Memories of Ice

The old man continued on unawares. When he was but a half-dozen paces away, Picker straightened, the grey cloak left by the morning's dust-storm cascading away as she levelled her crossbow. 'Far enough, traveller,' she growled. His surprise sent the old man stumbling back a step. A stone turned underfoot and he pitched to the ground, crying out yet managing to twist to avoid landing atop the leather pack strapped to his back. He skidded another pace down the trail, and found himself almost at Blend's feet.

Picker smiled, stepped forward. 'That'll do,' she said. 'You don't look dangerous, old fella, but just in case, there's five other crossbows trained on you right now. So, how about you tell me what in Hood's name you're doing here?'

Sweat and dust stained the old man's threadbare tunic. His sunburned forehead was broad over a narrow set of features, vanishing into an almost chinless jaw. His snaggled, crooked teeth jutted out in all directions, making his smile an argumentative parody. He pulled his thin, leather-wrapped legs under himself and slowly levered upright. 'A thousand apologies,' he gasped, glancing over a shoulder at Blend. He flinched at what he saw in her eyes, swung hastily back to face Picker. 'I'd thought this trail untenanted — even by thieves. You see, my life's savings are invested in what I carry — I could not afford a guard, nor even a mule-'

'You're a trader, then,' Picker drawled. 'Bound where?'

'Pale. I am from Darujhistan-'

'That's obvious enough,' Picker snapped. 'Thing is, Pale is now in imperial hands… as are these hills.'

'I did not know — about these hills, that is. Of course I am aware that Pale has entered the Malazan embrace-'

Picker grinned at Blend. 'Hear that? An embrace. That's a good one, old man. A motherly hug, right? What's in the sack, then?'

'I am an artisan,' the old man said, ducking his head. 'Uh, a carver of small trinkets. Bone, ivory, jade, serpentine-'

'Anything invested — spells and the like?' the corporal asked. 'Anything blessed?'

'Only by my talents, to answer your first query. I am no mage, and I work alone. I was fortunate, however, in acquiring a priest's blessings on a set of three ivory torcs-'

'What god?'

'Treach, the Tiger of Summer.'

Picker sneered. 'That's not a god, you fool. Treach is a First Hero, a demigod, a Soletaken ascendant-'

'A new temple has been sanctified in his name,' the old man interrupted. 'On the Street of the Hairless Ape, in the Gadrobi Quarter — I myself was hired to punch the leather binding for the Book of Prayers and Rituals.'

Picker rolled her eyes and lowered the crossbow. 'All right, let's see these torcs, then.'

With an eager nod, the old man unslung his pack and set it down before him. He released the lone strap.

'Remember,' Picker grunted, 'if you pull out anything awry you'll get a dozen quarrels airing your skull.'

'This is a pack, not my breeches,' the trader murmured. 'Besides, I thought it was five.'

The corporal scowled.

'Our audience,' Blend said quietly, 'has grown.'

'That's right,' Picker added hastily. 'Two whole squads, hiding, watching your every move.'

With exaggerated caution, the old man drew forth a small packet of twine-wrapped doeskin. 'The ivory is said to be ancient,' he said in a reverent tone. 'From a furred, tusked monster that was once Treach's favoured prey. The beast's corpse was found in frozen mud in distant Elingarth-'

'Never mind all that,' Picker snapped. 'Let's see the damned things.'

The trader's white, wiry eyebrows rose in alarm. 'Damned! No! Not ever! You think I would sell cursed items?'

'Be quiet, it was just a damned expression. Hurry up, we haven't got all damned day.'

Blend made a sound, quickly silenced by a glare from her corporal.

The old man unwrapped the packet, revealing three upper-arm rings, each of one piece and undecorated, polished to a gleaming, pale lustre.

'Where's the blessing marks?'

'None. They were each in turn wrapped within a cloth woven from Treach's own moult-hair — for nine days and ten nights-'

Blend snorted.

'Moult-hair?' The corporal's face twisted. 'What a disgusting thought.'

'Spindle wouldn't think so,' Blend murmured.

'A set of three arm torcs,' Picker mused. 'Right arm, left arm … then where? And watch your mouth — we're delicate flowers, Blend and me.'

'All for one arm. They are solid, yet they interlock — such was the instruction of the blessing.'

'Interlocking yet seamless — this I have to see.'

'I cannot, alas, demonstrate this sorcery, for it will occur but once, when the purchaser has threaded them onto his — or her — weapon arm.'

'Now that has swindle written all over it.'

'Well, we got him right here,' Blend said. 'Cheats only work if you can make a clean getaway.'

'Like in Pale's crowded markets. Well indeed,' Picker grinned down at the old man, 'we're not in a crowded market, are we? How much?'

The trader squirmed. 'You have selected my most valued work — I'd intended an auction for these-'

'How much, old man?'

'Th-three hundred g-gold councils.'

'Councils. That's Darujhistan's new coinage, isn't it?'

'Pale's adopted the Malazan jakata as standard weight,' Blend said. 'What's the exchange?'

'Damned if I know,' Picker muttered.

'If you please,' the trader ventured, 'the exchange in Darujhistan is two and one-third jakatas to one council. Broker's fees comprise at least one jakata. Thus, strictly speaking, one and a third.'

Blend shifted her weight, leaned forward for a closer look at the torcs. 'Three hundred councils would keep a family comfortable for a couple of years at least…'

'Such was my goal,' the old man said. 'Although, as I live alone and modestly, I anticipated four or more years, including materials for my craft. Anything less than three hundred councils and I would be ruined.'

'My heart weeps,' Picker said. She glanced over at Blend. 'Who'll miss it?'

The soldier shrugged.

'Rustle up three columns, then.'

'At once, Corporal.' Blend stepped past the old man, moved silently up the trail, then out of sight.

'I beg you,' the trader whined. 'Do not pay me in jakatas-'

'Calm down,' Picker said. 'Oponn's smiling on you today. Now, step away from the pack. I'm obliged to search it.'

Bowing, the old man backed up. 'The rest is of lesser value, I admit. Indeed, somewhat rushed-'

'I'm not looking to buy anything else,' Picker said, rummaging with one hand through the pack. 'This is official, now.'

'Ah, I see. Are some trade items now forbidden in Pale?'

'Counterfeit jakatas, for one. Local economy's taking a beating, and Darujhistan councils aren't much welcome, either. We've had quite a haul this past week.'

The trader's eyes widened. 'You will pay me in counterfeited coin?'

'Tempting, but no. Like I said, Oponn's winked your way.' Finished with her search, Picker stepped back, and pulled out a small wax tablet from her belt-pouch. 'I need to record your name, trader. It's mostly smugglers using these trails, trying to avoid the post at the plains track through the Divide — you're one of the few honest ones, it seems. Those clever smugglers end up paying for their cleverness tenfold on these here trails, when the truth is they'd have a better chance slipping through the chaos at the post.'

'I am named Munug.'

Picker glanced up. 'You poor bastard.'

Blend returned down the trail, three wrapped columns of coins cradled in her arms.