‘Thanks, Shurq. Oh, have fun and don’t wear yourself out.’
Always give them something before leaving. Something to feed anticipation, since anticipation so well served to blind a man to certain obvious discrepancies in, uh, appetite. She descended the stairs.
Stepping outside, she was startled as a huge figure loomed out from the shadows of an alcove. ‘Ublala! Shades of the Empty Throne, you startled me. What are you doing here?’
‘Who is he?’ the giant demanded. ‘I’ll kill him for you if you like.’
‘No, I don’t like. Have you been following me around again? Listen, I’ve explained all this before, haven’t I?’
Ublala Pung’s gaze dropped to his feet. He mumbled something inaudible.
‘What?’
‘Yes. I said “yes”, Captain. Oh, I want to run away!’
‘I thought Tehol had you inducted into the Palace Guard,’ she said, hoping to distract him.
‘I don’t like polishing boots.’
‘Ublala, you only have to do that once every few days-or you can hire someone-’
‘Not my boots. Everyone else’s.’
‘The other guards’?’
He nodded glumly.
‘Ublala, walk with me-I will buy you a drink. Or three.’ They set off up the street towards the canal bridge. ‘Listen, those guards are just taking advantage of your kindness. You don’t have to polish their boots.’
‘I don’t?’
‘No. You’re a guardsman. If Tehol knew about it… well, you should probably tell your comrades in the Guard that you’re going to have a word with your best friend, the King.’
‘He is my best friend, isn’t he? He gave me chicken.’
They crossed the bridge, waving at swarming sludge flies, and made their way on to an avenue flanking one of the night markets. More than the usual number of Malazan soldiers wandering about, she noted. ‘Exactly. Chicken. And a man like Tehol won’t share chicken with just anyone, will he?’
‘I don’t know. Maybe.’
‘No no, Ublala, trust me on this. You’ve got friends in high places. The King, the Chancellor, the Ceda, the Queen, the King’s Sword. Any one of them would be delighted to share chicken with you, and you can bet they wouldn’t be so generous with any of your fellow guards.’
‘So I don’t have to polish boots?’
‘Just your own, or you can hire someone to do that.’
‘What about stitching tears in their uniforms? Sharpening their knives and swords? And what about washing their underclothes-’
‘Stop! None of that-and now especially I want you to promise to talk to your friends. Any one of them. Tehol, Bugg, Brys, Janath. Will you do that for me? Will you tell them what the other guards are making you do?’
‘All right.’
‘Good, those bastard comrades of yours in the Guard are in for some serious trouble. Now, here’s a suitable bar-they use benches instead of chairs, so you won’t be getting stuck like last time.’
‘Good. I’m thirsty. You’re a good friend, Shurq. I want to sex you.’
‘How sweet. But just so you understand, lots of men sex me and you can’t let that bother you, all right?’
‘All right.’
‘Ublala-’
‘Yes, all right, I promise.’
Kisswhere sat slumped in the saddle as the troop rode at a slow trot towards the city of Letheras. She would not glance across to her sister, Sinter, lest the guilt she was feeling simply overwhelm her, a clawing, stabbing clutch at her soul, dragging it into oblivion.
She’d known all along Sinter would follow her anywhere, and when the recruiter train rolled into their village in the jungles of Dal Hon, well, it had been just one more test of that secret conviction. The worst of it was, joining the marines had been little more than a damned whim. Spurred by a bit of a local mess, the spiralling inward of suspicions that would find at its heart none other than Kisswhere herself-the cursed ‘other’ woman who dwelt like a smiling shadow unseen on the edge of a family-oh, she could have weathered the scandal, with just one more toss of her head and a few careless gestures. It wasn’t that she’d loved the man-all the forest spirits well knew that an adulterous man wasn’t worth a woman’s love, for he lived only for himself and would make no sacrifice in the name of his wife’s honour, nor that of their children. No, her motives had been rather less romantic.
