The Complete Malazan Book of the Fallen (907 page)

‘I'd appreciate that, Cutter.'

‘Kruppe suspects a whispery warming of heart in dear Murillio for his new employer – ah, does Kruppe flinch at vehement expostulation? Does he wince at savage denial? Why, the answer is no to both!'

‘Leave off that, Kruppe,' Murillio said. ‘The lad's her son.'

‘Left in the care of others – is she so cold of heart, then? Do you rise to extraordinary challenge, mayhap? The best kind, of course, ever the best kind.'

‘There's a story there,' Murillio said. ‘Not all women make good mothers, true enough. But she doesn't seem that kind. I mean, well, she struck me as someone with fierce loyalties. Maybe. Oh, I don't know. It'd be nice to find the runt, that's all.'

‘We understand, Murillio,' Cutter said.

‘Rely upon Kruppe, dearest friend. All truths will yield themselves in the fullness of revelatory revelation, anon. But wait, fortuitous reunion of another sort beckons,' and he leaned forward, small eyes fixing upon Cutter. Eyebrows waggled.

‘You're scaring me—'

‘Terror shall burgeon imminently for poor Cutter.'

‘What are you—'

A hand settled on his shoulder, soft, plump.

Cutter closed his eyes and said, ‘I've got to stop sitting with my back to the door.'

Murillio rose, suddenly formal as he bowed to someone standing behind Cutter. ‘Historian. We have met once or—'

‘I recall,' the man replied, moving round into Cutter's sight as he collected two chairs from a nearby table.
Thank the gods, not his hand.

‘Please do thank Mallet again—'

‘I will,' the historian replied. ‘In the meantime, I'm not the one who should be doing the introductions.' Those weary, ancient eyes fixed on Cutter. ‘You're Cutter, yes?'

He twisted to look at the woman standing behind his chair. Seated as he was, his eyes were level with a pair of breasts covered in tight-fitting linen. And he knew them well. It was a struggle to lift his gaze higher. ‘Scillara.'

‘You call that an introduction?' she asked, dragging up the other chair the historian had pulled close. She wedged herself in on Cutter's right and sat down. ‘I've never seen bones picked so clean on a plate before,' she observed, her eyes on the leavings of lunch.

Kruppe wheezed upright. He began waving his hands. ‘Kruppe hastens with proper welcome to this grand company to already beloved Scillara of the Knowing Eyes and other assorted accoutrements of charm Kruppe would dearly wish to knowingly eye, if not for the dastardly demands of decorum. Welcome, cries Kruppe, even as he slumps back –
oof!
– exhausted by his enthusiasm and dimpled with desire.'

Murillio bowed to Scillara. ‘I won't be as crass as dimpled Kruppe. I am Murillio, an old friend of Cro—Cutter's.'

She began repacking her pipe with rustleaf. ‘Cutter spoke often of your charm, Murillio, when it comes to women,' and she paused to smile.

Murillio sat back down a tad hard and Cutter saw, wryly amused, that he looked more awake now than he had in days, perhaps since the stabbing.

Kruppe was fanning his flushed face. Then he raised a hand. ‘Sulty! Sweet creature, the finest wine in the house! No, wait! Go down the street to the Peacock and buy us a bottle of
their
finest wine! The finest wine in their house, yes! Is something wrong, Meese? Kruppe meant no insult, honest! Sulty, be on with you, child! Meese, why—'

‘No more,' cut in Murillio, ‘unless you want to pile on ever more insults to our faithful proprietor, until she comes over here and kills you outright.'

‘Dire misunderstanding! Enthusiasm and—'

‘Dimples, we know.'

Cutter spoke up, ‘Scillara was a camp follower in Sha'ik's rebel city in Raraku. Er, not a follower like that, I mean—'

‘Yes I was,' she said. ‘Just that.' She struck sparks to the bowl. ‘Plaything to soldiers. In particular, Malazans. Renegades from Korbolo Dom's turncoat army. His Dogslayers. I was then plucked from what would have been a short, benumbed existence by a Malazan priest with no hands, who dragged me across half of Seven Cities, along with Cutter here.' She sent a stream of smoke upward, then continued. ‘Just inland of the Otataral Sea, we got jumped. The priest was cut down. Cutter got disembowelled and I had a baby – no real connection between the two, by the way, apart from bad timing. Some villagers found us and saved us – the son of Osserc showed up for that – and that's how we collected Barathol Mekhar and Chaur, making up for the two we'd lost in the ambush.

