scrambled after her. ‘Strangers, Yedan? Not to me. They followed us.’ She swung herself onto her horse and tugged it towards the north trail. ‘We left a debt in blood,’ she said, baring her teeth. ‘Malazan blood. And it seems they will not let that stand.’
They are here. On this shore.
The Malazans are on our shore.
Book Three. Knuckles Of The Soul
We are eager
to impugn the beast crouched
in our souls
but this creature is pure
with shy eyes
and it watches our frantic crimes
cowering
in the cage of our cruelty
I will take
for myself and your fate
in these hands
the grace of animal to amend
broken dreams-
freedom unchained and unbound
long running-
the beast will kill when I murder
In absolution
a list of unremarked distinctions
availed these hands
freedom without excuse
see how clean
this blood compared to yours
the death grin
of your bestial snarl mars the scape
Of your face
this is what sets us apart
in our souls
my beast and I chained together
as we must
who leads and who is the led is
never quite asked
of the charmed and the innocent
– Dog in an Alky,
Chapter Thirteen
Keel and half a hull remained of the wreck where us wreckers gathered, and the storm of the night past remained like spit in the air when we clambered down into that bent-rib bed.
I heard many a prayer muttered, hands flashing to ward this and that as befits each soul’s need, its conversation with fear begun in childhood no doubt and, could I recall mine, I too would have been of mind to mime flight from terror.
As it was 1 could only look down at that crabshell harvest of tiny skeletons, the tailed imps with the humanlike faces, their hawk talons and all sorts of strange embellishments to give perfect detail to the bright sunny nightmare.
No wonder is it I forswore the sea that day. Storm and broken ship had lifted a host most unholy and oh there were plenty more no doubt, ringing this damned island.
As it was, it was me who then spoke a most unsavoury tumble of words. ‘I guess not all imps can fly.’
For all that, it was hardly cause to gouge out my eyes now, was it?
– Blind Tobor of the Reach
‘Now there, friends, is one beautiful woman.’
‘If that’s how you like them.’
‘Now why wouldn’t I, y’damned barrow-digger? Thing is, and it’s always the way isn’t it, look at that hopeless thug she’s with. I can’t figure things like that. She could have anyone in here. She could have me, even. But no, there she is, sittin’ aside that limpin’ one-armed, one-eared, one-eyed and no-nosed cattle-dog. I mean, talk about ugly.’
The third man, who had yet to speak, gave him a surreptitious, sidelong look, noting the birdnest hair, the jutting steering-oar ears, the bulging eyes, and the piebald patches that were the scars of fire on features that reminded him of a squashed gourd-sidelong and brief, that glance, and Throatslitter quickly looked away. The last thing he wanted to do was break into another one of his trilling, uncanny laughs that seemed to freeze everyone within earshot.
Never used to have a laugh sounding like that. Damn thing scares even me. Well, he’d taken a throatful of oily flames and it’d done bad things to his voice-reed. The damage only revealed itself when he laughed, and, he recalled, in the months following… all that stuff… there had been few reasons for mirth.
‘There goes that tavernkeeper,’ Deadsmell observed.
It was easy talking about anything and everything, since no-one here but them understood Malazan.
‘There’s another one all moon-eyed over her,’ Sergeant Balm said with a sneer. ‘But who does she sit with? Hood take me, it don’t make sense.’
Deadsmell slowly leaned forward on the table and carefully refilled his tankard. ‘It’s the delivery of that cask. Brullyg’s. Looks like the pretty one and the dead lass have volunteered.’
Balm’s bulging eyes bulged even more. ‘She ain’t dead! I’ll tell you what’s dead, Deadsmell, that puddle- drowned worm between your legs!’
Throatslitter eyed the corporal. ‘1f that’s how you like them,’ he’d said. A half-strangled gulp escaped him, making both his companions flinch.
‘What in Hood’s name are you gonna laugh about?’ Balm demanded. ‘Just don’t, and that’s an order.’
Throatslitter bit down hard on his own tongue. Tears blurred his vision for a moment as pain shot round his skull like a pebble in a bucket. Mute, he shook his head. Laugh? Not me.
The sergeant was glaring at Deadsmell again. ‘Dead? She don’t look much dead to me.’
‘Trust me,’ the corporal replied after taking a deep draught. He belched. ‘Sure, she’s hiding it well, but that woman died some time ago.’
Balm was hunched over the table, scratching at the tangles of his hair. Flakes drifted down to land like specks of paint on the dark wood. ‘Gods below,’ he whispered. ‘Maybe somebody should… I don’t know… maybe… tell her?’
Deadsmell’s mostly hairless brows lifted. ‘Excuse me, ma’am, you have a complexion to die for and I guess that’s what you did.’
Another squawk from Throatslitter.