Boredom proved a cruel shepherd-the switch never stopped snapping. A hunger for the forbidden added yet another dark shade to the cast of her impulses. She’d known all along that there would come a time when they’d drive her from the village, when she’d be outcast for the rest of her life. Such banishment was no longer a death sentence-the vast world beyond the jungle now opened a multitude of escape routes. The Malazan Empire was vast, holding millions of citizens on three continents. Yes, she knew she would have no difficulty vanishing within that blessed anonymity. And besides, she knew she’d always have company. Sinter-so capable, so practical-was the perfect companion for all her adventures. And oh, the White Jackal well knew, her sister was a beauty and together they’d never have to fear an absence of male company.
The recruiters seemed to offer a quick escape, fortuitous in its timing, and were happy to pay all travel expenses. So she’d grasped hold of the hyena’s tail.
And sure enough, sister Sinter was quick to follow.
It should have ended there. But Badan Gruk was whipped into the rushing current of their wake. The fool had fallen for Sinter.
If she’d bothered putting any thought behind her decisions, she would have comprehended the terrible disaster she had dragged them all into. The Malazan marines demanded a service of ten years, and Kisswhere had simply smiled and shrugged and then had signed on for the long count, telling herself that, as soon as she tired of the game, she’d just desert the ranks and, once more, vanish into anonymity.
Alas, Sinter’s nature was a far tighter weave. What she took inside she kept, and a vow once made was held to, right down to her dying breath.
It did not take long for Kisswhere to realize the mistake she’d made. She couldn’t very well run off and abandon her sister, who’d then gone and showed enough of her talents to be made a sergeant. And although Kisswhere was more or less indifferent to Badan Gruk’s fate-the man so wretchedly ill cast as a soldier, still more so as a squad sergeant-it had become clear to her that Sinter had tightened some knots between them. Just as Sinter had followed Kisswhere, so Badan Gruk had followed Sinter. But the grisly yoke of responsibility proved not at the core of the ties between Sinter and Badan Gruk. There was something else going on. Did her sister in fact love the fool? Maybe.
Life had been so much easier back in the village, despite all the sneaking round and frantic hip-locking in the bushes up from the river-at least then Kisswhere was on her own, and no matter what happened to her, her sister would have been free of it. And safe.
Could she take it all back…
This jaunt among the marines was likely to kill them all. It had stopped being fun long ago. The horrid voyage on those foul transports, all the way to Seven Cities. The march. Y’Ghatan. More sea voyages. Malaz City. The coastal invasion on this continent-the night on the river-chains, darkness, rotting cells and no food-
No, Kisswhere could not look across at Sinter, and so witness her broken state. Nor could she meet Badan Gruk’s tortured eyes, all that raw grief and anguish.
She wished she had died in that cell.
She wished they had taken the Adjunct’s offer of discharge once the outlawing was official. But Sinter would have none of that. Of course not.
They were riding in darkness, but Kisswhere sensed when her sister suddenly pulled up. Soldiers immediately behind them veered aside to avoid the horses colliding. Grunts, curses, and then Badan Gruk’s worried voice. ‘Sinter? What’s wrong?’
Sinter twisted in her saddle. ‘Is Nep with us? Nep Furrow?’
‘No,’ Badan replied.
Kisswhere saw real fear sizzle awake in her sister, and her own heart started pounding in answer. Sinter had sensitivities-
‘In the city! We need to hurry-’
‘Wait,’ croaked Kisswhere. ‘Sinter, please-if there’s trouble there, let them handle it-’
‘No-
And suddenly she drove heels into her horse’s flanks and the beast lunged forward. A moment later and everyone was following, Kisswhere in their company. Her head spun-she thought she might well be flung from her mount-too weak, too weary-
But her sister. Sinter. Her damned sister, she was a marine, now. She was one of the Adjunct’s very own-and though that bitch had no idea, it was soldiers like Sinter-the quiet ones, the insanely loyal ones-who were the iron spine of the Bonehunters.
Malice flashed through Kisswhere, ragged as a flag at midnight.
‘So where is the fool?’
Fist Keneb shrugged. ‘Arbin prefers the company of heavies. The soldiers with dirt on their noses and dust storms in their skulls. The Fist plays knuckles with them, gets drunk with them, probably sleeps with some of them, for that matter.’
Blistig grunted as he sat down. ‘And this is the proper way to earn respect?’
‘That depends, I suppose,’ Keneb said. ‘If Arbin wins at knuckles, drinks everyone else under the table, and wears out every lover brave enough to share a bed,
