The Complete Malazan Book of the Fallen (777 page)

‘I would break her in two.'

That has not stopped you before.

But no, this was a game. Bairoth Gild's soul was bound within a sword. These sly words filling Karsa's skull were his own. Lacking someone else's attention, he was now digging his own pitfalls. ‘I think I need to kill someone.'

From the corridor to a broader hallway, then on to the colonnaded transept, into a side passage and on to the compound's north postern gate. Meeting no-one on the way, further befouling Karsa's mood. The gate was inset with a small guardhouse to its left where the heavy latch release could be found.

The Letherii seated within had time to glance up before the Toblakai's fist connected solidly with his face. Blood sprayed from a shattered nose and the hapless man sank down into his chair, then slid like a sack of onions to the floor. Stepping over him, Karsa lifted the latch and slid the bronze bar to his left, until its right-hand end cleared the gate itself. The bar dropped down into a wheeled recess with a clunk. Emerging outside once more, Karsa pushed the gate open and, ducking to clear the lintel, stepped out into the street beyond.

There was a flash as some sort of magical ward ignited the moment he crossed the threshold. Fires burgeoned, a whisper of vague pain, then the flames dwindled and vanished. Shaking his head to clear the spell's metallic reverberation from his mind, he continued on.

A few citizens here and there; only one noted his appearance and that one – eyes widening – quickened his pace and moments later turned a corner and was lost from sight.

Karsa drew a deep breath, then set off for the canal he had seen from the roof of the barracks.

 

Vast as a river barge, the enormous black-haired woman in mauve silks filled the entrance to the courtyard restaurant, fixed her eyes on Tehol Beddict, then surged forward with the singular intent of a hungry leviathan.

Beside him, Bugg seemed to cringe back in his chair. ‘By the Abyss, Master—'

‘Now now,' Tehol murmured as the woman drew closer. ‘Pragmatism, dear Bugg, must now be uppermost among your, uh, considerations. Find Huldo and get his lads to drag over that oversized couch from the back of the kitchen. Quick now, Bugg!'

The manservant's departure was an uncharacteristic bolt.

The woman – sudden centre of attention with most conversations falling away – seemed for all her impressive girth to glide as she moved between the blessedly widely spaced tables, and in her dark violet eyes there gleamed a sultry confidence so at odds with her ungainly proportions that Tehol felt an alarming stir in his groin and sweat prickled in enough manly places to make him shift uneasily in his chair, all thoughts of the meal on the plate before him torn away like so many clothes.

He did not believe it possible that flesh could move in as many directions all at once, every swell beneath the silk seemingly possessed of corporeal independence, yet advancing in a singular chorus of overt sexuality. Her shadow engulfing him, Tehol loosed a small whimper, struggling to drag his eyes up, past the stacked folds of her belly, past the impossibly high, bulging, grainsack-sized breasts – lost for a moment in that depthless cleavage – then, with heroic will, yet higher to the smooth udder beneath her chin; higher still, neck straining, to that so round face with its broad, painted, purple lips – higher –
Errant help me
– to those delicious, knowing eyes.

‘You disgust me, Tehol.'

‘I – what?'

‘Where's Bugg with that damned couch?'

Tehol leaned forward, then recoiled again with instinctive self-preservation. ‘Rucket? Is that you?'

‘Quiet, you fool. Do you have any idea how long it took us to perfect this illusion?'

‘B-but—'

‘The best disguise is misdirection.'

‘Misdirection? Oh, why…oh, well of course, when you put it that way. I mean, all the way. Sorry, that just tumbled out. Came out wrong, I mean—'

‘Stop staring at my tits.'

‘I'd be the only one in here not staring,' he retorted, ‘which would be very suspicious. Besides, who decided on that particular…defiance of the earth's eternal pull? Probably Ormly – it's those piggy eyes of his, hinting at perverse fantasies.'

Bugg had arrived with two of Huldo's servers carrying the couch between them. They set it down then hastily retreated.

Bugg returned to his seat. ‘Rucket,' he said under his breath, shaking his head, ‘do you not imagine that a woman of your stature would not already be infamous in Letheras?'

‘Not if I never went out, would I? As it turns out, there are plenty of recluses in this city—'

‘Because most of them were the Guild's illusions – false personalities you could assume when necessity demanded it.'

‘Precisely,' she said, as if settling the matter.

