captain’s portentous arrival.
As soon as the door opened, Pores leapt to attention. ‘Good morning, sir!’
‘It’s mid-afternoon, Lieutenant. Those wasp stings clearly rotted what’s left of your brain.’
‘Yes, sir!’
‘Have those two Dal Honese sisters reported yet?’
‘No, sir, not hide nor… hair, sir. We should be seeing one or both any time now-’
‘Oh, and is that because you intend to physically hunt them down, Lieutenant?’
‘As soon as I’ve done this paperwork, sir, I will do just that, even if it takes me all the way to Second Maiden Fort, sir.’
Kindly scowled. ‘What paperwork?’
‘Why, sir,’ Pores gestured, ‘this paperwork, sir.’
‘Well, don’t dally, Lieutenant. As you know, I need to attend a briefing at half seventh bell, and I want them in my office before then.’
‘Yes, sir!’
Kindly walked past and went inside. Where, Pores imagined, he would spend the rest of the afternoon looking at his collection of combs.
‘Everyone’s right,’ Kisswhere muttered as she and her sister made their back to the dormitory, ‘Captain Kindly is not only a bastard, but insane. What was all that about our hair?’
Sinter shrugged. ‘No idea.’
‘Well, there’s no regulations about our hair. We can complain to the Fist-’
‘No we won’t,’ Sinter cut in. ‘Kindly wants hair on his desk, we give him hair on his desk.’
‘Not mine!’
‘Nor mine, Kisswhere, nor mine.’
‘Then whose?’
‘Not whose. What’s.’
Corporal Pravalak Rim was waiting at the entrance. ‘Did you get commendations then?’ he asked.
‘Oh love,’ said Kisswhere, ‘Kindly doesn’t give out commendations. Just punishments.’
‘What?’
Sinter said, ‘The captain ordered us to put on weight,’ and then she stepped past him, ‘among other things.’ And then she paused and turned back to Pravalak. ‘Corporal, find us some shears, and a large burlap sack.’
‘Aye, Sergeant. Shears-how big?’
‘I don’t care, just find some.’
Kisswhere offered the young man a broad smile as he hurried off, and then she went inside, marching halfway down the length of the dormitory. She halted at the foot of a cot where the bedding had been twisted into something resembling a nest. Squatting in the centre of this nest was a wrinkled, scarified, tattooed bad dream with small glittering eyes. ‘Nep Furrow, I need a curse.’
‘Eh? Geen way! Groblet! Coo!’
‘Captain Kindly. I was thinking hives, the real itchy kind. No, wait, that’ll just make him even meaner. Make him cross-eyed-but not so he notices, just everyone else. Can you do that, Nep?’
‘War butt wod i’meen, eh?’
‘How about a massage?’
‘Kissands?’
‘My very own, yes.’
‘Urble ong eh? Urble ong?’
‘Bell to bell, Nep.’
‘Nikked?’
‘Who, you or me?’
‘Bat!’
‘Fine, but we’ll need to rent a room, unless of course you want an audience?’
Nep Furrow was getting excited, in all the wrong ways, she saw. He jumped round, squirmed, his skin glistening with sweat. ‘Blether squids, Kiss, blether squids!’
‘With the door barred,’ she said. ‘I won’t have any strangers walking in.’
‘Hep haw! Curseed?’
‘Aye, cross-eyed, but he can’t know it-’
‘Impable, lees in glusion.’
‘Illusion? A glamour? Oh, that’s very good. Get on it, then, thanks.’
Badan Gruk rubbed at his face as Sinter collapsed on to the cot beside him. ‘What in Hood’s name are we doing here?’ he asked.
Her dark eyes flicked to his-the momentary contact sweet as a caress-and then she looked away. ‘You’re the only kind of soldier a body can trust, Badan, did you know that?’
