The Complete Malazan Book of the Fallen (682 page)

Moving forward, Keneb said, ‘Good evening, Captain, I am Fist Keneb, Eighth Legion, Fourteenth Army.'

A moment's hesitation, then a salute. ‘Fist Keneb. I have orders for the Adjunct Tavore Paran. May I come on deck?'

‘Of course,' Keneb said.

Mostly unintelligible shouts and curses reached them from the crowds massing behind a line of soldiers on the waterfront, many of them taunts directed at the Red Blades. At these sounds, the captain winced slightly, then he moved forward until he faced the Adjunct. ‘The Empress awaits you,' he said, ‘in Mock's Hold. In your absence, command of the Fourteenth Army temporarily falls to me, with respect to disembarking and standing down.'

‘I see,' Tavore said.

The captain shifted uneasily, as if he had been expecting some kind of protest, as if her lack of reaction to his words was the very last thing he anticipated. ‘It appears that the transports are anchoring in the bay, Adjunct.'

‘Yes, it does appear so, Captain.'

‘That will need to be countermanded immediately.'

‘Captain, what is your name?'

‘Adjunct? My apologies. It is Rynag. Captain Rynag of the Untan Imperial Guard.'

‘Ah, then you have accompanied the Empress to the island. Your normal posting is as an officer in the Palace Guard.'

Rynag cleared his throat. ‘Correct, Adjunct, although as a matter of course my responsibilities have expand—'

‘T'amber,' the Adjunct cut in. ‘Please collect Kalam Mekhar. He is, I believe, once more at the stern.' She studied the captain for a moment longer, then asked him, ‘The Empress commands that I meet her alone?'

‘Uh, she was not specific—'

‘Very well—'

‘Excuse me, Adjunct. Not specific, as I said, with one exception.'

‘Oh?'

‘Yes. The High Mage Adaephon Delat is to remain on board until such time as directed otherwise.'

Tavore frowned for a moment, then said, ‘Very well.'

‘I believe I was speaking about countermanding the order to drop anchor—'

‘I leave that to you, Captain Rynag,' the Adjunct said as T'amber reappeared, Kalam trailing a step behind. ‘We will make use of your escort, as well as that of Fist Baralta's Red Blades, to ensure our passage through that mob.' With that, and a gesture to T'amber and the assassin to follow, she disembarked.

Bemused, the captain watched them cross over to the jetty. A few curt commands to the Imperial Guards assembled there and a careless gesture to Tene Baralta and his soldiers to fall in, and the two groups moved out in uneasy company to flank Tavore and her two companions. Then the party set off.

Rynag swung back to Keneb. ‘Fist?'

‘Yes?'

‘Well…'

‘Things aren't going as planned, Captain?' Keneb stepped close and slapped a hand on the man's shoulder. ‘Consider this, it could be worse. Correct that. It
is
much worse.'

‘No longer,' the man snapped, finally angry. ‘I am now in command of the Fourteenth Army, Fist Keneb, and these are my orders. Signal flag to Admiral Nok. The escorts are to withdraw and set sail without delay for Unta. Signal flag to the foreign fleet, they are to anchor outside the bay, this side of the shoals on the headland north of Mock's Hold. A pilot ship will guide them. Finally, signal flag to the transports – we will establish a number system; and thereafter in sets of fifteen they will weigh anchor and draw in to the designated moorings. The disembarking will begin as soon as possible, Fist. Furthermore, the soldiers are to be unarmed, their kits secured for transportation.'

Keneb scratched his stubbly jaw.

‘Why are you just standing there, Fist Keneb?'

‘I am trying to decide, Captain, where to begin.'

‘What do you mean?'

‘All right, never mind. First of all, whether you are in command of the Fourteenth Army or not, you do not outrank Admiral Nok. Signal him all you want. He will do precisely as he pleases.'

‘I am instructed by the Empress—'

‘He will need to see those orders, Captain. In person. The Admiral is very precise with such protocol. I assume you have said orders?'

‘Of course I have! Very well, signal him aboard!'

‘Alas, he will not comply.'

‘What?'

