Toll the Hounds (The Malazan Book of the Fallen #8)

Toll the Hounds (The Malazan Book of the Fallen #8) Page 367

‘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 some-thing 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 hand He gasped, but breathing still wasn’t easy, Pressures assailed him, and rage lose 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 ar-rived 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 noth-ing. 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 figured 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 Har-llo! 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.