The Complete Malazan Book of the Fallen (968 page)

A dear friend is dead, and there is nothing just in death. When the moment arrives, it is always too soon. The curse of incompletion, the loss that can never be filled. Before too long, rising like jagged rocks from the flood, there was anger.

The carter was made to explain again about the visit to a mining camp, the duel over some boy, and the victor's instructions that the body be returned to the Phoenix Inn. That was all he knew, he swore it, and for the moment none but Kruppe – wise Kruppe, clever Kruppe – comprehended who that boy must have been.

Must he now visit a certain duelling school? Possibly.

The ordeal of the burden, the dread weight of terrible news – the witnessing of another crushed spirit, oh, this was a fell day indeed. A most sad, fell day.

And on this night, widows will weep, and so shall we.

 

Two men are converging on the Phoenix Inn. Which one arrives first changes everything. If the redressing of balance truly existed beyond nature – in the realm of humanity, that is – then Rallick Nom would have been the first to hear of his friend's death; and he would have set out, hard-eyed, to take upon himself a new burden, for although vengeance salved certain spiritual needs, cold murder delivered terrible damage to the soul. Of course, he had done this once before, in the name of another friend, and so in his mind he felt he could be no more lost than he already was.

Alas, that particular flavour of redress was not to be.

 

Troubled by a host of thoughts, Cutter approached the entrance to the Phoenix Inn. He noted an old carter leading an ox away, but had no reason to give it any further consideration. As soon as he walked inside, he sensed that something was wrong. Irilta was behind the bar with a bottle in her hand – not, he saw, to pour drinks for customers, but to lift it to her mouth, tilt it back and take punishing mouthfuls. Her eyes were red, startling in a pallid face.

Few people were speaking, and those who were did so in muted tones.

Meese was nowhere to be seen, but Cutter noticed Kruppe, sitting at his table with his back to the room – something he had never before seen him do. A dusty bottle of expensive wine was before him, four goblets set out. Kruppe was slowly filling the one opposite the chair on his right.

His unease deepening, Cutter walked over. He pulled out that chair and sat down.

There was no sign of Kruppe's usual affability in his visage. Grave, colourless, bleak. In his eyes, raw anguish. ‘Drink, my young friend,' he said.

Cutter saw that the remaining two goblets were empty. He reached out. ‘This is the expensive stuff, isn't it? What's happened, Kruppe?'

‘Honourable Murillio is dead.'

The statement felt like a body blow, punching the breath from Cutter's chest. He could not move. Pain surged up through the numbness, sank down again only to return once more. Over and over again.

‘A duel,' said Kruppe. ‘He went to retrieve a lost child. The Eldra Mines west of the city.'

Something jerked inside Cutter, but he could make no sense of it. A recognition? Of what? ‘I thought – I thought he'd given all that up.'

‘Given what up, my friend? The desire to do right?'

Cutter shook his head. ‘Duelling. I meant…duelling.'

‘To effect the release of young Harllo. The mine's owner was there, or one of them at least. History comes round, as it is known to do.' Kruppe sighed. ‘He was too old for such things.'

And now came the question, and it was asked in a dull tone, a voice emptied of everything. ‘Who killed him, Kruppe?'

And the round man flinched, and hesitated.

‘Kruppe.'

‘This will not do—'

‘Kruppe!'

‘Ah, can such forces be resisted? Gorlas Vidikas.'

And that was that. He'd known, yes, Cutter had known. The mine…Eldra…the history.
He knows about me. He wanted to punish me. He killed Murillio to hurt me. He killed a fine…a fine and noble man. This – this must stop.

‘Sit down, Cutter.'

I mean to stop this. Now. It's what she wants, anyway.

‘Coll is coming,' Kruppe said. ‘And Rallick Nom – Crokus, leave this to Rallick—'

But he was already moving, eyes on the door. Irilta stood watching and something in her face caught his attention. There was dark hunger in her eyes – as if she knew where he was going, as if she knew – ‘Cutter,' she said in a rasp, ‘get the bastard.
Get him
.'

And then he was outside. The day's brilliance was like a slap, rocking his head. He gasped, but breathing still wasn't easy. Pressures assailed him, and rage rose in his mind, a nightmare leviathan with gaping mouth, and its howl filled his skull.

Deafening Cutter to the world.

 

The day is stripped down, time itself torn away, the present expanding, swallowing everything in sight. It is an instant and that instant feels eternal.

Recall this day's beginning. A single breath, drawn in with love—

 

Bellam Nom took a length of braided hide, made loops at both ends. He crouched down in front of Mew. ‘See this loop, Mew? Take it in your hands – I'm going to hold on to the other end, all right? We're going out. You just keep hold of the rope, all right?'

Round-eyed Mew nodded.

‘Don't worry,' said Bellam, ‘I'll walk slowly.' He then went to Hinty and picked the girl up, taking her weight in the crook of his left arm. Her thin arms wrapped about his neck and her wet nose brushed his cheek. Bellam smiled down at Mew. ‘Ready?'

Another nod.

They set out.

Snell was still with the old bodymonger, and Bellam had no interest in retrieving him just yet. He had no idea what had happened to Myrla and Bedek, but he left a message scrawled out with charcoal on the surface of the lone table, telling them where he'd taken Mew and Hinty.

Murillio should have been back by now. Bellam was getting worried. He couldn't wait around any longer.

They walked slowly through the crowds. Twice Mew was inadvertently tugged loose from the rope, but both times Bellam was able to retrieve her. They left the unofficial neighbourhood slum known as the Trench and after some time they arrived at the duelling school.

Bellam set Hinty down in the warm-up area, instructed Mew to remain with her little sister, then set out to find Stonny Menackis.

