Tayschrenn could read the pain the admission of such a need cost her.
Kellanved set his hands on the desk before him. ‘Good. We are all here. What I want to know is why we are. We should be in the Hold by now.’
Everyone blinked at him, uncertain. The rather hard-bitten-looking woman, Surly, cleared her throat. ‘I do not believe the captains would accept you.’
Kellanved shrugged. ‘They will have no choice.’
‘Good luck,’ Surly answered. ‘But we’re leaving.’
The one called Dancer crossed his arms and leaned up against the desk. ‘Why?’
She laughed. ‘Why? They know we’re here. They won’t give up. We have to go.’ She waved to Kellanved. ‘You can keep the Twisted. It’s more yours than ours. We’ll take some smaller craft tonight and head out. We’re thinking of going north. Serving with the Falari.’
‘No,’ Kellanved said.
She blinked, drawing herself up stiffly. ‘You cannot stop us.’
Kellanved raised his open hands. ‘I know. I cannot compel you. Nor would I want to. What I can do is offer something.’
She eyed him, openly suspicious. ‘What?’
‘Nap.’
Her look changed to one of sceptical evaluation. ‘Really? You think you can offer Nap?’
He nodded, quite serious. The woman’s gaze narrowed, and shifted to the one called Dancer. ‘No one kills Tarel. I forbid it.’
Both Kellanved and Dancer nodded; and Tayschrenn found it humorous that they actually nodded in unison.
‘Agreed,’ said Kellanved.
‘And just how will you perform this miracle?’ Surly asked, cocking a brow.
The hunched little mage tapped his hands on the desk. ‘Tonight we will take the Hold.’
Both her brows rose as she considered this. ‘Ah. I see.’
* * *
Dancer wasn’t ready for another fight so soon. He wasn’t happy with Kellanved’s announcement, but when everyone had been dismissed to organize the move the mage assured him that it wouldn’t come to that.
Dancer took him at his word and went to prepare. He had discarded his old clothes, which had been hacked to rags, and selected a new shirt and trousers. He retied the bindings over the thrust through his thigh, feeling the stitches pulling, and dressed, then drew on his thin armoured vest, his shirt, his baldrics, and a brocaded felt vest over all.
When night came they set out, leaving a skeleton guard at Smiley’s. Since Lee’s defection to Dassem half her crew had come over as well, so they now effectively controlled the entire city. All that was left was the Hold, as Kellanved rightly saw.
All told, they mustered close to fifty foot-soldiers. Jack and Tocaras commanded a contingent of twenty, and Dujek and Choss another. Both of these had set out earlier, overland, to come to the Hold from the rear. The main party, Dassem, Dancer, Kellanved and the mage Tayschrenn, together with Surly, the Napans, and Lee, would climb the twisting Rampart Way. Cartheron alone remained behind, still gravely wounded, and guarded by four trusted local hires.
Dancer winced all the way, favouring his wounded leg. He hoped he wouldn’t have to act later, and with that in mind he pushed ahead to where Dassem led.
‘I’m wounded,’ he whispered as they climbed the broad twisting stairs.
‘I saw.’
‘You’ll have to cover for me.’
‘Agreed.’
‘Good.’ He fell back to Kellanved’s side. The mage was faring no better, puffing and sweating. ‘No wonder the city and the Hold are so divided,’ he huffed, wiping his face with a handkerchief.
‘It’s good for you to get out.’
‘Says who?’
After much twisting and turning back and forth, they reached the top landing and the Hold walls. An arched tunnel led to the first bailey, past which lay an inner bailey and the keep itself. Entrance to the inner bailey was guarded by another stone archway, and here the gatekeeper sat. Torches hissed and snapped along the wall, while a lantern in a sconce next to him provided the only light in the archway.
Kellanved nodded to him. ‘Lubben, I believe?’
The gatekeeper, a hunchback, grinned back. ‘Been wondering when you’d turn up.’
‘And?’
‘And what?’
‘Is there some secret password we should know? A key we need? Or perhaps you’d like a bag of coin?’
Though hunched from his twisted back, the fellow was quite sturdy and muscular-looking, with thick arms and thighs. Dancer thought he might prove a dangerous opponent. But he waved aside Kellanved’s suggestions, saying, ‘Nah. Go on through.’
Kellanved peered about, suspicious and rather taken aback. ‘Just like that?’
‘Yeah. Just like that.’
‘Why?’
‘Because I want to see what you’re gonna do.’
Kellanved nodded now, in understanding. ‘Ah! I see. You are a student of the circus of the world.’
The fellow gave a wink, took a silver flask from inside his shirt, and tossed back a mouthful. ‘Good luck,’ he offered.
Kellanved nodded his farewell and pushed open the iron-bound door. The inner bailey was unguarded. Oil lamps flickered next to the door to the main keep. Here, Dassem and Urko took the lead. Dancer took up Kellanved’s left side while Surly fell in behind.
Urko slammed open the door and they marched up the entranceway into the main reception hall. A huge fire burned in a large stone fireplace along the rear wall. Tables were crowded by crews who stared now, suddenly silent. At the high table sat three captains. These three now eyed them, surprised and rather annoyed.
‘So, it is true,’ Kellanved announced loudly. ‘Mock no longer.’
The three captains shared dark knowing grins.
‘Fell drunk from a parapet,’ said one.
‘Threw himself over pining for his sorceress lass,’ said another.
‘We haven’t decided yet,’ explained the third. Then he added, ‘So, what are you doing here, mage? You have the city. The old rules as under Mock remain.’
Kellanved walked forward, out on to the open floor of the wide hall. He tapped the stones with his walking stick as he went, a finger raised as if about to question a point of procedure. ‘Ah! The old rules … about them. I have a question. Is it not Malazan tradition that the strongest captain rules?’
‘That is so,’ answered the bearded one on the right. Renish, Dancer believed was his name. ‘But you are no captain.’
Kellanved gave an exaggerated nod. ‘Ah. But … you see, I believe I am. I have a vessel. The Twisted.’
The middle one laughed his scorn. He bore long moustaches after the style of Mock. Hess, Dancer knew. ‘You may own that scow, but you are no seaman. No mariner!’
The gathered crews all joined in the laughter. Kellanved waited for the noise to die down, rocking back and forth on his heels, hands behind his back. He nodded again. ‘True, true. I am no sailor. However, I do have sailors and captains who serve me. Skilled captains such as Urko, Choss, and Cartheron Crust.’
‘Napans,’ hissed the last captain at the table, scarred and sun-darkened, wearing a sturdy leather jack, long-knives at his waist. Guran.
Kellanved raised his chin. ‘Napan renegades. Wanted outlaws. Thus, dare I say, honorary Malazans?’
Arguments broke out among the company as the gathered raiders and marines set to talking all at once. Guran banged a pewter tankard on the table for silence. Once the babble had settled, he regarded Kellanved. ‘Your point?’ he demanded.
‘Ah! My point. Yes. Well … seeing as I have as many as four or five captains in my service, I suppose that makes me an admiral.’
‘What!’ Guran exploded. The crews surged to their feet in an uproar. Hess and Renish gaped at the mage, astounded by his claim.
Dancer peered round at the chaos and struggled to suppress a smile. Whatever was going to transpire this night he was enjoying this. The odd little fellow nominating himself as admiral.