Gardens of the Moon (The Malazan Book of the Fallen #1)

Gardens of the Moon (The Malazan Book of the Fallen #1) Page 198

A band of tension tightened around Kalam's neck and shoulders as he strode directly for the man, who looked to be but moments away from snapping his sword's blade. The assassin plucked an empty chair from a table in his path and slammed it down one-handed opposite the man.

Startled eyes fixed on Kalam.

“Your god-given luck's holding, Captain,” the assassin rumbled, in low, close tones. “Sit down.”

His expression confused and frightened, Paran released his grip on the weapon and sank back into his seat.

Kalam followed suit and leaned forward over the table. “What's all this drama anyway?” he asked, in a whisper.

The captain frowned. “Who are you?”

Behind them conversations resumed, loud with rattled nerve “Ain't you guessed?” Kalam wagged his head. “Corporal Kalam, Ninth Squad, Bridgeburners. The last time I saw you, you was recovering from ”

Paran's hands shot out and gripped Kalam's shirt. The assassin was too surprised to react and the cantain's words confused him all the more. “Is your squad's healer still alive, Corporal?”

“What? Alive? Yeah, sure, why not? What's-?”

“Shut up,” Paran snapped. “Just listen, soldier. Bring him here. Now! No questions. I'm giving you a direct order, Corporal.” He released

Kalam almost saluted, but caught himself in time. “As you command,” Paran glared at the corporal's back until the man disappeared through the front door. Then he surged to his feet. “Innkeeper!” he called, stepping around the table. “The black man will be showing up in a few minutes with company. Send them up to Coll's room on the double. Understood?” Paran strode to the stairs. As he reached them he glanced back at the sword “And nobody touch that sword,” he ordered, swinging a glare across everyone in the room. Nobody seemed inclined to challenge him.

With a sharp, satisfied nod, the captain ascended the stairs.

On the first floor, he strode down the hallway to the last room on the right. He entered without knocking to find Sulty and a local surgeon sitting at the room's lone table Coll's blanket-covered form a un. The surgeon rose. “It's no good,” he said, in a thin, reedy voice. “The “Aye,” the surgeon replied. “But it won't be for much longer. If the wound had been further down on his leg, I might have been able to cut it off. Even then, I'm afraid the poison's spread through all of him. I'm what do I owe you for the services,” the captain asked, remembering.

The surgeon frowned over at Sulty. “Why, nothing, sir. I failed.” He left. Sulty joined the captain at the bedside. She wiped her face as she looked down on Coll, but said nothing. A few minutes later she, too, left the room, unable to remain any longer.

Paran found a stool and pulled it over to the bed. He sat and leaned his forearms on his knees. He was not sure how long he sat there, staring down at the straw-littered floor, but the door slamming open behind him brought him to his feet.

A bearded man stood in the doorway, his slate-grey eyes hard and cold.

“Are you Mallet?” Paran demanded.

The man shook his head and strode inside. Behind him appeared Kalam and another man. The latter's gaze found Coll, and he walked quickly to the bed.

“I'm Sergeant Whiskeyjack,” the bearded man said quietly. “Pardon my directness, sir, but what the hell are you doing here?”

Ignoring the question, Paran joined the healer. Mallet laid a hand over the crusted bandages. He glared up at the captain. “Can't you smell the rot? He's gone.” Mallet frowned and leaned forward. “No, wait: Damn, I don't believe it.” The healer took a spoon-shaped blade from his pouch and removed the bandages. Then he began to dig into the wound with the blade. “Shedenul's Mercy, someone's stuffed this with herbs!” He drove his fingers into the wound.

Coll jerked and moaned.

Mallet grinned. “Hah, that got you going, did it? Good.” He probed deeper. “This cut's half-way through the bone,” he breathed in amazement. “Those damn herbs have poisoned his marrow. Who the hell treated this?” he asked, looking accusingly at Paran.

“I don't know,” Paran said.

“All right,” Mallet said, removing his hand and wiping it on the blankets. “Move back, everybody. Give me some room. A minute later, Captain, and this man would've been striding through Hood's Gate.” He pressed his hand down on Coll's chest and closed his eyes. “And be glad I'm as good as I am.”

“Now, Captain?”