‘Now, as for the Perish – the foreign fleet, Captain Rynag – the only command they acknowledge, under the circumstances, is their own. By all means, make your request, but be certain that it
is
a request. Lest they take offence, and Captain, you truly do not want them to take offence.'

‘You are leaving me no choice but to relieve you of command, Fist.'

‘Excuse me?'

‘I have given you my orders, yet still you stand here—'

‘Well that is precisely the problem, Captain. Not one of your orders can be carried out, for the imperative overriding them cannot be challenged, not by you, not even by the Empress herself.'

‘What are you talking about?'

Keneb said, ‘Follow me, please, Captain.'

They walked to the stern. In the bay beyond, the huge transports loomed a short distance away like gigantic, slumbering beasts.

‘Granted,' Keneb said, ‘darkness obscures, and for this reason it is understandable that you do not as yet comprehend. But, allow me to direct your gaze, Captain, to the topmost signal flag on those near ships, a flag identical to those on Nok's dromons. In a moment, when that cloud passes by the moon, with Oponn's blessing there will be enough light with which to see. There is an edict, Captain, pertaining to survival itself. You seem to forget, both the Fourteenth Army and the imperial fleet have come from Seven Cities.'

The cloud slid away from the blurred, hazy moon, and enough light licked waves, ships, and flags for Rynag to see. The captain's breath caught in a half-choke. ‘
Gods below!
' he whispered.

‘And Seven Cities,' Keneb continued in a calm voice, ‘was struck by a most virulent plague. Which, as you can now see, we inadvertently brought with us. So, Captain, do you now understand why we cannot comply with your commands?'

The man spun to face him, his eyes filled with terror and panic. ‘And this damned ship?' he demanded in a hoarse voice. ‘And the other one that just docked? Fist Keneb—'

‘Plague-free, both of them, Captain, as was the ship from whence came the Red Blades. We would not have moored alongside were it otherwise. Anyway, beyond signal flags, there is no contact between ships. For obvious reasons. I suppose, if you believe the Empress would nonetheless insist we one and all disembark regardless of the slaughter our presence would deliver to Malaz Island – and, inevitably, to the entire mainland – you can insist on countermanding our collective gesture of compassion and mercy. Unquestionably, the name of Captain Rynag will acquire legendary status, at least among devotees to Poliel – nothing wrong with seeing the positives, don't you think?'

 

The group marched ever closer to the wall of belligerence blocking the streets. Kalam loosened the long-knives in their scabbards. Glancing over, he found himself walking alongside Captain Lostara Yil, who looked profoundly unhappy.

‘Suggest you all draw your weapons any time now,' the assassin said to her. ‘That should be enough to make them back off.'

She grunted. ‘Until they start throwing bricks.'

‘I doubt it. We're for the Empress, not them. The ones these people are hungry to sink their teeth into are out there in the transports. The Wickans. The Khundryl Burned Tears.'

‘Clever ruse,' Lostara said under her breath, ‘those flags.'

‘Fist Keneb.'

‘Indeed?'

‘Aye.' Then Kalam smiled. ‘Spinner of Death. A prettier lie you won't find. Fid must be grinning ear to ear, if he ain't drowning.'

‘Drowning?'

‘He was over the side before the
Silanda
shipped oars, is my guess – probably Gesler and Stormy went with him, too.'

Just then they reached the line of City Watch, who parted to let them pass.

Weapons hissed from scabbards and shields were brought round by the Red Blades.

And, as Kalam had predicted, the crowds fell silent, watchful, and backed away to each side to let the party make its way through.

‘So,' the assassin said under his breath, ‘we've got ourselves a long, dull walk. Sound idea, by the way, Captain, your Fist deciding to act on his own.'

The look she shot him started sweat beneath Kalam's clothing, as she asked, ‘Was it, Kalam Mekhar?'

‘Well—'

She faced straight ahead again. ‘The Fist,' she said in a whisper, ‘hasn't even begun.'

Well…oh, that's not good at all.

Behind the troop, the mob closed in once again, and there arose new shouts, this time of horror.

‘Plague flags! On the transports in the bay! Plague flags!'

In moments belligerence drained away like piss down a leg, and terror grabbed hold between those legs –
squeezing hard
– and people began swarming in every direction, but a heartbeat away from pure, frenzied panic. Kalam kept his smile to himself.