Which she then did with consummate grace, easing down fluidly into the huge couch, her massive alabaster arms spreading out along the back, which had the effect of hitching her breasts up still further then spreading them like the Gates of the Damned.

Tehol glanced at Bugg. ‘There are certain laws regarding the properties of physical entities, yes? There must be. I'm sure of it.'

‘She is a defiant woman, Master. And please, if you will, adjust your blanket. Yes, there, beneath this blessed table.'

‘Stop that.'

‘Whom or what are you addressing?' Rucket asked with a leer big enough for two women.

‘Damn you, Rucket, we'd just ordered, you know. Bugg's purse, or his company's, that is. And now my appetite…well…it's—'

‘Shifted?' she asked, thin perfect brows lifting above those knowing eyes. ‘The problem with men elucidated right there: your inability to indulge in more than one pleasure at any one time.'

‘Which you presently personify with terrible perfection. So, how precise is this illusion of yours? I mean, the couch creaked and everything.'

‘No doubt you're most eager to explore that weighty question. But first, where's Huldo with my lunch?'

‘He took one look at you and then went out to hire more cooks.'

She leaned forward and pulled Tehol's plate closer. ‘This will do. Especially after that cruel attempt at humour, Tehol.' She began eating with absurd delicacy.

‘There's no real way in there, is there?'

Morsel of food halted halfway to her open mouth.

Bugg seemed to choke on something.

Tehol wiped sweat from his brow. ‘Errant take me, I'm losing my mind.'

‘You force me,' Rucket said, ‘to prove to you otherwise.' The dainty popped into her mouth.

‘You expect me to succumb to an illusion?'

‘Why not? Men do that a thousand times a day.'

‘Without that, the world would grind to a halt.'

‘Yours, maybe.'

‘Speaking of which,' Bugg interjected hastily, ‘your Guild, Rucket, is about to become bankrupt.'

‘Nonsense. We have more wealth hidden away than the Liberty Consign.'

‘That's good, because they're about to discover that most of their unadvertised holdings have been so thoroughly undermined that they're not only worthless, but fatal liabilities.'

‘We transferred ours beyond the empire, Bugg. Months ago. Once we fully understood what you and Tehol were doing.'

‘Where?' Bugg asked.

‘Should I tell you?'

‘We're not going after it,' Tehol said. ‘Right, Bugg?'

‘Of course not. I just want to be sure it's, uh, far enough removed.'

Rucket's eyes narrowed. ‘Are you that close?'

Neither man replied.

She looked down at the plate for a moment, then settled back like a human canal lock, her belly re-emerging from the shadows in silky waves. ‘Very well, gentlemen. South Pilott. Far enough away, Bugg?'

‘Just.'

‘That answer makes me nervous.'

‘I am about to default on everything I owe,' Bugg said. ‘This will cause a massive financial cascade that will not spare a single sector of industry, and not just here in Letheras, but across the entire empire and beyond. Once I do it, there will be chaos. Anarchy. People may actually die.'

‘Bugg's Construction is that big?'

‘Not at all. If it was, we'd have been rounded up long ago. No, there are about two thousand seemingly independent small-and middling-sized holdings, each one perfectly positioned according to Tehol's diabolical planning to ensure that dread cascade. Bugg's Construction is but the first gravestone to tip – and it's a very crowded cemetery.'

‘Your analogy makes me even more nervous.'

‘Your glamour fades a touch when you're nervous,' Tehol observed. ‘Please, regain your confidence, Rucket.'

‘Shut your mouth, Tehol.'

‘In any case,' Bugg resumed, ‘this meeting was to deliver to you and the Guild the final warning before the collapse. Needless to say, I will be hard to track down once it happens.'

Her eyes settled on Tehol. ‘And you, Tehol? Planning on crawling into a hole as well?'

‘I thought we weren't talking about that any more.'

‘By the Abyss, Master,' Bugg muttered.

