Earlier this morning he’d been sent down a crevasse, ropes tied to his ankles as he was lowered like a dead weight, down, down, three then four knots of rope, before his outstretched hands found warm, dry rock, and here, so far below ground, the air was hot and sulphurous and the candle when he lit it flared in a crossflow of sweet rich air.
In the yellow light he looked round and saw, sitting up against a wall of the crevasse not three paces away, a corpse. Desiccated, the face collapsed and the eye sockets shrunken holes. Both legs were shattered, clearly from a fall, the shards sticking through the leathery skin.
Furs drawn up like a blanket, and close to within reach of one motionless, skeletal hand was a rotted bag now split open, revealing two antler picks, a bone punch and a groundstone mallet. A miner, Harllo realized, just like him. A miner of long, long ago.
Another step closer, eyes on those wonderful tools which he’d like to take, and the corpse spoke.
‘As you please, cub.’
Harllo lunged backward. His heart pounded wild in the cage of his chest. ‘A demon!’
‘Patron of miners, perhaps. Not a demon, cub, not a demon.’
The candle had gone out with Harllo’s panicked retreat. The corpse’s voice, sonorous, with a rhythm like waves on a sandy beach, echoed out from the pitch black darkness.
‘I am Dev’ad Anan Tol, of the Irynthal Clan of the Imass, who once lived on the shores of the Jhagra Til until the Tyrant Raest came to enslave us. Sent us down into the rock, where we all died. Yet see, I did not die. Alone of all my kin, I did not die.’
Harllo shakily fumbled with the candle, forcing the oiled wick into the spring spark tube. Three quick hissing pumps of the sparker and flame darted up. ‘Nice trick, that.’
‘The tube’s got blue gas, not much and runs out fast so it needs refilling. There’s bladders upside. Why didn’t you die?’
‘I have had some time to ponder that question, cub. I have reached but one conclusion that explains my condition. The Ritual of Tellann.’
‘What made the evil T’lan Imass! I heard about that from Uncle Gruntle! Undead warriors at Black Coral-Gruntle saw them with his own eyes! And they kneeled and all their pain was taken from them by a man who then died since there was so much pain he took from them and so they built a barrow and it’s still there and Gruntle said he wept but I don’t believe that because Gruntle is big and the best warrior in the whole world and nothing could make him weep nothing at all!’ And Harllo had to stop then so that he could regain his breath. And still his heart hammered like hailstones on a tin roof.
From the Imass named Dev’ad Anan Tol, silence. ‘You still there?’ Harllo asked,
‘Cub. Take my tools. The first ever made and by my own hand, I was an Inventor. In my mind ideas bred with such frenzy that I lived in a fever. At times, at night, I went half mad. So many thoughts, so many notions-my clan feared me, The bonecaster feared me. Raest himself feared me, and so he had me thrown down here. To die. And my ideas with me.’
‘Should I tell everyone about you? They might decide to lift you out, so you can see the world again.’
‘The world? That tiny flame you hold has shown me more of the world than I can comprehend. The sun… oh, the sun… that would destroy me, I think. To see it again.’
‘We have metal picks now,’ Harllo said. ‘Iron.’
‘Skystone. Yes, I saw much of it in the tunnels. The Jaghut used sorcery to bring it forth and shape it-we were not permitted to witness such things. But I thought, even then, how it might be drawn free, without magic. With heat. Drawn out, given shape, made into useful things. Does Raest still rule?’
‘Never heard of any Raest,’ said Harllo. ‘Bainisk rules Chuffs and Workmaster rules the mine and in the city there’s a council of nobles and in faraway lands there’re kings and queens and emperors and empresses.’
‘And T’lan Imass who kneel.’
Harllo glanced up the shaft-he could hear faint voices, echoing down. ‘They want to pull me back up. What should I tell them about this place?’
‘The wrong rock, the white grit that sickens people. Foul air.’
‘So no one else comes down here.’
‘Yes.’
‘But then you’ll be alone again.’
‘Yes. Tell them, too, that a ghost haunts this place. Show them the ghost’s magical tools.’
‘I will. Listen, could be I might sneak back down here, if you like.’
‘Cub, that would be most welcome.’
‘Can I bring you anything?’
‘Yes.’
‘What?’
‘Splints.’
And now Harllo was making his way back to daylight, and in his extra-heavy bag there clunked the tools of the corpse. Antler and bone hardened into stone, tines jabbing at his hip.
If Venaz found out about them he might take them, so Harllo knew he had to be careful. He had to hide them somewhere. Where nobody went or looked or picked through things. Plenty to think about, he had.
And he needed to find something called “splints”. Whatever they were.
She insisted on taking his arm as they walked towards the Phoenix Inn, down from the Estate District, through Third Tier Wall, and into the Daru District. ‘So many people,’ she was saying. ‘This is by far the biggest city I’ve ever been in. 1 think what strikes me is how many familiar faces I see-not people I actually know, just people who look like people I’ve known.’
Duiker thought about that, and then nodded. ‘The world is like that, aye.’
‘Is it now? Why?’
‘I have no idea, Scillara.’
‘Is this all the wisdom you can offer?’
‘I even struggled with that one,’ he replied.
‘All right. Let’s try something else. I take it you see no point in history.’
He grunted. ‘If by that you mean that there is no progress, that even the notion of progress is a delusion, and that history is nothing more than a host of lessons nobody wants to pay attention to, then yes, there is no point. Not in writing it down, not in teaching it.’
‘Never mind, then. You choose.’
‘Choose what?’
‘Something to talk about.’
‘I don’t think I can-nothing comes to mind, Scillara. Well, I suppose I’d like to know about Heboric.’
‘He was losing his mind. We were trying to get to Otataral Island, where he wanted to give something back, something he once stole. But we never made it. Ambushed by T’lan Imass. They were going after him and the rest of us just got in the way. Me, Cutter, Greyfrog. Well, they also stole Felisin Younger-that seemed to be part of the plan, too.’
‘Felisin Younger.’
‘That’s the name Sha’ik gave her.’
‘Do you know why?’
She shook her head. ‘I liked her, though.’
‘Sha’ik?’
‘Felisin Younger. I was training her to be just like me, so it’s no wonder I liked her.’ And she gave him a wide smile.
Duiker answered with a faint one of his own-hard indeed to be miserable around this woman. Better if he avoided her company in the future. ‘Why the Phoenix Inn, Scillara?’
‘As I said earlier, I want to embarrass someone. Cutter, in fact. I had to listen to him for months and months, about how wonderful Darujhistan is, and how he would show me this and that. Then as soon as we arrive he ducks away, wanting nothing to do with us. Back to his old friends, I suppose.’
She was being offhand, but Duiker sensed the underlying hurt. Perhaps she and Cutter had been more than just companions. ‘Instead,’ he said, ‘you found us Malazans.’