‘Now, normally I don't tell long-winded tales like this one, but what I gave you was necessary for you to understand a few important things. One: I left the baby in the village, with no regrets. Two: Cutter, who was with us because The Rope thought Felisin Younger needed protecting, nearly died and is now living with a feeling of having failed at his task, since Felisin was taken from us. Three: Cutter also has a broken heart, and no matter how much fun we eventually had, him and me, it's clear that I can't help him with that. And finally, four: he's embarrassed by me because he probably thinks I'm too fat and he thinks you'll all be thinking the same thing, too.'

All three men facing her fervently shook their heads at that, while Cutter sat head in hands.

Sulty arrived to slam down a thick-based dusty clay bottle and two more goblets. ‘Three councils, Kruppe!'

Kruppe set three silver coins into her hand without a whimper.

After a long moment, the historian sighed, reached out and uncorked the bottle. He sniffed the mouth. Brows lifted. ‘Empty the rubbish in your cups, please.'

They did and Duiker poured.

‘Cutter,' said Murillio.

‘What?'

‘You were disembowelled? Gods below, man!'

‘Kruppe struggles to taste the wonder of this wondrous vintage, so gasted of flabber is he at said horrendous tale. The world is most cruel, yet salvation unfolds at the last, blessed be all the gods, goddesses, spirits, marsupials and amphibians and indeed all the rest. Made drunk by punches is poor Kruppe, rocked this way, knocked that, buffeted askew in every direction at once very nearly unto exploding. Beloved Scillara, you tell a most awkward tale, and tell it badly. Despite this, see us here, each one reeling at said poorly told revelations!'

‘Perhaps excessive in my efforts at summarizing, I'll grant you,' Scillara allowed. ‘But I thought: best to push through the uncomfortable stage, and now here we are, relaxed and eager to quaff down this fine wine. I have decided I like the Phoenix Inn.'

Duiker rose. ‘My task complete, I shall—'

‘Sit back down, old man,' she said. ‘If I have to slap the life back into you I will. Less painful, one hopes, partaking of our company this day, don't you think?'

The historian slowly sat back down.

Kruppe gusted out a sigh. ‘Pity us men at this table, we are outnumbered!'

‘I take it Cutter's told nothing,' Scillara observed. ‘Not even how we almost drowned when the moon broke up and fell out of the sky. Saved by a dragon.'

‘I will indeed stay,' said Duiker, ‘provided you back up and tell us all this properly, Scillara.'

‘As you like.'

‘From the moment you first met Heboric.'

‘This will take all night,' she said. ‘And I'm hungry.'

‘Murillio will be delighted to purchase our suppers,' declared Kruppe.

‘For once you are right,' Murillio said.

‘I don't think you're too fat,' said Cutter. ‘I don't think anything like that, Scillara.'
Too good, yes. And why don't you see how Barathol looks at you? As for me, well, Apsalar was smart enough to get away and I won't begrudge her that. In fact, I doubt there's a woman low enough for me anywhere in the world.

Was that too self-pitying? No, just realistic, he decided.

Oh, and by the way, everyone, that dragon is wearing silks and biding her time aboard her damned ship, right there in Darujhistan harbour…Oh, and did I mention that the city is in imminent danger?

The bottle of wine was done and Sulty was sent off for another one. Meese was quickly appeased by the orders for supper and the knowledge that, eventually, the swill she stocked would be broached and consumed to excess.

As Scillara told her tale.

While Cutter's mind, sodden with alcohol, wandered through all those thoughts that were anything but self-pitying.
Not a woman anywhere…

 

Lady Challice Vidikas sat at one end of the table, Shardan Lim on her left, Hanut Orr to her right. For this night she wore emerald green silks, the short coat tight-fitting, collarless to expose her unadorned, powdered throat and low-cut to reveal her scented breasts. Her hair was tied up, speared through with silver pins. Rouge blushed her cheeks. Kohl thickened her lashes. Earrings depended from her ears in tumbling, glittering array, the green of emerald and the blue of sapphire. The coat's short sleeves revealed her bared arms, the skin soft, smooth, slightly plump, unstained by the sun. Leggings of brushed kid leather covered her lower limbs and on her feet was the latest style of sandals, the one with a high peg-like heel.