 

Ever so faint, the clatter of knuckles bouncing and skidding had alerted Banaschar. This night the Worm was awake, and with it the return of the ex-priest's old sensitivities to the whisper of magic. In rapid succession thereafter, as he shifted from his path and found a dead-end alley in which to crouch, heart pounding, he felt multiple pulses of sorcery – a gate, slicing open the thinnest rent, the sudden, violent unravelling of some unseen tapestry, and then, finally, a trembling underfoot, as if something terrible and vast had just stepped onto the dry land of this island.

Dizzy from the successive waves of virulent power, Banaschar straightened once more, one hand against a grimy wall for support, then he headed off – back, back towards the harbourfront.

No choice, no choice. I need to see…to understand…

As he drew nearer, he could smell panic in the air, acrid and bitter, and all at once there were mute figures hurrying past him – the beginnings of an exodus. Faces twisted in fear blurred by, and others dark with rage – as if their plans had been suddenly knocked awry, and there was not yet time to find a means to regroup, nor yet the opportunity to think things through.

Something's happened.

Maybe to do with that falling rock or whatever it was.

In the old days, such an occurrence, on the eve of autumn, the eve of D'rek's arrival upon the mortal earth…
well, we'd have flooded the streets. Out from the temples, raising our voices to the heavens. And the coffers would overflow, because there could be no mistaking
…

The thoughts trailed away, vanished, leaving naught but a taste of ashes in his mouth.
We were such fools. The sky casts down, the world heaves up, the waters wash it all away. None of this – none of it! – has
anything
to do with our precious gods!

He reached the broad avenue fronting the docks. People moving about here and there. If anger remained it was roiling about, all direction lost. Some vast desire had been…blunted.

Passing an old woman Banaschar reached out to her. ‘Here,' he said. ‘What has happened?'

She glared up at him, pulling free as if his touch was a contaminant. ‘Plague ships!' she hissed. ‘Get away from me!'

He let her go, halted, stared out at the ships filling the bay.

Ah, the flags…

Banaschar sniffed the air.

Poliel? I can't sense you at all…out there. Or anywhere else, come to think of it.
His eyes narrowed. Then, slowly, he smiled.

At that moment, a heavy hand thumped down on his left shoulder, spun him round—

And someone screamed.

 

Lifting clear of the swirling black, filthy waters. Straightening, slime and grit streaming off, blood-sucking eels flapping down to writhe on the muddy rocks, the broken pottery and the brick fragments beneath the wooden dock. One step forward, then another, heavy, scraping.

A rough wall directly ahead, revealing layers of street levels, bulwarks, old drainage holes dating back to the city's youth – before iron was first forged by humans – when the sewer system was a superb, efficient subterranean web beneath level streets. In all, plenty of hand- and foot-holds, given sufficient determination, strength and will.

Of all three, the one standing facing that wall had been given plenty.

More steps.

Then, climbing. A stranger had come to Malaz City.

 

Gasping, she leaned against a wall. What a mistake, trying to swim in all that armour. And then, all those damned eels! She'd emerged from the water covered in the damned things. Hands, arms, legs, neck, head, face, dangling and squirming and probably getting drunk every one of them and it wasn't no fun anyway, pulling them off. Squeeze too hard and they sprayed blood, black stuff, smelly stuff. But you had to squeeze, to get a good grip, because those mouths, they held fast, leaving huge circular weals on her flesh, puckered and oozing.

Stumbling ashore like some kind of worm witch, or demon – ha, that mongrel dog that sniffled up to her sure did run, didn't it? Stupid dog.

Sewer ramp, pretty steep, but there were rungs on the sides and she was able to work her way along it, then the climb which had damn near killed her but no chance of that. Thirst was a demanding master. The most demanding master. But she'd dumped her armour, down there knee-deep in the muck of the bottom with the keel of the damned ship nearly taking her head off – took the helmet, didn't it? And if that strap hadn't broke so conveniently…anyway, she'd even dropped her weapon belt. Nothing to pawn, and that was bad. Except for this knife, but it was the only knife she got, the only one left.