The Complete Malazan Book of the Fallen (938 page)

The sheer lack of anything untoward had Antsy's nerves overwrought by the time they reached the door. He watched as Picker lifted a gloved hand, made a fist, hesitated, then thumped it hard against the black wood. The boom reverberated as if an abyss waited on the other side.

They waited. From here, all sounds of the city beyond this wood had vanished, as if the normal world had ceased to exist, or, perhaps, the endless rush of life out there held no relevance to what loomed before them now, this grotesque intrusion from another realm.

A dozen heartbeats. Picker made to pound once more on the door.

The clunk of a latch sounded dully through the thick wood, and a moment later the door creaked back.

Paran had spoken of the lich resident in the Finnest House, the blasted creature that had once been a Jaghut, but this was Antsy's first sight of it. Tall (gods how he hated tall things), gaunt yet large-boned, adorned in a long ragged coat of black chain. Bared head with long colourless hair hanging down from patches – where the scalp was visible there was twisted scarring, and in one place something had punctured through the skull, and within the uneven hole left behind there was only darkness, as if the apparition's brain had simply withered away. Tusks in a shattered face, the eyes shrunken back into shadows. All in all, Antsy was not inspired with confidence that this fell meeting would proceed in anything like a reasonable fashion.

‘Lord Raest,' Picker said, bowing. ‘I am a friend of Ganoes Paran. If you recall, we met—'

‘I know who you are, Corporal Picker,' the lich replied in a deep, resonant voice.

‘This is Sergeant Antsy—'

‘What do you want?'

‘We need to find Ganoes Paran—'

‘He is not here.'

‘We need to get a message to him.'

‘Why?'

Picker glanced at Antsy, then back up at Raest. ‘Well, it's a complicated tale – can we come inside?'

Raest's dead eyes held steady on her for a long moment, and then he asked, ‘Do you expect me to serve refreshments as well?'

‘Er, no, that won't be necessary, Raest.'

The Jaghut stepped back.

Picker edged round him and halted a few steps in. Antsy pushed in behind her. They stood in a vaulted entryway, raw black stone underfoot. Opposite the front door there were twin doors and a narrow corridor off to the right and left. The air was dry and warm, smelling of freshly turned earth – reminding Antsy of the cellar beneath K'rul's Bar.

‘Been digging graves?' he asked, and then cursed himself, trying to ignore Picker's wild stare.

Raest shut the door and faced them. ‘What manner of refreshments were you expecting, Sergeant Antsy? I am afraid I have nothing buried within the house. If you like, however—'

‘No that's fine,' Picker said hastily.

Antsy could only nod agreement. His mouth had dried up, tongue like a piece of leather gummed against the palate. And he needed to empty his bladder, but the thought of asking directions to the water closet was suddenly akin to demanding that the Jaghut hand over all his money or else.

Raest studied them in silence for a moment longer, and then said, ‘Follow me, if you must.'

The lich's moccasin-wrapped feet made rasping sounds. Cloth rustled, the mail of the coat crackling, as Raest walked to the double doors and pushed them open.

Within was a main room bearing a stone fireplace directly opposite, wherein flames flickered cosily, and two deep, high-backed chairs to either side, sitting on a thick woven rug bearing arcane, geometric patterns barely visible in the general gloom. Large tapestries covered the walls to either side, one clearly Malazan in origin – probably Untan given the subject matter (some antiquated court event, significance long lost but no doubt relevant to House Paran); the other was local and depicted a scene from the Night of the Moon, when Moon's Spawn had descended to brush the highest buildings in the city; when dragons warred in the night sky, and Raest himself had attempted his assault upon Darujhistan. The image focused on the dragons, one black and silver-maned, the other muted bronze or brown. Jaws and talons were locked upon one another as they fought in midair, with the backdrop the base of Moon's Spawn and the silhouettes of rooftops and spires, all bordered in an intricate pattern of Great Ravens in flight.

‘That's not bad,' Picker muttered, eyeing the work.

Antsy grunted, not one to ponder too much on artwork beyond identifying whatever scene it happened to be recording. Personally, he could not imagine a more useless talent, and thanked the gods he'd never been cursed with such creative misery. Most of his own memories of great events he had witnessed employed stick figures, and that was good enough for him. It did not occur to him that this was at all unusual.

