‘Oh, we could have done much worse.’
‘Barathol had kin,’ said Duiker. ‘In the Bridgeburners. An assassin. Seeing your friend was like seeing a ghost. For Picker, Antsy… Blend. Bluepearl. The old marines.’
‘One of those familiar faces belonging to someone you don’t know.’He smiled again. ‘Yes,’ Oh, yes, Scillara, you art clever indeed, ‘And before you know it, some old marine healer is out doing whatever he can to help Barathol Mekhar. Only there’s this history-the stuff that doesn’t matter with our blacksmith friend. Having to do with Aren and the-’
‘Red Blades, aye.’
She shot him a look. ‘You knew?’
‘We all know. The poor bastard. Getting such a raw deal in his own homeland.
Things like that, well, we can sympathize with, because we have our histories.
The kind that can’t be ignored because they’ve put us right where we are, right here, a continent away from our home.’
‘Progress?’
‘That remains to be seen. And here we are Phoenix Inn.’ She stood studying the decrepit sign for a long moment. ‘That’s it? It’s a dump.’
‘If the story is accurate, Kalam Mekhar himself went in there once or twice. So did Sorry, who later took the name of Apsalar, and that was where young Crokus met her-who is now known as Cutter, right? Putting it all together isn’t easy. Mallet was there for most of that. In there,’ he added, ‘you might even find a man named Kruppe.’
She snorted. ‘Cutter talked about him. Some oily fence and ex-thief.’
‘Ambassador at large during the Pannion War. The man who stood down Caladan Brood. Single-handedly confounding most of the great leaders on the continent.’
Her eyes had widened slightly. ‘Really? All that? Cutter never mentioned any of that.’
‘He wouldn’t have known, Scillara. He went off with Fiddler, Kalam and Apsalar.’
‘That’s a tale I’m slowly putting together myself,’ she said. ‘Apsalar. The woman Cutter loves.’ Ah.
‘Let’s go, then.’
And they set out across the street.
‘The kid’s been snatched, is my guess,’ Murillio concluded, settling back in his chair. ‘I know, Kruppe, it’s one of those things that just happens. Tanners grab children, trader ships, fishing crews, pimps and temples, they all do given the chance. So I know, there may not be much hope-’
‘Nonsense, Murillio loyal friend of Kruppe. In appealing to this round self you have displayed utmost wisdom. Moreover, Kruppe applauds this new profession of yours. Instructor yes, in all fine points of fine pointiness the art of duelling is writ bold in blood, yes? Bold too is this Stonny Menackis, old partner to none other than Gruntle of the Barbs, and was there not a third? A long-armed man who did not return from Capustan? And was his name not Harllo? Kruppe must plumb deeper depths of memory to be certain of such details, yet his instinct cries out true! And how can such a voice be denied?’Cutter rubbed at the bristle on his chin. ‘I could head back down to the ship I came in on, Murillio. Talk to the dock waifs and the old women under the piers.’
‘I’d appreciate that, Cutter.’
‘Kruppe suspects a whispery warming of heart in dear Murillio for his new employer-ah, does Kruppe flinch at vehement expostulation? Does he wince at savage denial? Why, the answer is no to both!’
‘Leave off that, Kruppe,’ Murillio said. ‘The lad’s her son.’
‘Left in the care of others-is she so cold of heart, then? Do you rise to ex-traordinary challenge, mayhap? The best kind, of course, ever the best kind.’
‘There’s a story there,’ Murillio said. ‘Not all women make good mothers, true enough. But she doesn’t seem that kind. I mean, well, she struck me as someone with fierce loyalties. Maybe. Oh, I don’t know. It’d be nice to find the runt, that’s all.’
‘We understand, Murillio,’ Cutter said.
‘Rely upon Kruppe, dearest friend. All truths will yield themselves in the fullness of revelatory revelation, anon. But wait, fortuitous reunion of another sort beckons,’ and he leaned forward, small eyes fixing upon Cutter. Eyebrows waggled.
