'Why?'
The sergeant squinted at him, then let go of his arm and resumed walking.
'Where are we going?' Bottle demanded.
'You tell me.'
'Not that way.'
'Why?'
'Uh. Nil and Nether, just the other side of that low rise.'
Strings loosed a half-dozen dockside curses. 'Hood take us! Listen, soldier, I ain't forgotten anything, you know. I remember you playing dice with Meanas, making dolls of Hood and the Rope. Earth-magic and talking with spirits – gods below, you're so much like Quick Ben it makes my hair stand on end. Oh, right, it all comes from your grandmother – but you see, I know where Quick got his talents!'
Bottle frowned at the man. 'What?'
'What do you mean what?'
'What are you talking about, Sergeant? You've got me confused.'
'Quick's got more warrens to draw on than any mage I've ever heard about. Except,' he added in a frustrated snarl, 'except maybe you.'
'But I don't even like warrens!'
'No, you're closer to Nil and Nether, aren't you? Spirits and stuff.
When you're not playing with Hood and Shadow, that is!'
'They're older than warrens, Sergeant.'
'Like that! What do you mean by that?'
'Well. Holds. They're holds. Or they were. Before warrens. It's old magic, that's what my grandmother taught me. Real old. Anyway, I've changed my mind about Nil and Nether. They're up to something and I want to see it.'
'But you don't want them to see us.'
Bottle shrugged. 'Too late for that, Sergeant. They know we're here.'
'Fine, lead on, then. But I want Quick Ben to meet you. And I want to know all about these holds you keep talking about.'
No you don't. 'All right.' Quick Ben. A meeting. That was bad. Maybe I could run away. No, don't be an idiot. You can't run away, Bottle.
Besides, what were the risks of talking with the High Mage? He wasn't doing anything wrong, exactly. Not really. Not so anybody would know, anyway. Except a sneaky bastard like Quick Ben. Abyss, what if he finds out who's walking in my shadow? Well, it's not like I asked for the company, is it? 'Whatever you're thinking,' Strings said in a growl, 'it's got my skin crawling.'
'Not me. Nil and Nether. They've begun a ritual. I've changed my mind again – maybe we should go back.'
'No.'
They began ascending the gentle slope.
Bottle felt sudden sweat trickling beneath his clothes. 'You've got some natural talent, haven't you, Sergeant? Skin crawling and all that. You're sensitive to… stuff.'
'I had a bad upbringing.'
'Where's Gesler's squad gone?'
Strings shot him a glance. 'You're doing it again.'
'Sorry.'
'They're escorting Quick and Kalam – they've gone ahead. So, your dreaded meeting with Quick is still some time off, you'll be glad to know.'
'Gone ahead. By warren? They shouldn't be doing that, you know. Not now. Not here-'
'Why?'
'Well. Because.'
'For the first time in my career as a soldier of the Malazan Empire, I truly want to strangle a fellow soldier.'
'Sorry.'
'Stop saying that name!'
'It's not a name. It's a word.'
The sergeant's battered hands clenched into fists.
Bottle fell silent. Wondering if Strings might actually strangle him.
They reached the crest. Thirty paces beyond, the Wickan witch and warlock had arranged a circle of jagged stones and were seated within it, facing each other. 'They're travelling,' Bottle said. 'It's a kind of Spiritwalking, like the Tanno do. They're aware of us, but only vaguely.'
'I assume we don't step within that ring.'
'Not unless we need to pull them out.'
Strings looked over.
'Not unless I need to pull them out, I mean. If things go wrong. If they get in trouble.'
They drew nearer. 'What made you join the army, Bottle?'
She insisted. 'My grandmother thought it would be a good idea. She'd just died, you see, and her spirit was, um, agitated a little. About something.' Oh, steer away from this, Bottle. 'I was getting bored.
Restless. Selling dolls to pilots and sailors on the docks-'
'Where?'
'Jakatakan.'
'What kind of dolls?'
'The kind the Stormriders seem to like. Appeasement.'
'Stormriders? Gods below, Bottle, I didn't think anything worked with them lately. Not for years.'
'The dolls didn't always work, but they sometimes did, which was better than most propitiations. Anyway, I was making good coin, but it didn't seem enough-'
'Are you feeling cold all of a sudden?'
Bottle nodded. 'It makes sense, where they've gone.'
'And where is that?'
'Through Hood's Gate. It's all right, Sergeant. I think. Really. They' re pretty sneaky, and so long as they don't attract the wrong attention…'
'But… why?'
Bottle glanced over. The sergeant was looking pale. Not surprising.
Those damned ghosts at Raraku had rattled him. 'They're looking for… people. Dead ones.'
'Sormo E'nath?'
'I guess. Wickans. Ones who died on the Chain of Dogs. They've done this before. They don't find them-' He stopped as a gust of bitter cold wind swirled up round the circle of stones. Sudden frost limned the ground. 'Oh, that's not good. I'll be right back, Sergeant.'
Bottle ran forward, then leapt into the ring.
And vanished.
Or, he assumed he had, since he was no longer on the Lato Odhan, but ankle-deep in rotting, crumbling bones, a sickly grey sky overhead.
Someone was screaming. Bottle turned at the sound and saw three figures thirty paces away. Nil and Nether, and facing them, a horrific apparition, and it was this lich that was doing the screaming. The two young Wickans were flinching before the tirade.
A language Bottle did not understand. He walked closer, bone-dust puffing with each step.
The lich suddenly reached out and grasped both Wickans, lifting them into the air, then shaking them.
Bottle ran forward. And what do I do when I get there?
The creature snarled and flung Nil and Nether to the ground, then abruptly disappeared amidst the clouds of dust.
He reached them as they were climbing to their feet. Nether was swearing in her native tongue as she brushed dust from her tunic. She glared over at Bottle as he arrived. 'What do you want?'