Raest gestured to the two chairs. ‘Sit down,' he said, the tone only vaguely related to an invitation. When they had done so, both angling their chairs to face the Jaghut, he said, ‘Explain to me, if you will, how precisely you intend to send Ganoes Paran a message.'

‘We have no idea,' Picker said, with a queasy smile. ‘We were hoping you might have some suggestions.'

‘I have many suggestions,' Raest replied, ‘none of which are relevant to your request.'

Antsy slowly narrowed his eyes, but said nothing.

Picker opened her mouth a few times, breaking off a succession of possible responses, the repeated gaping reminding Antsy of netted fish on the deck of his da's fisher boat.
Unless I just made that up. All a lie, maybe. Maybe I seen a fish on some other deck. How can I be sure? How can—

‘One possibility occurs to me,' Raest said. ‘It would, I suspect, require that one of you be an adept with the Deck of Dragons. Or possessing the potential thereof.'

‘I see,' said Picker. ‘Well, I've had a few brushes with the Deck.'

‘You are an illustrator of Decks?'

‘What? Oh, not that kind of brush. I mean, I've had my hands on 'em a few times.'

‘Did such contact leave you damaged, Corporal Picker?'

‘Damaged how?'

‘Are you, perhaps, now insane?'

She sat upright. ‘Hang on, how in Hood's name would I even know if I was insane or not?'

‘Precisely,' said Raest, and waited.

Antsy's gaze fixed once more on the Jaghut. ‘Pick,' he finally growled.

She twisted to face him in exasperation. ‘What is it now, Antsy?'

‘This bastard's having us on.'

Her eyes bulged momentarily, and then she looked once more at the Jaghut.

Who shrugged. ‘One needs to amuse oneself on occasion. Company is so very rare these days.'

‘So when it arrives,' Antsy snapped, ‘you treat it like dirt? Do you think maybe there's a connection atwixt the two, you hoary lich?'

‘Like dirt? I think not. More like…with amiable contempt.'

‘You got a few things to learn about people, Jaghut.'

‘Undoubtedly, Sergeant Antsy. Alas, I find myself disinclined to make any effort in that direction.'

‘Oh? And what direction do you make your efforts in?'

‘When I discover one I will let you know, if it proves of any interest – to either me or, of course, you. In the meantime, I have no idea if communication is possible with Ganoes Paran. Perhaps if you informed me of your present crisis, I might be able to assist you in some way that does not involve precipitous, desperate acts that might ultimately inconvenience me.'

‘Hood forbid we do that,' snarled Antsy.

‘Hood is not one to forbid much of anything,' Raest observed.

‘Can't think he much likes these Azath Houses,' Picker said, having recovered from her shock and irritation and, perhaps, indignation. ‘All this trapping of souls and things like you, Raest.'

‘I doubt I rate highly on Hood's wish list,' the undead Jaghut replied.

Antsy grunted a laugh. ‘All right, I'm finally working out your sense of humour. And I thought Malazan marines were dry, Abyss below! Fine, Raest, let's play this game for real. If you can help us with our problem, we'll do something for you in return. If it's within our abilities, that is, so nothing like “get me outa here” or anything like that. But, you know, other stuff.'

‘I do have a modest request. Very well, I accept the reciprocal engagement.'

Antsy grinned across at Picker, and then said to Raest, ‘It's this. Someone's taken out a contract on us. We don't know why. We're thinking maybe Paran can work out who and what's got 'em so aggravated.'

The Jaghut stared.

Picker cleared her throat. ‘Possible causes. One, we're Malazans. Veterans. We've made more than a few enemies on this continent. Two, we own K'rul's Bar, which used to be K'rul's Belfry, which used to be K'rul's Temple. In the cellar we just found twelve pickled Seguleh, maybe centuries old, but looking fresh. Since they're, er, pickled.' She paused, drew a breath, and then continued, ‘Three, well, I ain't got to three yet. The way I figure it, it's all got to do with K'rul – maybe some cultists want the temple back. Maybe someone put in an order for pickled Seguleh and wants 'em delivered.'

Antsy stared at her. ‘Someone did what? Pick, that's the stupidest idea I've ever heard.'

