Dust of Dreams

The House was at peace.

For a time.

***

Captain Ruthan Gudd was in the habit of grooming his beard with his fingers, an affectation that Shurq Elalle found irritating. Thoughtful repose was all very well, as far as poses went, but the man was so terse she had begun to suspect his genius was of the ineffable kind; in other words, it might be the man was thick but just clever enough to assume the guise of wisdom and depth. The silly thing was how damned successful and alluring the whole thing was-that hint of mystery, the dark veil of his eyes, his potent silences.

‘Errant’s sake, get out of here.’

He started, and then reached for his sword belt. ‘I will miss you.’

‘Everyone says that to me sooner or later.’

‘A curious observation.’

‘Is it? The simple truth is, I wear men out. In any case, I’m about to sail, so all in all it’s just as well.’

He grunted. ‘I’d rather be standing on a deck, letting the sails do all the work, than marching.’

‘Then why did you become a soldier?’

He raked through his beard, frowned, and then said, ‘Habit.’ As he made his way to the door he paused, and squinted down at an urn sitting against one wall. ‘Where did you get this?’

‘That thing? I’m a pirate, Ruthan. I come by things.’

‘Not purchased at a market stall in the city, then.’

‘Of course not. Why?’

‘The crows caught my eye. Seven Cities, that pot.’

‘It’s an urn, not a pot.’

‘Fall of Coltaine. You preyed on a Malazan ship-’ he turned and eyed her. ‘Has to have been recently. Did you pounce on one of our ships? There were storms, the fleet was scattered more than once. A few were lost, in fact.’

She returned his stare flatly. ‘And what if I had? It’s not like I knew anything about you, is it?’

He shrugged. ‘I suppose not. Though the idea that you put some fellow Malazans to the sword doesn’t sit well.’

‘I didn’t,’ she replied. ‘I pounced on a Tiste Edur ship.’

After a moment he nodded. ‘That makes sense. We first encountered them outside Ehrlitan.’

‘Well, that’s a relief.’

His eyes hardened. ‘You are a cold woman, Shurq Elalle.’

‘I’ve heard that before, too.’

He left without another word. It was always better this way, find something annoying to sour the moment, a brief exchange of lashing words, and then it was done with. Yearning goodbyes, dripping with soppy sentimentalities, were never quite as satisfying as one would like.

She quickly collected the last of her gear-most of her stuff was already stowed aboard Undying Gratitude. Skorgen Kaban the Pretty had taken charge of things, more or less, down at the harbour. Clearing up berth fees, sobering up the crew and whatnot. Her two Bolkando guests were safely stowed in the main cabin; and if Ublala Pung still hadn’t shown up by the time she arrived, that was just too bad-the oaf had the memory of a moth.

He probably got confused and tried to walk to the islands.

She buckled her rapier to her hip, slung a modest duffel bag over one shoulder, and left, not bothering to lock the door-the room was rented and besides, the first thief inside was welcome to everything, especially that stupid urn.

A pleasant and promising offshore breeze accompanied her down to the docks. She was satisfied to see plenty of activity aboard her ship as she strode to the gangplank. Stevedores were loading the last of the supplies, suffering under cruel commentary from the gaggle of whores who’d come down to send off the crew, said whores shooting her withering looks as she swept past them. Hardly deserved, she felt, since she hadn’t been competing with them for months and besides, wasn’t she now leaving?

She stepped down on to the main deck. ‘Pretty, where did you get that nose?’

Her First Mate clumped over. ‘Snapper beak,’ he said, ‘stuffed with cotton to hold back on the drip, Captain. I bought it at the Tides Market.’

She squinted at him. The strings holding the beak in place looked painfully tight. ‘Best loosen it up some,’ she advised, dropping the bag down to one side and then setting her fists on her hips as she surveyed the others on deck. ‘No Pung?’

‘Not yet.’

‘Well, I want to take advantage of this wind.’

‘Good, Captain, the giant’s an ill omen besides-’

‘None of that,’ she snapped. ‘He made a fine pirate in his days with us, and there was nothing ill-omened about him.’ Kaban was jealous, of course. But the nose looked ridiculous. ‘Get these dock rats off my ship and crew the lines.’

‘Aye, Captain.’

