Reaper's Gale (The Malazan Book of the Fallen #7)

Reaper's Gale (The Malazan Book of the Fallen #7) Page 194

Shurq Elalle collected one of the chairs near the door and dragged it opposite Brullyg. Sitting, she folded one leg over the other and laced her hands together on her lap. ‘Brullyg, you half-mad cheating miser of a bastard. If you were alone I’d be throttling that flabby neck of yours right now.’

‘Can’t say I’m shocked by your animosity,’ Shake Brullyg replied, suddenly comforted by his Malazan bodyguards. ‘But you know, it was never as bad or ugly as you thought it was. You just never gave me the chance to explain-’

Shurq’s smile was both beautiful and dark. ‘Why, Brullyg, you were never one to explain yourself.’

‘A man changes.’

‘That’d be a first.’

Brullyg resisted shrugging, since that would have opened a nasty slit in the flesh of his back. Instead, he lifted his hands, palms up, as he said, ‘Let’s set aside all that history. The Undying Gratitude rests safe and sound in my harbour. Cargo offloaded and plenty of coin in your purse. I imagine you’re itching to leave our blessed isle.’

‘Something like that,’ she replied. ‘Alas, it seems we’re having trouble getting, uh, permission. There’s the biggest damned ship I’ve ever seen blocking the harbour mouth right now, and a sleek war galley of some kind is making for berth at the main pier. You know,’ she added, with another quick smile, ‘it’s all starting to look like some kind of… well… blockade.’

The knife-point left Brullyg’s back and Masan Gilani, sliding the weapon into its scabbard, stepped round. When she spoke this time, it was in a language Brullyg had never heard before.

Lobe levelled the crossbow again, aiming towards Brullyg, and answered Masan in the same tongue.

Skorgen, who had been kneeling beside the cask, thumping at the spigot with the heel of one hand, now rose. ‘What in the Errant’s name is going on here, Brullyg?’

A voice spoke from the doorway, ‘Just this. Your captain’s right. Our waiting’s done.’

The soldier named Throatslitter was leaning against the door frame, arms crossed. He was smiling across at Masan Gilani. ‘Good news ain’t it? Now you can take your delicious curves and such and dance your way down to the pier-I’m sure Urb and the rest are missing ‘em something awful.’

Shurq Elalle, who had not moved from her chair, sighed loudly then said, ‘Pretty, I don’t think we’ll be leaving this room for a while. Find us some tankards and pour, why don’t you?’

‘We’re hostages?’

‘No no,’ his captain replied. ‘Guests.’

Masan Gilani, hips swaying considerably more than was necessary, sauntered out of the chamber.

Under his breath, Brullyg groaned.

‘As I said earlier,’ Shurq murmured, ‘men don’t change.’ She glanced over at Gait, who had drawn up the other chair. ‘I assume you won’t let me strangle this odious worm.’

‘Sorry, no.’ A quick smile. ‘Not yet anyway.’

‘So, who are your friends in the harbour?’

Gait winked. ‘We’ve a little work to do, Captain. And we’ve decided this island will do just fine as headquarters.’

‘Your skill with Letherii has noticeably improved.’

‘Must be your fine company, Captain.’

‘Don’t bother,’ Throatslitter said from the doorway. ‘Deadsmell says she’s standing on the wrong side of Hood’s gate, despite what you see or think you see.’

Gait slowly paled.

‘Not sure what he means by all that,’ Shurq Elalle said, her sultry eyes settling on Gait, ‘but my appetites are as lively as ever.’

‘That’s… disgusting.’

‘Explains the sweat on your brow, 1 suppose.’

Gait hastily wiped his forehead. ‘This one’s worse than Masan Gilani,’ he complained.

Brullyg shifted nervously in his chair. Timing. These damned Malazans had it by the bucketful. Freedom should’ ve lasted longer than this. ‘Hurry up with that ale, Pretty.’

Finding yourself standing, alone, cut loose, with an unhappy army squirming in your hands, was a commander’s greatest nightmare. And when you got them running straight into the wilderness of an ocean at the time, it’s about as bad as it can get.

Fury had united them, for a while. Until the truth started to sink in, like botfly worms under the skin. Their homeland wanted them all dead. There’d be no seeing family-no wives, husbands, mothers, fathers. No children to bounce on one knee while working numbers in the head-wondering which neighbour’s eyes you’re looking down at. No chasms to cross, no breaches to mend. Every loved one as good as dead.