He awoke coughing and spluttering on hard decking. Limp. Limbs useless. Other crewmen from the Ardent lay about like gaffed fish. Mare crewmen in dark leather armour were gathered around one particular netted man, truncheons rising and falling, beating and beating. Seeing him awake, one crewman came over, wiped his brow, panting. ‘You are of Genabaris, yes?’ he asked in a strange mangling of the South Confederacy dialect.
Jemain nodded mutely.
‘We usually capture ships — except Malazan — but yours was such an insult we had to sink it.’ He smiled as if that somehow made up for it. ‘My apology.’ He wiped his brow again, taking a deep breath, and gestured his truncheon to the netted, now limp, crewman from the Ardent, whose identity Jemain could guess. ‘You are all going to the Korelri. Especially that one. He would not go down — good thing the waters had done half our work, hey? We should get a good price for him.’ He smiled his white teeth again. ‘I think he would do well upon the wall.’