She watched him limp off, nodded severely when he roared into the ear of a lounging sailor. Walking to the landward rail up near the bow, she scanned the crowds on the waterfront. No sign of Ublala Pung. ‘Idiot.’

Captain Ruthan Gudd collected his horse at the stables and set out northward along the main avenue running partway alongside the central canal. He saw no other Malazans among the crowds-he could well be the last left in the city. This suited him fine, and better still if Tavore and her Bonehunters were to pull stakes before he arrived, leaving him behind.

He’d never wanted to be made a captain since it meant too many people paid attention to him. Given a choice, Ruthan would be pleased to spend his entire life not being noticed by anyone. Except for the occasional woman, of course. He had considered, rather often lately, deserting the army. If he had been a regular foot-soldier, he might well have done just that. But a missing officer meant mages joining in the search, and the last thing he wanted was to be sniffed down by a magicker. Of course Tavore wouldn’t hold back on the army’s march just to await his appearance-but there might well be a mage or two riding for him right now.

Either way, Fist Blistig was probably rehearsing the tongue-lashing he’d be delivering to Ruthan as soon as the captain showed.

Under normal circumstances, it was easy to hide in an army, even as an officer. Volunteer for nothing, offer no suggestions, stay in the back at briefings, or better still, miss them altogether. Most command structures made allowances for useless officers-no different from the allowances made for useless soldiers in the field. ‘Take a thousand soldiers. Four hundred will stand in a fight but do nothing. Two hundred will run given the chance. Another hundred will get confused. That leaves three hundred you can count on. Your task in commanding that thousand is all down to knowing where to put that three hundred.’ Not Malazan doctrine, that. Some Theftian general, he suspected. Not Korelri, that was certain. Korelri would just keep the three hundred and execute the rest.

Greymane? No, don’t be stupid, Ruthan. Be lucky to get five words a year out of that man. Then again, who needs words when you can fight like that? Hood keep you warm, Greymane.

In any case, Ruthan counted himself among the useless seven hundred, capable of doing nothing, getting confused, or routed at the first clash of weapons. Thus far, however, he’d not had a chance to attempt any of those options. The scraps he’d found himself in-relatively few, all things considered-had forced him to fight like a rabid wolf to stay alive. There was nothing worse in the world than being noticed by someone trying to kill you-seeing that sudden sharp focus in a stranger’s eyes-

The captain shook himself. The north gate waited ahead.

Back into the army. Done with the soft bed and soft but oddly cool feminine flesh; with the decent (if rather tart) Letherii wines. Done with the delicious ease of doing nothing. Attention was coming his way and there was nothing to be done about it.

You told me to keep my head low, Greymane. I’ve been trying. It’s not working. But then, something in your eyes told me you knew it wouldn’t, because it wasn’t working for you either.

Ruthan Gudd clawed at his bead, reminding himself of the stranger’s face he now wore.

Let’s face it, old friend. In this world it’s only the dead who don’t get noticed.

The place of sacrifice held an air of something broken. Ruined. It was a misery being there, but Ublala Pung had no choice. Old Hunch Arbat’s rasping voice was in his head, chasing him this way and that, and the thing about a skull-even one as big as his-was how it was never big enough to run all the way away, even when it was a dead old man doing the chasing.

‘I did what you said,’ he said. ‘So leave me alone. I got to get to the ship. So Shurq and me can sex. You’re just jealous.’

He was the only living thing in the cemetery. It wasn’t being used much any more, ever since parts of it started sinking. Sepulchres tilted and sagged and then broke open. Big stone urns fell over. Trees got struck by lightning and marsh gases wandered round looking like floating heads. And all the bones were pushing up from the ground like stones in a farmer’s field. He’d picked one up, a leg bone, to give his hands something to play with while he waited for Arbat’s ghost.

Scuffling sounds behind him-Ublala turned. ‘Oh, you. What do you want?’

‘I was coming to scare you,’ said the rotted, half-naked corpse, and it raised bony hands sporting long, jagged fingernails. ‘Aaaagh!’

‘You’re stupid. Go away.’

Harlest Eberict sagged. ‘Nothing’s working any more. Look at me. I’m falling apart.’

‘Go to Selush. She’ll sew you back up.’

‘I can’t. This stupid ghost won’t let me.’

‘What ghost?’

Harlest tapped his head, breaking a nail in the process. ‘Oh, see that? It’s all going wrong!’