them. For ever.’
Quell groaned. ‘I was pretending not to think that, Witch.’
‘As if that would help.’
‘It helped me!’
‘There’s two things we can do,’ Precious Thimble announced. ‘We can turn right round and ignore the curse and all that and get out of this town as fast as possible.’
‘Or?’
‘We can go up to that door and knock.’
Quell rubbed at his chin, glanced back at a silent Mappo, and then once more eyed the tower. ‘This witchery- this curse here, Precious, that strikes when a woman comes of age.’
‘What about it? It’s a damned old one, a nasty one.’
‘Can you break it?’
‘Not likely. All we can hope to do is make the witch or warlock change her or his mind about it. The caster can surrender it a whole lot more easily than someone else can break it.’
‘And if we kill the caster?’
She shrugged. ‘Could go either way, Wizard. Poof! Gone. Or… not. Anyway, you’re stepping sideways, Quell. We were talking about this… this Provost.’
‘Not sideways, Witch. I was thinking, well, about you and Sweetest Sufferance and Faint, that’s all.’
All at once she felt as if she’d just swallowed a fistful of icy knuckles. Her throat ached, her stomach curdled. ‘Oh, shit.’
‘And since,’ Quell went on remorselessly, ‘it’s going to be a day or two before we can effect repairs-at best – well…’
‘I think we’d better knock,’ she said.
‘All right. Just let me, er, empty my bladder first.’
He walked off to the stone-lined gutter to his left. Mappo went off a few paces in the other direction, to rummage in his sack.
Precious Thimble squinted up at the tower. ‘Well,’ she whispered, ‘if you’re a Jaghut-and I think you are-you know we’re standing right here. And you can smell the magic on our breaths. Now, we’re not looking for trouble, but there’s no chance you don’t know nothing about that curse-we need to find that witch or warlock, you see, that nasty villager who made up this nasty curse, because we’re stuck here for a few days. Understand? There’s three women stuck here. And I’m one of them.’
‘You say something?’ Quell asked, returning.
‘Let’s go,’ she said as Mappo arrived, holding an enormous mace.
They walked to the door.
Halfway there, it swung open.
‘My mate,’ said the Provost, ’is buried in the yard below.’ He was standing at the window, looking out over the tumultuous seas warring with the shoals.
Quell grunted. ‘What yard?’ He leaned forward and peered down. ‘What yard?’
The Provost sighed. ‘It was there two days ago.’ He turned from the window and eyed the wizard.
Who did his best not to quail.
Bedusk Pall Kovuss Agape, who called himself a Jaghut Anap, was simply gi-gantic, possibly weighing more than Mappo and at least a head and a half taller than the Trell. His skin was blue, a deeper hue than any Malazan Napan Quell could recall seeing. The blue even seemed to stain the silver-tipped tusks jutting from his lower jaw.
Quell cleared his throat. He needed to pee again, but that would have to wait.” ‘You lost her long ago?’
‘Who?’
‘Er, your mate?’
Bedusk Agape selected one of the three crystal decanters on the marble table, sniffed at its contents, and then refilled their goblets. ‘Have you ever had a wile, Wizard?’
‘No not that I’m aware of.’
‘Yes, it can be like that at times.’
‘It can?’
The Jaghut gestured towards the window. ‘One moment there, the next… gone.’
‘Oh, the cliff.’
‘No, no. I was speaking of my wife.’
Quell shot Precious Thimble a helpless look. Off near the spiral staircase, Mappo stood examining an elaborate eyepiece of some kind, mounted on a spike with a peculiar ball-hinge that permitted the long black metal instrument to be swivelled about, side to side and up and down. The damned Trell was paying at-tention to all the wrong things.
Precious Thimble looked back at Quell with wide eyes.
‘Loss,’ stammered the wizard, ’is a grievous thing.’
‘Well of course it is,’ said Bedusk Agape, frowning.
‘Urn, not always. If, for example, one loses one’s, er, virginity, or a favourite shiny stone, say…’
The red-rimmed eyes stayed steady, unblinking.
Quell wanted to squeeze his legs together-no, better, fold one over the other-lest his snake start drooling or, worse, spitting.
Precious Thimble spoke in a strangely squeaky voice, ‘Jaghut Anap, the curse afflicting this village’s daughters-’
‘There have been twelve in all,’ said Bedusk Agape. ‘Thus far.’
‘Oh. What happened to the other nine?’
The Jaghut flicked his gaze over to her. ‘You are not the first trouble to arrive in the past few years. Of course,’ he added, after sipping his wine, ‘all the young girls are now sent to the next village along this coast-permanently, alas, which does not bode well for the future of this town.’
‘I thought I saw women down in the tavern cellar,’ said Precious Thimble.
‘Bearing a child prevents the settling of the curse. Mothers are immune. There-fore, if you or your fellow female companions have at any time produced a child, you need not worry.’
‘Um,’ said Precious Thimble, ‘I don’t think any of us qualify.’
‘How unfortunate,’ said Bedusk.
‘So how is it you got elected Provost?’ Quell asked. ‘Just curious, you see-I’m the nosy type, that’s all. I didn’t mean anything-’
‘I believe it was a collective attempt to ameliorate my grief, my solitude. None would deny, I now expect, that such an invitation was ill-conceived.’
‘Oh? Why?’
‘Well, had I remained in my isolation, this terrible curse would not exist, I am afraid,’:
‘It’s your curse, then?’
‘Yes.’
A long moment of silence. From near the staircase, Mappo slowly turned to lace them.
‘Then you can end it,’ said Quell.
‘I could, yes, but I shall not.’
‘Why?’
‘Because you are not that important.’
Quell crossed his legs. ‘May I ask, what happened to your mate?’
‘We argued. I lost. I buried her.’
There seemed to be, at least to the wizard’s thinking, something missing in that answer. But he was getting distracted by his bladder. He couldn’t think straight.
‘So,’ said Precious Thimble in a thin voice, ‘if you lose an argument to someone, you then kill them?’
‘Oh, I didn’t say she was dead.’
Mappo spoke from where he still stood, ‘She is now, Jaghut.’
Bedusk Agape sighed. ‘That does seem likely, doesn’t it?’