‘You’re scaring me-’
‘Terror shall burgeon imminently for poor Cutter.’
‘What are you-’
A hand settled on his shoulder, soft, plump.
Cutter closed his eyes and said, ‘I’ve got to stop sitting with my back to the door.’
Murillio rose, suddenly formal as he bowed to someone standing behind Cutter. ‘Historian. We have met once or-’
‘I recall,’ the man replied, moving round into Cutter’s sight as he collected two chairs from a nearby table. Thank the gods, not his hand.
‘Please do thank Mallet again-’
‘I will,’ the historian replied. ‘In the meantime, I’m not the one who should be doing the introductions.’ Those weary, ancient eyes fixed on Cutter. ‘You’re Cutter, yes?’
He twisted to look at the woman standing behind his chair. Seated as he was, his eyes were level with a pair of breasts covered in tight-fitting linen. And he knew them well. It was a struggle to lift his gaze higher. ‘Scillara.’
‘You call that an introduction?’ she asked, dragging up the other chair the historian had pulled close. She wedged herself in on Cutter’s right and sat down. ‘I’ve never seen bones picked so clean on a plate before,’ she observed, her eyes on the leavings of lunch.
Kruppe wheezed upright. He began waving his hands. ‘Kruppe hastens with proper welcome to this grand company to already beloved Scillara of the Knowing Eyes and other assorted accoutrements of charm Kruppe would dearly wish to knowingly eye, if not for the dastardly demands, of decorum. Welcome, cries Kruppe, even as he slumps back-oof!-exhausted by his enthusiasm and dimpled with desire.’Murillio bowed to Scillara. ‘I won’t be as crass as dimpled Knvppi, I am Muril-lio, an old friend of Cro-Cutter’s.’
She began repacking her pipe with rust leaf. ‘Cutter spoke often of your charm, Murillio, when it comes to women,’ and she paused to smile.
Murillio sat back down a tad hard and Cutter saw, wryly amused, that he looked more awake now than he had in days, perhaps since the stabbing.
Kruppe was fanning his flushed face. Then he raised a hand. ‘Sulty! Sweet creature, the finest wine in the house! No, wait! Go down the street to the Peacock and buy us a bottle of their finest wine! The finest wine in their house, yes! Is something wrong, Meese? Kruppe meant no insult, honest! Sulty, be on with you, child! Meese, why-’
‘No more,’ cut in Murillio, ‘unless you want to pile on ever more insults to our faithful proprietor, until she comes over here and kills you outright.’
‘Dire misunderstanding! Enthusiasm and-’
‘Dimples, we know.’
Cutter spoke up, ‘Scillara was a camp follower in Sha’ik’s rebel city in Raraku. Er, not a follower like that, I mean-’
‘Yes I was,’ she said. ‘Just that.’ She struck sparks to the bowl. ‘Plaything to soldiers. In particular, Malazans. Renegades from Korbolo Dom’s turncoat army. His Dogslayers. I was then plucked from what would have been a short, benumbed existence by a Malazan priest with no hands, who dragged me across half of Seven Cities, along with Cutter here.’ She sent a stream of smoke upward, then continued. ‘Just inland of the Otataral Sea, we got jumped. The priest was cut down. Cut-ter got disembowelled and I had a baby-no real connection between the two, by the way, apart from bad timing. Some villagers found us and saved us-the son of Osserc showed up for that-and that’s how we collected Barathol Mekhar and Chaur, making up for the two we’d lost in the ambush,
‘Now, normally I don’t tell long-winded tales like this one, but what I gave you was necessary for you to understand a few important things. One: I left the baby in the village, with no regrets. Two: Cutter, who was with us because The Rope thought Felisin Younger needed protecting, nearly died and is now living with a feeling of having failed at his task, since Felisin was taken from us. Three: Cutter also has a broken heart, and no matter how much fun we eventually had, him and me, it’s clear that I can’t help him with that. And finally, four: he’s
