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-we have to ride!’
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. Badan knows it. I know it. Tavore-you’ve stolen my sister. And that, you cold bitch, I will not accept!
I want her back, damn you.
I want my sister back.
‘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, then maybe it works.’
‘Don’t be a fool, Keneb. A Fist needs to keep distant. Bigger than life, and meaner besides.’ He poured himself another tankard of the foamy local beer. ‘Glad you’re sitting here, I’d imagine.’
‘I didn’t even belong at the last reading. I was there in Grub’s place, that’s all.’
‘Now the boy’s got to swallow his own troubles.’ Blistig leaned forward-they had found an upscale tavern, overpriced and so not likely to draw any Malazan soldiers below the rank of captain, and for a time over the past weeks the Fists had gathered here, mostly to drink and complain. ‘What’s one of those readings like? Y’hear all sorts of rumours. People spitting up newts or snakes slithering out of their ears, and woe betide any baby born at that moment anywhere in the district-three eyes and forked tongues.’ He shook his head, drank down three quick mouthfuls, and then wiped at his mouth. ‘It’s said that whatever happened at that last one-it made up the Adjunct’s mind, about everything that followed. The whole night in Malaz City. All skirling out with the cards. Even Kalam’s murder-’
‘We don’t know he was murdered,’ cut in Keneb.
‘You were there, in that cabin,’ Blistig insisted. ‘What happened?’
Keneb glanced away, suddenly wanting something stronger than beer. He found that he was unaccountably chilled, clammy as if fevered. ‘It’s about to begin,’ he muttered. ‘Touched once…’
‘Anybody with neck hairs has left the barracks, did you know that? The whole damned army has scattered into the city tonight. You’re scaring me, Keneb.’
‘Relax,’ he heard himself reply. ‘I spat up only one newt, as I recall. Here comes Madan.’
Deadsmell had hired a room for the night, fourth floor with a balcony and quick access to the roof. A damned month’s wages, but he had a view of the temporary headquarters-well, its squat dome at any rate, and at the far end of the inn’s roof it was a short drop to an adjoining building, a quick sprint across its length and down to an alley not three streets from the river. Best he could do, all things considered.
Masan Gilani had arrived with a cask of ale and a loaf of bread, though the only function Deadsmell could foresee for the bread was to be used to soak up vomit-gods knew he wasn’t hungry. Ebron, Shard, Cord, Limp and Crump then crowded in, arms loaded with dusty bottles of wine. The mage was deathly pale and shaky. Cord, Shard and Limp looked frightened, while Crump was grinning like a man struck senseless by a fallen tree branch.
Scowling at them all, Deadsmell lifted his own knapsack from the floor and set it with a thump on the lone table. At the sound Ebron’s head snapped round.
‘Hood take you, necromancer, you and your stinking magics. If I’d a known-’
‘You weren’t even invited,’ Deadsmell said in a growl, ‘and you can leave any time. And what’s that ex-Irregular doing with that driftwood?’
‘I’m going to carve something!’ Crump said with a bright toothy smile, like a horse begging an apple. ‘Maybe a big fish! Or a troop of horse-soldiers! Or a giant salamander-though that could be dangerous, oh, too dangerous, unless’n I give its tail a plug so you can pull it off-and a hinged jaw that goes up and down and makes laughing sounds. Why I could-’
‘Stuff it in your mouth, is what you could do,’ Deadsmell cut in. ‘Better yet, I’ll do it for you, sapper.’
The smile faltered. ‘No need to be mean and all. We all come here to do stuff. Sergeant Cord and Corporal Shard are gonna drink, they said, and pray to the Queen of Dreams. Limp’s gonna sleep and Ebron’s gonna make protection magics and all.’ His equine eyes swivelled to Masan Gilani-who was slumped in the lone cushy chair, legs outstretched, lids lowered, fingers laced together on her lap-and Crump’s long jaw slowly sagged. ‘And she’s gonna be beautiful,’ he whispered.
Sighing, Deadsmell untied the pack’s leather strings and began lifting out various small dead creatures. A flicker bird, a black-furred rat, an iguana, and a strange blue-skinned, big-eyed thing that might be a bat or a shell-less turtle-he’d found the fox-sized creature hanging by its three-tipped tail on a stall in the market. The old woman had cackled when he’d purchased it, a rather ominous reaction, as far as Deadsmell was concerned. Even so, he had a decent enough-
Glancing up, he saw that everyone was staring at him. ‘What?’
Crump’s frown was darkening his normally insipid face into something… alarming. ‘You,’ he said. ‘You’re not, by any chance, you’re not a… a… a necromancer? Are you?’
‘I didn’t invite you here, Crump!’
Ebron was sweating. ‘Listen, sapper-you, Crump Bole or whatever your name is. You’re not a Mott Irregular no longer, remember that. You’re a soldier. A Bonehunter. You take orders from Cord, Sergeant Cord, right?’
Clearing his throat, Cord spoke up, ‘That’s right, Crump. And, uh, I’m ordering you to, uh, to carve.’
Crump blinked, licked his lips, and then nodded at his sergeant. ‘Carve, right. What do you want me to carve, Sergeant? Go on, anything! Except’n not no necromancers, all right?’
‘Sure. How about everybody here in this room, except Deadsmell, of course. But everyone else. Uhm, riding horses, galloping horses. Horses galloping over flames.’
Crump wiped at his lips and shot Masan Gilani a shy glance. ‘Her, too, Sergeant?’
‘Go ahead,’ Masan Gilani drawled. ‘Can’t wait to see it. Don’t forget to include yourself, Crump. On the biggest horse.’
‘Yah, with a giant sword in one hand and a cusser in the other!’