A tall and very thin man stood from behind a table and offered a brief bow. Bakune responded, mystified. Who was this? A secretary of some sort? Where was the Blue commander?
‘You understand Quon Talian?’ the man asked, sitting, and inviting Bakune to do the same.
Bakune bowed again. ‘Yes. It is the language of the ruling class here.’
‘You are the local magistrate… “Assessor”, I understand?’
Bakune sat. He eyed the man more closely: quite old but well preserved. A shock of pale white hair, white moustache and goatee; face and arms sun- and wind-darkened to the hue of ironwood. Bright sharp eyes that appeared… amused. ‘I am Assessor Bakune.’
‘Excellent. I am Admiral Nok. I command this Malazan naval unit.’
Nok? Now where had he heard that name before? And a regular Malazan in command? Not some Blue Admiral? Well… that was something at least.
‘First of all,’ the Admiral continued, ‘let me reassure you that the last thing we wish to do is interfere with day-to-day life here in Banith. I want that to be the message you will pass on to your people
… that they should simply return to their normal routines and merely… ignore us.’
Ignore the enormous vessels blockading our harbour? You ask a lot, Admiral.
‘Secondly, I also want to reassure you and the people of Banith that we in no way wish to interfere with your local religious practices. You may continue to worship as you choose.’
Bakune struggled not to quirk a sceptical brow. Really? That flew in the face of everything he knew regarding these Imperials. Everyone agreed their goal was eradication of the Lady’s cult. A goal he himself had given no thought to prior to last night. He tried to keep all inflection from his voice as he murmured, ‘How very generous of you.’
The reply seemed to disappoint the Admiral, but he continued, hands clasped on the table before him, ‘We of course will require some small supplies and refitting: food, potable water, lumber, rope and such. You will supply a list of merchants and we will reimburse in Imperial script.’
That would make me popular… but I don’t have to tell anyone who supplied the list… would that count as collaboration? Bakune stirred uncomfortably, cleared his throat. ‘And your troops, sir? A billeting list?’
The Admiral waved the consideration aside. ‘The troops will remain on board our vessels for a time — to avoid any unnecessary tensions. However, there will be patrols.’
‘Of course.’
‘Very good. Then, we have reached an understanding. Our goal is to interfere as little as possible. The populace may even forget we’re here.’
I doubt that very much, Admiral. But we can always hope.
The Admiral stood, came round the table and invited Bakune to precede him out. Straightening, Bakune bowed and entered the hall. The Admiral, he noticed, had to hunch to avoid bashing his head in the companionway. On deck, Bakune was shown to the set of stairs hung over the side. Blue sailors moved about, handling gear, adjusting the sheets. Bakune passed an opening on to the hold and saw for an instant how empty it was. Where were these troops? Was this not a transport?
The Blues sailors with him urged him on and he stepped out on to the stairs. He bowed to the Admiral one last time, then firmly grasped hold of the rope guides and started down.
On deck Admiral Swirl came to Admiral Nok’s side at the gunwale. Together they watched the launch return to shore. ‘What do you think?’ Swirl asked.
Nok rolled his neck, easing the muscles. ‘Hard to say. Very guarded, that one.’
‘At least he was not overtly hostile.’
‘But no fool, either. I just hope we’ve bought enough time.’
‘How far away do you think he is?’
‘I don’t know.’ Nok scratched his moustache. ‘Frankly, I was half expecting him to be here already.’
The Blue Admiral nodded his helmed head, perhaps agreeing. ‘And the patrols?’
‘Four at first, let’s say. Two four-hour shifts.’
‘Reserve?’
‘A hundred marines at the pier.’
The Blue Admiral was nodding again. ‘That’s about all we can field
… Let’s hope they don’t test us.’
Nok grasped hold of the gunwale, eyed the townscape. ‘They will. But let’s hope we’re out of here before then.’ He leaned his elbows on the wood and let out a long low breath into the icy wind. ‘We’re here, Greymane… but where are you?’
‘Well — would you look at that,’ Wess drawled while hunched behind his wide heavy-infantry shield. Kneeling behind his own shield, Suth ignored him. Len, whom they both covered, shushed the man as he untangled his line. A pink and gold dawn was brightening beyond the eastern hills. The three stood at the Ancy’s muddy shore.
It was their turn to go fishing.
For his part, Suth silently prayed to his entire inbred menagerie of Dal Hon gods that they get a bite right away. Any moment now the archers would catch sight of them and the torrent would begin. He reached down to select a water-polished stone from the shallows and stuck it in a cheek to suck on. It was an old trick to stave off hunger and thirst. Being of the Dal Hon, he was no stranger to want. He’d grown up through a number of droughts and lean times, so these last weeks of privation hadn’t hit him as hard as some. Likewise Wess, who never seemed to eat anyway; the man would just jam a ball of some resin or leaf into a cheek and he’d be good for the day. Lard, however, could hardly muster the strength to stand, while Pyke had disappeared — deserted, probably. Dim they’d lost in the defence of the bridge. Keri had taken an arrow in the side and lay in the infirmary tents. Yana was sick with the epidemic of the runny shits, which afflicted almost everyone in camp and added terribly to the general indignity of dying by degrees. Goss seemed unaffected, though his eyes were sunken and his cheeks behind the salt and pepper bristles were as hollow as caves.
‘You guys really should take a peek,’ Wess said.
‘Quiet,’ Len hissed, sotto voce.
Suth watched the water, seeking any slim darting shape. If only he held a sharp fishing stick now instead of this bulky shield.
‘Okay, but I gotta tell you-’
‘What?’ Suth cut in, glaring. Wess inclined his head towards the far shore. Suth scanned the slope; the lightening dawn was revealing the enemy — and themselves as well to the archers keeping watch on the shore. Smoke hung like mist, slowly drifting. Suth’s own breath plumed in the chill morning air. He examined the ranks. Something strange there… he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. ‘Something,’ he breathed.
‘Un-huh. No Moranth. Them Black bastards is gone. Their whole encampment’s picked up ’n’ flown.’
Len straightened. ‘What?’
Wess was right. Where the Moranth encampment had stood now stretched an empty field of churned-up mud.
Len started rolling up his gut fishing line. ‘Let’s go.’
‘They’ll all see in a minute,’ Wess objected.
An arrow hissed past them. ‘Now everyone can see,’ Suth cursed.
‘We haven’t caught a thing,’ Wess pointed out. ‘Unless we bring something to the pot we don’t get a share…’
Len shoved the line into a shoulder bag. ‘This is important.’
An arrow slammed into Wess’ shield, throwing him back a step. Len started backing away and Suth moved to cover him. Sighing, Wess followed. Outside bow range they met a crowd gathered along the shore, pointing and talking, and pushed their way through. Suth heaved the heavy shield on to his back. ‘We should report,’ Len said. Wess just rolled his eyes.
They crossed to where their squad had set up camp. Yana lay under an awning made from a tattered blanket. Goss sat before the blackened pit where they used to cook their meals when they had food and firewood.