‘I wouldn't argue with that,' she said, ‘only I'm desperate, and besides, I got a hunch those Seguleh are part of the problem.'

Antsy looked to Raest. ‘So there it is. Got any suggestions or are you just going to stand there for ever?'

‘Yes I am,' Raest replied, ‘but that detail is not relevant. As for suggestions, I suggest you kill every assassin in the city.'

‘Then whoever wants us dead just starts hiring thugs,' Picker said.

‘Kill all thugs.'

Antsy tugged at his moustache. ‘Ain't practical. There's only three of us left – it'd take years.'

‘Kidnap the Guild Master and torture him or her to reveal the client. Then kill the client.'

‘Killing the client makes sense to us,' Picker said, nodding. ‘The kidnapping thing doesn't sound very feasible – we'd have to carve through a few hundred assassins to do it. Besides, we don't know where the Guild Master's hideout is. We could capture and torture an assassin to find that out, but they probably operate in cells which means whoever we get might not know a thing. The point is, we don't know who the client is. We need to find out.'

Raest said, ‘Your suspicion that the K'rul Temple is central to this matter is probably accurate. Determining the specifics, however, would best be served by enlisting the assistance of the Master of the Deck.'

‘That's what we wanted in the first place!' Antsy shouted.

‘Extraordinary, isn't it?'

Antsy glared up at the infuriating lich, bit down a few retorts that might prove unwise. He drew a deep breath to calm himself, and then said in a nice, quiet tone, ‘So let's see if we can send him a message, shall we?'

‘Follow me,' Raest said.

 

Back into the corridor, turning right, five strides to a narrow door on the left that led into the squat round tower, up the spiral staircase, arriving into the upper level – a circular room with the walls bearing oversized painted renditions of the cards of the Deck of Dragons. Something twisted the eye in this chamber and Picker almost staggered.

‘Gods below,' muttered Antsy. ‘This place is magicked – makes me sick to the stomach.'

The images swirled, blurred, shifted in rippling waves that crossed from every conceivable direction, a clash of convergences inviting vertigo no matter where the eye turned. Picker found herself gasping. She squeezed shut her eyes, heard Antsy cursing as he backed out of the room.

Raest's dry voice drifted faintly into her head. ‘The flux has increased. There appears to be some manner of…deterioration. Even so, Corporal Picker, if you focus your mind and concentrate on Ganoes Paran, the efficacy of your will may prove sufficient to anchor in place the Master's own card, which perhaps will awaken his attention. Unless of course he is otherwise engaged. Should your willpower prove unequal to the task, I am afraid that what remains of your sanity will be torn away. Your mind itself will be shredded by the maelstrom, leaving you a drooling wreck.' After a moment, he added, ‘Such a state of being may not be desirable. Of course, should you achieve it, you will not care one way or the other, which you may consider a blessing.'

‘Well,' she replied, ‘that's just great. Give me a moment, will you?'

She tugged from her memory the captain's not unpleasant face, sought to fix it before her mind's eye.
Ganoes Paran, pay attention. Captain, wherever you are. This is Corporal Picker, in Darujhistan. Ganoes, I need to talk to you.

She saw him now, framed as would a card be framed in the Deck of Dragons. She saw that he was wearing a uniform, that of the Malazan soldier he had once been – was that her memory, conjuring up her last sight of him? But no, he looked older. He looked beaten down, smeared in dust. Spatters of dried blood on his scarred leather jerkin. The scene behind him was one of smoke and ruination, the blasted remnants of rolling farmland, tracts defined by low stone walls, but nothing green in sight. She thought she could see bodies on that dead earth.

Paran's gaze seemed to sharpen on her. She saw his mouth move but no sound reached her.

Ganoes! Captain – listen, just concentrate back on me.

‘
—not the time, Corporal. We've landed in a mess. But listen, if you can get word to them, try. Warn them, Picker. Warn them off
.'

Captain – someone's after the temple – K'rul's Temple. Someone's trying to kill us—

‘
—jhistan can take care of itself, Pick. Baruk knows what to do – trust him. You need to find out who wants it. Talk to Kruppe. Talk to the Eel. But listen – pass on my warning, please
.'