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

Reaper's Gale (The Malazan Book of the Fallen #7) Page 40

‘Great. Now, about that inexorable spreading-’

‘You wish us to retire to my private room?’

‘Uh, not now, Rucket. I need some coin. An infusion to bolster a capital investment.’

‘How much?’

‘Fifty thousand.’

‘Will we ever see a return?’

‘No, you’ll lose it all.’

‘Tehol, you certainly do take vengeance a long way,] What is the benefit to us, then?’

‘Why, none other than the return to pre-eminence of the Rat Catchers’ Guild.’

Her rather dreamy eyes widened. ‘The end of the Patriotists? Fifty thousand? Will seventy-five be better? A hundred?’

‘No, fifty is what I need.’

‘I do not anticipate any objections from my fellow Guild Masters.’

‘Wonderful.’ He slapped his hands together, then rose.

She frowned up at him. ‘Where are you going?’

‘Why, to your private room, of course.’

‘Oh, how nice.’

His gaze narrowed on her. ‘Aren’t you joining me, Rucket?’

‘What would be the point? The name “fat root” is a. woman’s joke, you know.’

‘I haven’t drunk any yellow-smelling tea!’

‘In the future, I advise you to use gloves.’

‘Where’s your room, Rucket?’

One brow lifted. ‘Got something to prove?’

‘No, I just need to check on… things.’

‘What’s the point?’ she asked again. ‘Now that your imagination is awake, you’ll convince yourself you’ve got smaller, Tehol Beddict. Human nature. Worse that you happen to be a man, too.’ She rose. ‘I, however, can be objective, albeit devastatingly so, on occasion. So, do you dare my scrutiny?’

He scowled. ‘Fine, let’s go. Next time, however, let us dispense entirely with the invitation to your room, all right?’

‘Misery lies in the details, Tehol Beddict. As we’re about to discover.’

Venitt Sathad unrolled the parchment and anchored its corners with flatstones. ‘As you can see, Master, there are six separate buildings to the holdings.’ He began pointing to the illustrations of each. ‘Stables and livery. Icehouse. I ‘rystore, with cellar. Servants’ quarters. And, of course, the inn proper-’

‘What of that square building there?’ Rautos Hivanar asked.

Venitt frowned. ‘As I understand it, the interior is Virtually filled with an iconic object of some sort. The building predates the inn itself. Attempts to dislodge it failed. Now, what space remains is used for sundry storage.’

Rautos Hivanar leaned back in his chair. ‘How solvent is this acquisition?’

‘No more nor less than any other hostel, Master. It may be worth discussing investment on restoration with the other shareholders, including Karos Invictad.’

‘Hmm, I will consider that.’ He rose. ‘In the meantime, assemble the new artifacts on the cleaning table on the terrace.’

‘At once, Master.’

Fourteen leagues west of the Draconean Isles, doldrums had settled on this stretch of ocean, levelling the seas to a glassy, greasy patina beneath humid, motionless air. Through the eyeglass, the lone ship, black hull low in the water, looked lifeless. The mainmast was splintered, all rigging swept away. Someone had worked up a foresail, but the storm-rigged canvas hung limp. The steering oar was tied in place. No movement anywhere to be seen.

Skorgen Kaban, known as the Pretty, slowly lowered the eyeglass, yet continued squinting with his one good eye at the distant ship. He reached up to scratch one of the air holes-all that remained of what had once been a large, hawkish nose-then winced as a nail dug into sensitive scar tissue. The itch was non-existent, but the gaping nostrils had a tendency to weep, and the feigned scratch served to warn him of tell-tale wetness. This was one of his many gestures he probably imagined were subtle.

Alas, his captain was too sharp for that. She drew away her sidelong study of Skorgen, then glanced back at her waiting crew. A miserable but cocky bunch. Doldrums weighed everyone down, understandably, but the hold of the raider was packed with loot, and this run of the Errant’ luck seemed without end.

Now that they’d found another victim.

Skorgen drew in a whistling breath, then said, ‘It’s Edur all right. My guess is, a stray that got tossed around a bit in that storm we spied out west yesterday. Chances are, the crew’s either sick or dead, or they abandoned ship in one of their Knarri lifeboats. If they did that, they’ll have taker the good stuff with them. If not,’ he grinned across at her, revealing blackened teeth, ‘then we can finish what the sttorm started.’