He and the 6th occupied the top of one of the central piers standing in the deepest water. Elsewhere, the second pier eastward, the rest of the 17th had taken up a similar position. He’d tried slithering out to rejoin them but the 6th’s sergeant, Twofoot, had signed an enraged no.
And so they waited, hidden, while the saboteurs did whatever it was they were supposed to do. Which so far looked to Suth like absolutely nothing. The 6th’s, Thumbs and Lorr, had pulled themselves out to a bundle roped to the bridge’s supports midway between two piers and there they’d remained all morning, pointing to various parts of it and whispering.
Bored and numb with cold, Suth turned to the nearest trooper and whispered, ‘What’re they up to?’
This heavy infantryman kept some kind of leaf-and-nut concoction jammed in one cheek. ‘Checkin’ it out,’ came the laconic reply between chews.
No kidding. They’ve been doing that all morning. ‘Yeah. But what’re they gonna do?’
A shrug. ‘Gotta check for boobytraps.’
‘Then what?’ Suth whispered again.
‘I dunno. Disarm ’em, I suppose.’
Suth sat back, defeated by the soldier’s denseness — or at least his unrelenting pose of it. ‘What’s your name, anyway?’
The man chewed for a time as if giving the question some thought, then said, ‘Fish.’
Fish. Suth eyed the fellow, the thick arm slung through a triangular gap between timbers, the wide bovine jaws working. Fish? ‘Why Fish?’
‘I dunno. The drill sergeant asked about my family so I said, “We fish.” So he says, okay. You Fish.’
Suth stared. Remarkable. All without the slightest inflection. He would’ve liked to have pressed the fellow to see how far he could carry it; but perhaps that was enough talk as Twofoot glared murder at him whenever he opened his mouth. He sat back again in an attempt to find a more comfortable position. ‘Right.’
Something moved over his head and he jerked a flinch that nearly dropped him from his perch to hang over the river like a piece of idiotic fruit. It was a saboteur, a woman, pulling herself along a timber, skinny in muddy leathers. She let herself down next to him to take up a squatting pose, arms over her head gripping the wood. She winked. He nodded back, uncertain. He’d seen her before: damned ugly with snaggled teeth, bulbous eyes that looked able to peer in two directions at once. Long hair pulled back and tied so tight as to make her eyes bulge even more. Urfa. The saboteur lieutenant.
‘What’s up?’ he barely mouthed.
‘Time to start the show.’ And she bared her yellow uneven teeth.
‘You going to drop the munitions into the river?’
The woman looked absolutely horrified. She eyed him as if he were crazy. ‘Hood no! We’re gonna keep them.’ Then she swung out under the horizontal timber, hand over hand, nothing beneath her but river, shaking her head at his stupidity.
Well how was I supposed to know? He watched while Urfa joined the short, rotund Thumbs and the equally lanky Lorr on their crowded perch. The three of them began pulling out tools from various pockets all about their trousers, vests and jerkins. Elsewhere, Len and Keri would be starting this very process. The idea of Keri leaning over a munition and being blown to bits made him squirm. Still, the woman had a gentle deft touch — if that counted for anything. And if things went awry with Thumbs here he’d be just as dead as well.
*
Ussu was washing his hands at a basin when Borun ducked into his tent. The Moranth commander looked at the sheet-covered body on the central table, then at Ussu. ‘Any news?’
Ussu frowned his disappointment. ‘No. None. This one died immediately. Shock. Sometimes the heart just gives out. Have you anyone else?’
‘We do have a captive…’
‘Yes? Bring him. I must see what’s going on.’
The Moranth Black officer gripped his belt in both gauntleted hands and was quiet for a time, his gaze on the body. Ussu knew his friend well enough to read reluctance and a kind of vague unease. ‘Yes?’
‘She is… Malazan.’
‘Ah. I see.’ Unease on two fronts. ‘Do not worry, my friend. We are at war. We must do what we must.’
The matt-dark helm inclined a slow acquiescence. ‘Very good, High Mage. She will be sent.’ Borun ducked from the tent.
Ussu turned to his aides, pointed to the body. ‘Get rid of that. Prepare the table.’
Yurgen bowed. ‘Yes, High Mage.’
When the captive was delivered Ussu was disappointed by how tiny she was. Not much room in the chest cavity to reach the heart. He gestured for his apprentices to prepare her. She was gagged, her arms stretched out to either side and strapped, legs bound straight. Ussu found himself studying her face much more closely than he had any prior subject. Hazel eyes bored into his, full of animal fury. Spirit. And tawny. Were you of Tali perhaps? A soldier? But so gracile! A scout, possibly. Yes, probably so. Still, there is hope. This conceit some have of males being stronger than females — not borne out by the evidence. Women always endure longer than men. Through privation, stress, even wounds. And so perhaps my efforts will bear fruit.
Taking his sharpest instrument, an obsidian-bladed scalpel, he cut open her ragged shirt, exposing her side. Then, feeling his way with his fingers, he slit down vertically between the ridges of two ribs. He held out a hand: ‘Spacer.’
The wood and brass instrument was set into his palm. Probing with his fingers he found purchase on the ribs. The subject convulsed, gurgling an agonized scream; Ussu flinched away. Damn. Have to start all over again. ‘Stop her from moving!’
‘Yes, High Mage.’ Yurgen and Temeth leaned on the slight woman, using their weight to steady her torso.
‘Very good. Let’s begin again, shall we…’
At the first turn of the spacing screws the subject let out a lacerating incoherent howl of anguish then slumped, unconscious. Thank the Lady! Now I can concentrate. He pressed ahead with the procedure while he could. When his questing fingertips brushed the woman’s heart he felt his Warren come to him with a power he hadn’t felt in decades. Head down close to the subject’s naked shoulder, eyes shut, his inner sight pierced the edges of Mockra and flew free.
And almost immediately the Lady was there to greet him. It was as if a cat had taken him by the nape of his neck. Her voice seemed to stroke as if searching for the perfect place to clench.
Ussu. My loyal servant. What blasphemy is this you practise in my name? Abandon these false delusions and join me!
He could not speak; was utterly helpless. And she knew it.
You trust too much to my affection and forbearance. It is only…
The voice broke off. He sensed a swirling shift as crushing pressures built around him. He glimpsed something bright amid mist. A blade. A bright blade.
Another is here… An interloper! She is here. This is intolerable! How dare she!
Something snapped round his neck like a vice. Blinking, he forced open his eyes to see that the subject had somehow slipped an arm free of the strapping and was now strangling him with an inhuman strength. Yurgen! Temeth! Where are you!
I will destroy the bitch!
The subject’s head rolled over to face him, the eyes open but empty of life. Something fell free round the neck, a leather strap and pendant. The simple stone bore an engraved image: an open hand. Emblem of the Queen of Dreams! An image flickered in those staring glassy eyes, a presence. And Ussu felt soul-crushing shame.
You have betrayed me, Ussu, another voice whispered to him. The sadness and regret borne in those words brought tears to his eyes. He felt himself fading from consciousness but behind the voice came faintly the rush of running water.
No! This one’s mine!