint it.'
Both women were silent again, both staring down at the strange card.
Keneb struggled to focus on its murky image. 'That's one of those Greyskins,' he said.
'Tiste Edur,' T'amber murmured.
'With a spear,' the Fist continued. 'A Greyskin, like the ones we saw on those black ships…' Keneb leaned back, his head swimming. 'I don' t feel very well.'
'Please stay for a moment, Fist. T'amber, what just happened here?'
The other woman shook her head. 'I have never seen a field laid in such a manner. It was… chaotic – sorry, I did not mean that in an elemental sense. Like a rock bouncing down a gorge, ricocheting from this and that, yet, everywhere it struck, it struck true.'
'Can you make sense of it?'
'Not much. Not yet.' She hesitated, scanning the cards scattered all over the map-table. 'Oponn's presence was… unexpected.'
'The push or the pull,' Keneb said. 'Someone's undecided about something, that's what Fiddler said. Who was it again?'
'Kalam Mekhar,' the Adjunct replied. 'But the Herald of Death intervenes-'
'Not the Herald,' cut in T'amber, 'but an inactive version, a detail I believe is crucial.'
Muted shouts from beyond announced the sighting of Malaz Harbour. The Adjunct faced Keneb. 'Fist, these are your orders for this night. You are in command of the Fourteenth. No-one is to disembark, barring those I will dispatch on my own behalf. With the exception of the Froth Wolf all other ships are to remain in the harbour itself – all commands directing the fleet to tie up at a pier or jetty are to be ignored until I inform you otherwise.'
'Adjunct, any such orders, if they reach me, will be from the Empress herself. I am to ignore those?'
'You are to misunderstand, Fist. I leave the details of that misunderstanding to your imagination.'
'Adjunct, where will you be?'
The woman studied him for a moment, then it seemed she reached a decision. 'Fist Keneb, the Empress awaits me in Mock's Hold. I expect she will not wait until morning to issue her summons.' A flicker of emotion in her face. 'The soldiers of the Fourteenth Army do not return as heroes, it would appear. I will not expose their lives to unnecessary risks. In particular I speak of the Wickans and the Khundryl Burned Tears. As for the Perish, the nature of their alliance depends upon my conversation with the Empress. Unless circumstances warrant a change, I assume their disposition rests with Laseen, but I must await her word on that. Ultimately, Fist, it is for Mortal Sword Krughava – do the Perish disembark and present to the Empress as they did with us, or, if events turn unfortunate, do they leave? My point is this, Keneb, they must be free to choose.'
'And Admiral Nok's view on that?'
'We are agreed.'
'Adjunct,' said Keneb, 'if the Empress decides to attempt to stay the Perish, we could end up with a battle in Malaz Harbour. Malazan against Malazan. This could start a damned civil war.'
Tavore frowned. 'I do not anticipate anything so extreme, Fist.'
But Keneb persisted. 'Forgive me, but I believe it is you who misunderstands. The Perish swore service to you, not the Empress.'
'She will not listen to that,' T'amber said, with an unexpected tone of frustration in her voice, even as she walked to where Bottle slept.
A kick elicted a grunt, then a cough. 'Up, soldier,' T'amber said, seemingly unmindful of the glare the Adjunct had fixed upon her.
No you fool, Keneb, hardly unmindful.
'You have your orders, Fist,' Tavore said.
'Aye, Adjunct. Do you wish me to drag this marine here out with me?'
'No. I must speak with Bottle in private. Go now, Keneb. And thank you for attending this night.'
I'm fairly certain I had no choice. At the doorway he looked back once more at the cards. Lord of Wolves, Spinner of Death, Queens of Dark and Life, and the King in Chains. Lord of Wolves… that has to be the Perish.
Gods below, I think it's begun.
On the harbour-facing wall of Mock's Hold, Pearl stood at the parapet, watching the dark shapes of the imperial fleet slowly swing round into the calm waters of the bay. Huge transports, like oversized bhederin, and the dromon escorts on the flanks lean as wolves. The Claw's eyes narrowed as he attempted to make out the foreign ships in the midst of the others. Enormous, twin-hulled… formidable. There seemed to be a lot of them.
