He found Hyuke awaiting him outside his office, looking no different from before with his ridiculous fat moustache and lazy manner. Only his uniform had changed; Bakune did not think much of the epaulettes. He opened the door and waved him in. ‘What is it?’
The new Watch captain slumped in a chair, his eyes sleepy. ‘Them Blues want a warehouse and grounds to set up quarters on the waterfront. No one’s volunteering.’
‘Surely that’s a matter for the Lord Mayor’s office.’
A tired nod. ‘True enough. Except the Lord Mayor’s scarpered.’
‘What?’
‘Last night. Run off. City treasury’s empty too.’
‘You’re implying a connection?’
The man rolled his eyes. ‘What’re we gonna do?’
‘What do you mean “we”? The Vice-Mayor must step in.’
A shake of the head.
‘The Lieutenant-Mayor?’
A disappointed pursing of the lips.
‘The city treasurer?’
‘Arrested. A person of interest.’
‘Ah. That leaves…?’
‘You.’
‘Me? Lady forfend, no.’
‘Sorry, but we’ve ’bout run out of all other contenders. The Abbot’s dead, the Lord Mayor’s gone. That leaves you. Congratulations — this mess is yours.’
Bastard Mayor Gorlings. Never did like the pompous ass. Now he’s run off and left me to clean up. And I don’t want any of it. Bakune eyed his Watch captain. At least the fellow seemed willing to do whatever he told him. He supposed it was time one of the deputy assessors sat the bench. ‘Confiscate the necessary property. Tell them they’ll be paid in script.’
Hyuke’s long face lit up in a grin and he stroked his moustache. ‘That I like to hear.’ He stood. ‘They’ll hate you.’
‘They’ll hate me anyway.’
‘That they will.’ The man gave a brief bow. ‘Lord Mayor.’
Late that night as he was walking home, he was struck once more by how quiet the city was. The seemingly endless tide of pilgrims had ebbed. Countless citizens had fled the coast for the dubious safety of the inland towns. The capital, Paliss, was apparently choked with refugees. And the Overlord? Strange rumours circulated concerning him and his seeming non-response to this invasion.
Bakune’s housekeeper opened the door for him, curtsying — this too was new. Everyone treated him with either far more respect or far more hostility, depending upon where their particular interests happened to lie. His guards took up positions before his door. His cook was in the kitchen preparing an evening meal — another new addition. He hung his cloak then poured a drink. Entering his parlour he found the priest, Ipshank, sitting in his most comfortable chair.
Bakune nodded and sat, reminding himself to have a word with the housekeeper, who, apparently, was a convert to this priest’s strange new religion.
‘Nice place,’ the priest said.
‘A previous visitor called it wretchedly small.’
‘How our perceptions can change.’
‘Ipshank… perhaps you shouldn’t…’
‘No one knows I’m here.’
Bakune rubbed his pained brow. ‘It’s just that I’m already being labelled a traitor…’
The priest sat forward. The beast tattoos on his face darkened in the dim light. ‘I’m here to let you know things are going to get much worse.’
‘Wonderful.’
‘You’ve heard the rumours regarding our Overlord, Yeull? The Roolian Army?’
‘Which? I’ve heard twenty contrary stories.’
The man sat back. ‘Well, there’s to be no counter-offensive. No effort to free Banith.’
Bakune nodded. Already he’d come to that reluctant conclusion. It had been more than ten days and still no Roolian forces had arrived. What’s more, he’d heard some very alarming rumours regarding the disposition of that army. He sipped his liqueur. ‘I’d heard a rumour that Paliss was being abandoned.’
The priest nodded. ‘The official word is that the Overlord will hold the north then retake the south.’
‘What do you think?’
The man didn’t answer for a time. He looked down as if studying his wide spade-like hands. ‘I was going to leave, you know. Days ago.’
‘Oh?’
‘Yes. I said it was time I confronted the Lady… and I was on my way.’
‘And something stopped you.’
‘Yes. One of those rumours. One that made too much sense.’
Bakune lifted his glass then stopped himself and set it down. He didn’t know if he wanted to hear anything that could possibly trouble this man. ‘Must I hear this?’
‘Yes. Bakune, I believe that the Malazans… Greymane… is coming here.’
Bakune waved away the possibility. ‘That’s absurd. He’ll march on Paliss, of course.’
The priest was shaking his head. Light from the fire gleamed from his bald pate. ‘No. This is his fleet. It’s awaiting him.’
‘Awaiting him? To take him where? They’ve only just got here! No, once he is close the Moranth troops will disembark and join him to march on Paliss. And if he is victorious, we will have a new overlord.’ Bakune shrugged his helplessness. ‘Simple as that.’
The priest stood. ‘No. It’s not so simple. Chaotic times are coming, Bakune. It may be that there will be no overlord. Then there will be a need for people who can see ahead. Think on that. That is all I suggest.’ He peered down at Bakune. ‘I do not know if we will see each other again. But if not — best of luck, and my blessing.’ He set a hand on Bakune’s shoulder. ‘I’ll see myself out the back.’
Long after the man had gone Bakune sat on into the night. The fire died away to embers. He reached out and swallowed the rest of his liqueur. He’d never been much of a religious man though he’d attended services all his life — as a matter of course as a civic official. Strangely enough, only now did he have the feeling of having been in the presence of a true priest, one less concerned with the welfare of the gods than with the real welfare of the people. It was a strange, discomforting sensation that made him feel that somehow he too ought to be concerned. All his adult life he’d lived under the Malazan yoke. He couldn’t imagine how things would be otherwise.
Yet it was worth thinking about, as the man said. For what if in the course of this coming confrontation no clear victor arose? Or what if Yeull died and the Malazan forces were crippled? What then? Regional warlords would arise. Disintegration of the state. Chaos. Who would guard the interests of Banith?
Well, he supposed that would be him.
Kiska was surprised to find this nether-Chaos Realm flush with life. Lizard-like things scuttled from their path to disappear amid the broken rock and shifting sands of the region. Tough thorny bushes choked depressions. Even things you might call blind albino fish swam in shallow rock pools. She’d wondered what the white hound had been surviving on. Now she believed she had her answer. She also thought the prospect of fish would excite the priest, Warran, but the man showed no interest. ‘Too small,’ he’d complained. This did not stop him from eating his share, though, after Jheval filleted a few. Their tiny bat-guide led them on, apparently tireless, and though their ultimate goal was obvious it led them true, avoiding defiles, gorges and a swampy lowland Kiska was glad to skirt.
Ever present in the sky loomed their destination, the immense bruise, or blotch, of the Whorl. At night it took the appearance of a circle of pitch black surrounded by a gyre of brilliance as curtains of light rippled and swirled. ‘The energy of destruction,’ the priest called the light.