Spilgit leaned closer to Emancipor. ‘That’s why she calls herself Generous, you see.’
‘Oh I’m generous enough,’ she retorted, ‘when it’s appreciated. One thing I ain’t generous about is some fool showing up calling himself a damned tax collector. We built this place up ourselves and we don’t owe nobody nothing! Tell that to your prissy bosses, Spilgit!’
‘I will, Feloovil, I will, and that’s a promise!’
‘You do just that!’
‘I will do just that!’
‘Go ahead, then!’
‘I will!’
Ackle spoke from the window. ‘What’s he doing with those bodies?’
Only Emancipor did not turn at that, still hunched over his steaming tankard and breathing deep the heady fumes.
Feloovil grunted her way upright and walked over to the inn’s door. She pushed it open a crack. Then quickly drew her head back and swung to Spilgit. ‘That the one who killed the golem?’
‘He was tearing out its insides when we come up,’ Spilgit said.
‘How did he kill it?’
‘No idea, Feloovil, but he did it and without getting a scratch!’
She realized she was having a conversation with the tax collector and quickly looked away, edging the door open a little further to watch Hordilo leading his two prisoners up the street towards Wurm Road. Spilgit showing up with her sweet daughter had been enough to make Feloovil want to slit the man’s throat right then and there. But that kind of public murdering was bad for business, and more than a few of her girls would be pretty upset with her and that was never good. Instead, she’d sent Felittle up to her room to await a proper hiding. For the moment, that little slut-in-waiting could stew for a while longer.
Ackle edged up beside her and she recoiled slightly at his smell. ‘He’s a bit too possessive for my liking,’ he then said, squinting up the street. ‘About those corpses, I mean.’
She pulled him back inside and shut the door against the cold. ‘I told you, Risen, y’can sit at that one table since it’s the smallest one here and out of the way of the others, and y’can keep my dogs happy, too, but you ain’t a proper customer. So stop wandering around, will you? I swear I’ll lock you out, Ackle, and leave you to freeze solid.’
‘Sorry, Generous.’ The man stumped back to his seat.
Thinking, Feloovil returned to Emancipor’s table and sat down again across from him. ‘Spilgit, go away,’ she said. ‘Find another table, or go upstairs and say hi to the girls.’
‘You can’t order— well, I suppose you can. All right, then, upstairs I go.’
She waited until she heard his steps on the creaking stairs, and then leaned forward. ‘Listen, Emancipor Reese.’
He’d drunk half the rum and when he looked up his eyes were bleary. ‘What?’
‘Golems. They’re sorcery, right? Powerful sorcery.’
‘I suppose.’
‘And Lord Fangatooth Claw’s got three of ’em.’
The man snorted. ‘Sorry, can’t help it. Three, you said. Right. Two now, though.’
‘Exactly,’ she replied. ‘That’s my point, right there.’
He blinked at her. ‘Sorry? What was your point? I somehow missed it.’
‘Your masters – one of them went and killed one of those golems. That can’t be easy, killing a heap of iron and whatnot.’
‘I wouldn’t know,’ Emancipor said. ‘But take it from me, Korbal Broach has killed worse.’
‘Has he, now? That’s interesting to hear. Very.’
‘But mostly it’s Bauchelain you should be worried about,’ Emancipor went on, taking another deep mouthful of the rum.
‘That the other one?’
‘Aye. The other one.’
‘Sorcerers?’
The man nodded. And then laughed again. ‘Fangatooth!’
She shifted her considerable weight on the chair and tried leaning even closer, but her breasts got in the way. Cursing, she lifted one and thumped it down onto the tabletop. Then did the same with the other. Glancing up, she caught the look in Emancipor’s eyes. ‘Aye, lovely, ain’t they? I’ll introduce them to you later. Your masters, Emancipor Reese—’
‘Mancy will do. Call me Mancy.’
‘Better, less of a Hood-damned mouthful anyway. Mancy. They sorcerers?’
He nodded again.
‘They’re heading up to the keep, all on their own. Are they stupid?’
Emancipor lifted one wavering finger. ‘Ah, now that’s an interesting question. I mean, there’s all kinds of stupid, izzn’t there? Ever seen a ram butt its head against a rock? Why a rock? Why, ’cause there’s no other ram around, thaz why. Your Fungletooth up there, been standing on that rock all this time, right? All on his lonesome.’
She studied him, and then slowly nodded. ‘Ever since he imprisoned his brother, aye.’
Emancipor waved carelessly. ‘Up there, then, maybe they’ll all butt heads—’
‘And if they do? Who comes out on top?’
‘—and maybe they don’t.’
‘You’re not getting it, Mancy. Butting heads sounds good. Butting heads sounds perfect. I like butting heads. You think it’s fun living in fear?’
The man stared across at her, and then grinned. ‘Beats dying laughing, Floovle.’
She rose. ‘Let’s get some hearty food in you. So you can sober up. We got more talking to do, you and me.’
‘Do we?’
‘Aye. Talking, and from talking we’ll get to bargaining, and from bargaining we’ll get to something else, something that’ll make everyone happy. Sober up, Mancy. I got girls for you aplenty, and they’re on the house.’
‘Kind of you,’ he replied, squinting up at her. ‘But girls just make me feel old.’
‘Better, ’cause then you got us.’
‘Us?’
She hefted her tits. ‘Us.’
From a few paces away, Ackle flinched back when Feloovil proffered the sailor her breasts. ‘But then,’ he whispered, ‘if there’s any good way to go …’ He glanced across at the other patrons, regulars one and all, of course, and he supposed he was a regular now, too. Sort of. Funny how all the things he longed for in life just up and tumbled right into his lap now that he was dead.
But that was, in some ways, typical, wasn’t it? Greatness was happiest with an ashen face, cloudy eyes and a demeanor unlikely to make any sudden unexpected moves. Even a mediocre man could climb into greatness by the simple act of dying. If he thought about history, these days, he saw in his mind’s eye a whole row of great men and women, heroes and all that, and not one of them alive. No, instead they stood guard over great moments now long gone, and through it all stayed blind to whatever legacy their deeds left behind. It was selfish, in a way, but in a good way, too. Dying was a way to tell the world to just … fuck off. Go fuck yourselves, you fucking fucks! Fuck off and fuck off forever and if you don’t know what fucking forever is, take a look at us, you fuckers, we’re fucking forever and we don’t give a fuck about any of you, so just fuck … fuck … fuck off!
He contemplated the possibility, in the wake of these thoughts, that he had some anger issues, which seemed pointless, all things considered. It should hurt swallowing, shouldn’t it? That rope didn’t break my neck, well, maybe it did, who knows. Anyway, it was the choking that killed me. Suffocation, turning blue in the face, tongue poking out, eyes bulging. That kind of suffocation. So swallowing should hurt.
Fuck, do I want to kill them all? Hmm, difficult question. Let’s mull on it some …
It’s not like I’ve got anything else to do.
Still, that big, fat man, dragging those corpses. That’s troubling all right. For a man like me, I mean. Dead, but not dead enough.