A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 1

man grunted. 'That's a Quon dromon. Pre-Imperial.'
    'You know your ships,' Gesler said, giving the man a sharp glance.
    Baudin shrugged. 'I worked in a prison gang, scuttling the republic's fleet in Quon Harbour. That was twenty years ago – Dassem had been using them to train his Marines—'
    'I know,' Gesler said, his tone revealing first-hand knowledge.
    'Young to be in a prison gang,' Stormy said from where he squatted amidst the water casks. 'You were what, ten? Fifteen?'
    'Something like that,' Baudin said. 'And what got me there ain't your business, soldier.'
    There was a long silence, then Gesler shook himself. 'You done, Stormy?'
    'Aye, all rigged up.'
    'All right, let's swim over before our lady makes her rush to the bottom. No gain if we end up all getting pulled down in her wake.'
    'I ain't happy,' Stormy said as he eyed the dromon. 'That's right out of a tavern tale told at midnight. Could be Hood's Herald, could be cursed, plague-ridden—'
    'Could be the only dry underfoot we'll find,' Gesler said. 'As for the rest, think of the tale you'll spin in the next tavern, Stormy. You'll have them pissing their pants and rushing off to the nearest temple for a blessing. You could set it up to take a cut from the avatars.'
    'Well, maybe you ain't got enough brains to be scared of anything...'
    The corporal grinned. 'Let's get wet, everyone. I hear noblewomen pay in gold for a bath like the one we're about to take. That right, lass?'
    Felisin did not answer.
    Kulp shook his head. 'You're just happy to be alive,' he said to Gesler.
    'Damn right.'
    The water was cool, strangely slick and not easy to swim through. The Ripath settled behind them, its decks awash. Then the mast leaned to one side, pausing a moment before sweeping down to the water. Within seconds it had slipped beneath the surface.
    Half an hour later they reached the dromon, gasping with exhaustion. Truth proved the only one capable of climbing up the steering oar. He clambered over the high sterncastle railing. A few moments later a thick-twined hemp ladder tumbled down to the others.
    It was a struggle, but eventually everyone was aboard, Gesler and Stormy pulling up the food chest and water casks last.
    From the sterncastle, Kulp looked down the length of the ship's deck. The abandonment had been a hasty thing. Coiled ropes and bundles of supplies wrapped in sealskin lay scattered about, along with discarded body armour, swords and belts. A thick, pale, greasy dust clung to everything.
    The others joined him in silent study.
    'Anybody see a name on the hull?' Gesler asked eventually. 'I looked, but...'
    'Silanda,' Baudin said.
    Stormy growled, 'Togg's teats, man, there wasn't no—'
    'Don't need one to know this ship,' Baudin said. 'That cargo lying about down there, that's from Drift Avalii. Silanda was the only craft sanctioned to trade with the Tiste Andii. She was on her way to the island when the Emperor's forces overran Quon. She never returned.'
    Silence followed his words.
    It was broken by a soft laugh from Felisin. 'Baudin the thug. Did your prison gangs work in libraries as well?'
    'Anybody else notice the waterline?' Gesler asked. 'This ship hasn't moved in years.' He shot one last, piercing glare at Baudin, then descended to the main deck. 'Might as well be a pile of rock knee-deep in guano,' he said, stopping at one of the sealskin bundles. He crouched down to unwrap it. A moment later he hissed a curse and lurched back. The bundle's flaps fell away, releasing its contents: a severed head. It rolled crazily across the deck, thumping up against the lip of the hold's hatchway.
    Kulp pushed past a motionless Heboric, scrambled down to the main deck and approached the head. He raised his warren. Stopped.
    'What do you see?' the ex-priest asked.
    'Nothing I like,' the mage replied. He stepped closer, crouched. 'Tiste Andii.' He glanced over at Gesler. 'What I'm about to suggest is not pleasant, but...'
    The corporal, his face white, nodded. 'Stormy,' he said as he turned to the next bundle. 'Give me a hand.'
    'Doing what?'
    'Counting heads.'
    'Fener save me! Gesler—'
    'You gotta be cold to spin a tale like this one. Takes practice. Get down here and get your hands dirty, soldier.'
    There were dozens of bundles. Each contained a head, cleanly severed. Most were Tiste Andii, but some were human. Gesler began stacking them into a grisly pyramid around the main mast. The corporal's recovery from his initial shock had been swift –