Tehol blinked, first at Bugg, then at Rucket. Then, ‘Oh. Sorry. You meant, um, was I planning on going into hiding, right? Well, I'm undecided. Part of the satisfaction, you see, is in witnessing the mess. Because, regardless of how we've insinuated ourselves in the machinery of Lether's vast commerce, the most bitter truth is that the causes behind this impending chaos are in fact systemic. Granted, we're hastening things somewhat, but dissolution – in its truest sense – is an integral flaw in the system itself. It may well view itself as immortal, eminently adaptable and all that, but that's all both illusional and delusional. Resources are never infinite, though they might seem that way. And those resources include more than just the raw product of earth and sea. They also include labour, and the manifest conceit of a monetary system with its arbitrary notions of value – the two forces we set our sights on, by the way. Shipping out the lowest classes – the dispossessed – to pressure the infrastructure, and then stripping away hard currency to escalate a recession – why are you two staring at me like that?'

Rucket smiled. ‘Defaulting to the comfort of your scholarly analysis to deflect us from your more pathetic fixations. That, Tehol Beddict, is perhaps the lowest you have gone yet.'

‘But we've just begun.'

‘You may wish to believe that to be the case. For myself, my own curiosity is fast diminishing.'

‘But think of all the challenges in store for us, Rucket!'

She surged to her feet. ‘I'm going out the back way.'

‘You won't fit.'

‘Alas, Tehol, the same will never be said of you. Good day, gentlemen.'

‘Wait!'

‘Yes, Tehol?'

‘Well, uh, I trust this conversation will resume at a later date?'

‘I'm not hanging around for that,' Bugg said, crossing his brawny arms in a show of…something. Disgust, maybe. Or, Tehol reconsidered, more likely abject envy.

‘Nothing is certain,' Rucket told him. ‘Barring the truth that men are wont to get lost in their illusions of grandeur.'

‘Oh,' murmured Bugg, ‘very nice, Rucket.'

‘If that hadn't left me speechless,' Tehol said as she rolled away, ‘I'd have said something.'

‘I have no doubt of that, Master.'

‘Your faith is a relief, Bugg.'

‘Small comfort in comparison, I'd wager.'

‘In comparison,' Tehol agreed, nodding. ‘Now, shall we go for a walk, old friend?'

‘Assuming your drape is now unmarred by unsightly bulges.'

‘In a moment.'

‘Master?'

Tehol smiled at the alarm on Bugg's face. ‘I was just imaging her stuck there, wedged in Huldo's alleyway. Unable to turn. Helpless, in fact.'

‘There it is,' he said with a sigh, ‘you did indeed manage to sink lower.'

 

There was an old Gral legend that had begun to haunt Taralack Veed, although he could not quite grasp its relevance to this moment, here in Letheras, with the Lifestealer walking at his side as they pushed through the crowds milling outside a row of market stalls opposite the Quillas Canal.

The Gral were an ancient people; their tribes had dwelt in the wild hills of the First Empire, and there had been Gral companies serving in Dessimbelackis's vaunted armies, as trackers, as skirmishers and as shock troops, although this manner of combat ill suited them. Even then, the Gral preferred their feuds, the spilling of blood in the name of personal honour. The pursuit of vengeance was a worthy cause. Slaughtering strangers made no sense and stained the soul, demanding tortured cleansing rituals. Further, there was no satisfaction in such murder.

Two months before the Great Fall, a commander named Vorlock Duven, leading the Karasch Legion deep into the untamed wastes of the southwest, had sent her seventy-four Gral warriors into the Tasse Hills to begin a campaign of subjugation against the tribe believed to rule that forbidding range. The Gral were to incite the Tasse to battle, then withdraw, with the savages hard on their heels, to a place of ambush at the very edge of the highlands.

Leading the Gral was a wise veteran of the Bhok'ar clan named Sidilack, called by many Snaketongue after a sword-thrust into his mouth had sliced down the length of his tongue. His warriors, well blooded after a three-year campaign of conquest among the desert and plains peoples south of Ugari, were skilled at finding the hidden trails leading into the rough heights, and before long they were coming upon rude dwellings and rock shelters in the midst of ancient ruins that hinted that some terrible descent from civilization had afflicted the Tasse long ago.

At dusk on the third day seven woad-painted savages ambushed the lead scouts, killing one before being driven off. Of the four Tasse who had fallen in the clash, only one was not already dead of his wounds. The language of his pain-stricken ravings was like nothing Sidilack and his warriors had ever heard before. Beneath the dusty blue paint the Tasse were physically unlike any other nearby tribes. Tall, lithe, with strangely small hands and feet, they had elongated faces, weak chins and oversized teeth. Their eyes were close-set, the irises tawny like dried grass, the whites blistered with so many blood vessels it seemed they might well weep red tears.