Amber wine glimmered in crystal goblets. Candlelight painted soft and gold every detail in a pool that faded into gloom beyond the three at the table, so that the servants moved in shadows, appearing only to clear dishes, rearrange settings, and deliver yet more food.

She but picked at her meal, wanting to be somewhat drunk for what would come at the end of this night. The only question she was unable to answer was…
which one first?

Oh, there was sexual excitement – she could not deny that. Both men were hale and attractive, though in very different ways. And both equally obnoxious, but she thought she could live with that. For certain, her heart would play no role in what was to come, no giving over, no confusion that might lead to conflicted feelings, or feelings of any sort.

She could keep this simple. Everyone made use of what they had, didn't they, especially when what they had proved desirable to others. This was how power accrued, after all. One man here, right or left, would have her this night – had they already decided which one between them? A toss of the knuckles. A wager in flesh. She was not sure – the evening was early yet and thus far she'd seen no overt signs of competition.

Hanut spoke, ‘Shardan and I have been discussing you all afternoon, Lady Challice.'

‘Oh? How flattering.'

‘It was on the night of my uncle's murder, wasn't it? At Lady Simtal's estate – you were there.'

‘I was, yes, Hanut.'

‘That night, young Gorlas Vidikas saved your life.'

‘Yes.'

‘And so won your heart,' said Shardan Lim, smiling behind his goblet as he sipped.

‘You make it sound an easy thing,' she said, ‘winning my heart.'

‘Then gratitude made a good start,' Shardan observed as Hanut settled back as if willing to listen and venture nothing else – at least for now. ‘He was very young, as were you. An age when charms seemed to flash blindingly bright.'

‘And I was dazzled,' she said.

‘Gorlas did very well by it, I should say. One hopes he daily expresses his gratitude…when he is here, I mean. All the proper, entirely unambiguous gestures and the like.'

Hanut Orr stirred. ‘For too long, Lady Vidikas, the House of Orr and the House of D'Arle have been at odds on the Council. Generations of that, and, as far as I am concerned, for no good reason. I find myself wishing, often, that your father would meet me, to make amends, to forge something new and lasting. An alliance, in fact.'

‘An ambitious goal, Hanut Orr,' said Challice.
Unfortunately, my father thinks you are a preening, fatuous ass. A true Orr, in other words.
‘And you are most welcome, I'm sure, to make such an overture. I wish you the Lady's tug.'

‘Ah, then I have your blessing in such an endeavour?'

‘Of course. Will that impress my father? That remains to be seen.'

‘Surely he cherishes you dearly,' Shardan Lim murmured. ‘How could he not?'

I have this list…
‘The House of Vidikas was ever a modest presence in the Council,' she said. ‘A long, unbroken succession of weak men and women singularly lacking in ambition.'

Hanut Orr snorted and reached for his goblet. ‘Excepting the latest, of course.'

‘Of course. My point is, my father ascribes little weight to the desires of House Vidikas, and I am now part of that house.'

‘Do you chafe?'

She fixed her gaze on Shardan Lim. ‘A bold question, sir.'

‘My apologies, Lady Vidikas. Yet I have come to cherish you and so only wish you happiness and contentment.'

‘Why would you imagine I felt otherwise?'

‘Because,' Hanut Orr drawled, ‘you've been knocking back the wine this night like a tavern harlot.' And he rose. ‘Thank you, Lady Vidikas, for a most enjoyable evening. I must, alas, take my leave.'

Struggling against anger, she managed a nod. ‘Of course, Councillor Orr. Forgive me if I do not see you out.'

He smiled. ‘Easily done, milady.'

When he was gone, Shardan swore softly under his breath. ‘He was angry with you.'

‘Oh?' The hand that raised the goblet to her lips was, she saw, trembling.

‘Hanut wants your father to come to him, not the other way round. He won't be a squirming pup to anyone.'

‘A pup is never strong enough to make the first move, Shardan Lim. He misunderstood my challenge.'

‘Because it implies a present failing on his part. A failing of his nerve.'

‘Perhaps it does, and that should make him angry with me? How, precisely, does that work?'

Shardan Lim laughed and as he stretched out it was clear that, free now of Hanut Orr's shadow, he was like a deadly flower opening to the night. ‘You showed him up for the self-important but weak-willed bully that he is.'