She was sitting on a stone bench in the shade-swallowed colonnade running along the back end of the practice yard, her long legs stretched out, her eyes on nothing. When she heard him approach she glanced up. ‘Classes cancelled. Go away.'

‘I'm not here for any lessons,' Bellam said, surprised at the harsh judgement in his own voice.

‘Get out,' she said, ‘before I beat you senseless.'

‘Too many people, Stonny, are stepping in for you, doing what you're supposed to be doing. It's not fair.'

She scowled. ‘What are you talking about?'

‘Murillio hasn't come back?'

‘Everybody leaves.'

‘He found Harllo.'

‘What?'

He saw interest flaring to life in her dark eyes. ‘He found him, Stonny. Working in a mining camp. He went to get him back. But he hasn't returned. Something's happened, something bad – I can feel it.'

She stood. ‘Where is this camp? How did he end up there?'

‘Snell.'

She stared. ‘I'm going to kill that little bastard.'

‘No, you're not. He's taken care of. We've got a new problem.'

At that moment a small figure stepped into the corridor, stared at them.

Stonny frowned. ‘Mew? Where's your ma and da? Where's Hinty?'

Mew started crying, and then rushed towards Stonny who had no choice but to take the child into her arms.

‘They've gone missing,' said Bellam. ‘I was taking care of them, waiting, but they never showed up. Stonny, I don't know what to do with them. I need to get home – my own parents must be going crazy with worry.'

She spun round, still holding Mew, and her face was savage. ‘I need to get Harllo! Take them to your home!'

‘No. Enough of this. Take responsibility for them, Stonny. Once I let my parents know I'm all right, I'll go and find Murillio. Take responsibility. You owe it to Myrla and Bedek – they did it for you. For years.'

He thought she would strike him, saw the fury warring in her eyes. He stepped back. ‘Hinty's in the warm-up, probably sleeping – she does that a lot. Oh, and they're hungry.'

He left them then.

It took the words of a young man – no, a boy – to do what Gruntle could not do. It took a barrage of blunt, honest words, smashing through, against which she had no real defence.

She stood, Mew in her arms, feeling as if her soul had been blasted open, and all that was left was a hollow shell, slowly refilling. Refilling with…something. ‘Oh,' she whispered, ‘
Harllo
.'

 

Shardan Lim was waiting for Challice when she returned home. He rose from the ornate bench but did not approach, instead standing, watching her with an odd expression.

‘This,' she said, ‘is unexpected.'

‘No doubt. Forgive me for intruding on your…busy schedule.'

There was no genuine remorse to back his apology, however, and she felt a trembling of her nerves. ‘What do you want, Councillor?'

‘Are we not past titles, Challice?'

‘That depends.'

‘Perhaps you're right. Even so, after we're done here there'll be no need for formalities between us.'

Should she call for the guard? What would he do?
Why, he'd laugh.

Shardan Lim walked closer. ‘Pour yourself some wine. Pour yourself a lot of wine, if you like. I must tell you, I am not at all pleased at having been so unceremoniously discarded. It seems you find adultery to your taste, and your appetite has grown. Out of control? I think, yes, out of control.'

‘You forced open the door,' she said, ‘and now complain that I've left the room?'

His thin colourless lips curved in a smile. ‘Something like that. I'm not ready for you to leave just yet.'

‘And I am to have no say in the matter?'

His brows lifted. ‘Dear Challice. You surrendered such privileges long ago. You let your husband use you – not in any normal way, but still, you let him use you. You let me do the same, and now some lowborn thief, and who knows how many others. Make no protest now – it will sound hollow even to you, I'm sure.'

‘It's still my life.' But the words sounded thin, too brittle to stretch very far over the misshapen, ugly truth.

He did not bother with a response, but looked across to a divan.

‘You'll have to drag me,' she said, ‘so the reality will be plain, so plain you won't be able to pretend this is anything but the rape it is.'

He looked disappointed. ‘Wrong again, Challice. You are going to walk over there and undress. You are going to lie back and spread your legs. It should be easy now; you've done it often enough. Your lowborn lover is going to have to share you, I'm afraid. Before long, I expect you'll not even be able to tell the difference.'

How could he force her to do such things? She did not understand, although – without doubt –
he
did. Yes, Shardan Lim understood things far too well.

She walked to the divan.

She was still sore, achy, from the morning's lovemaking. Before long, that ache would be deeper, more raw than it was now. Pain and pleasure, yes, entwined like lovers. She could feed them both again and again, for ever and again.

And so she would. Until the time came when she…awakened.

Crokus, never mind my husband. There is no point. I will tell you that the next time. I promise.

I promise.

Shardan Lim used her then, but in the end it was he who did not understand. And when she thanked him afterwards, he seemed taken aback. As he hurried to dress and depart, she remained lying on the divan, amused at his confusion, at peace with the way of things now.

And she thought of her glass globe with its trapped moon, that gift of a youth long lost, and she smiled.

In a near tropical city, the dead are quickly dressed. A distraught Coll, half-mad with grief, arrived in a carriage. Meese came down from the room where she had sat with the body, and Coll sent one of his aides to crack open the family crypt. There would be no delays permitted. Grief was transformed into fury when Coll discovered who had been responsible for Murillio's death.

‘First blood drawn's never enough for Vidikas. He likes killing – under any other circumstances he'd be on his way to the High Gallows. Damn these antiquated duelling laws. The time's come to outlaw duels – I will address the Council—'

‘Such a thing will not pass,' Kruppe said, shaking his head. ‘Coll knows this as well as does Kruppe.'

Coll stood like a man trapped, cornered. ‘Where's Rallick?' he asked in a growl.