‘What? No, I-’
‘You’re reluctant. You’re not cut out for violence and so you don’t go looking for it. You use your wits first and that silly bonekisser as a last resort. The dangerous ones do it the other way round and that costs lives every time. Every time.’ She paused. ‘Did I hear right? Some drunk marine sergeant crossed this damned empire from tavern to tavern?’
He nodded. ‘And left a trail of local sympathizers, too. But she wasn’t afraid of spilling blood, Sinter, she just picked out the right targets-people nobody liked. Tax collectors, provosts, advocates.’
‘But she’s a drunk?’
‘Aye.’
Shaking her head, Sinter fell back on to the cot. She stared at the ceiling. ‘How come
‘Because she’s one of the Y’Ghatan Stormcrawlers, that’s why. Them that went under.’
‘Oh, right.’ A moment’s consideration, and then: ‘Well, we’re marching soon.’
Badan rubbed at his face again. ‘But nobody knows where, or even why. It’s a mess, Sinter.’ He hesitated, and then asked, ‘You got any bad feelings about it?’
‘Got no feelings at all, Badan. About anything. And no, I don’t know what took me by the throat the night of Fid’s reading, either. In fact, I don’t even remember much of that night, not the ride, nor what followed.’
‘Nothing followed. Mostly, you just passed out. Some Fenn had already stepped in, anyway. Punched a god in the side of the head.’
‘Good.’
‘That’s it? That’s all you’re going to say?’
‘Well, like the one-eyed hag says, there’s all kinds of worship in the world, Badan.’
‘I don’t…’ but the look she shot him ground the words down to dust in his mouth. He flinched and glanced away. ‘That thing you said about wits, Sinter, was that a joke, too?’
She sighed, closing her eyes. ‘No, Badan. No. Wake me when Rim gets back, will you?’
Trailed by Lostara Yil, Keneb, Blistig and Quick Ben, the Adjunct Tavore strode down the length of the throne room and halted ten paces from the two thrones.
‘Welcome to you all,’ said King Tehol. ‘Adjunct, my Chancellor here informs me that you have a list of requests, most of which will contribute to a happy burgeoning of the royal coffers. Now, if I was the venal sort I would say let’s get right to that. But I am no such sort and so I would like to broach an entirely different matter, one of immense importance.’
‘Of course, sire,’ said Tavore. ‘We are at your disposal and will assist in any way we can.’
The King beamed.
Lostara wondered at the Queen’s sigh, but not for long.
‘Wonderful! Now, as soon as I recall the specific details of what I wanted to ask, why, I will. In the meantime, my Ceda tells me that you have stirred awake a sorcerous nest of trouble. My Chancellor, alas, assures me that the confusion is exaggerated-which of the two am I to believe? Please, if you can, break asunder this dreadful deadlock.’
Frowning, Tavore turned and said, ‘High Mage, can you address this matter, please?’
Quick Ben moved to stand beside the Adjunct. ‘Sire, both your Chancellor and your Ceda are, essentially, correct.’
Lostara saw Bugg smile, and then scowl from where he stood to the right of Tehol’s throne.
‘How fascinating,’ the King murmured, leaning forward to settle his chin in one hand. ‘Can you elaborate, High Mage?’
‘Probably not, but I will try. The situation, terrifying as it is, is probably temporary. The reading of the Deck of Dragons, which Preda Brys Beddict attended, seems to have illuminated a structural flaw in the… uhm… fabric of reality, a wounding of sorts. It seems, sire, that someone-someone very powerful-attempted to impose a new structure upon the already existing warrens of sorcery.’
Brys Beddict, positioned to the left of the Queen, asked, ‘High Mage, can you explain these “warrens” which seem so central to your notions of magic?’
‘Unlike the sorcery that prevailed on this continent until recently, Preda, magic everywhere else exists in a more formalized state. The power, so raw here, is elsewhere refined, aspected, organized into something like themes, and these themes are what we call warrens. Many are accessible to mortals and gods alike; others
