A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 1

clearly, the man had seen his share of horrors as a Marine of the Empire. Stormy was almost as quick in casting aside his revulsion, although a superstitious terror seemed to replace it – he worked frantically fast, and before too long every head had joined the ghastly pyramid.
    Kulp turned his attention to the hatch leading down into the oar pit. A faint aura of sorcery rose from it, visible to his warren-touched senses as waves rippling the still air. He hesitated long before approaching it.
    Apart from the mage and Gesler and Stormy, the others remained in the sterncastle, watching the proceedings with something like numb shock.
    The corporal joined Kulp. 'Ready to check below?'
    'Absolutely not.'
    'Lead on, then,' Gesler said with a tight grin. He unsheathed his sword.
    Kulp glanced down at it.
    The corporal shrugged. 'Yeah, I know.'
    Muttering under his breath, Kulp headed for the hatch. The lack of light below did nothing to hide what he saw. Sorcery lined everything, sickly yellow and faintly pulsing. Both hands on the railing, the mage descended the encrusted steps, Gesler close behind him.
    'Can you see anything?' the corporal asked.
    'Oh yes.'
    'What's that smell?'
    'If patience has a smell,' Kulp said, 'you're smelling it.' He cast a wave of light down the length of the centre walkway between the bench rows, spun it sideways and left it there.
    'Well,' Gesler said, dry and rasping, 'there's a certain logic, isn't there?'
    The oars were manned by headless corpses, three to a bench. Other sealskin bundles crowded every available space. Another headless figure sat behind a skin drum, both hands gripping strange, gourdlike batons. The figure was massively muscled. There was no evidence of decay on any of the bodies. White bone and red flesh glistened at the necks.
    Neither man spoke for a long time, then Gesler cleared his throat, to little effect as he squeezed out gravel words. 'Did you say patience, Kulp?'
    'Aye.'
    'I ain't misheard, then.'
    Kulp shook his head. 'Someone took the ship, beheaded everyone aboard .. . then put them to work.'
    'In that order.'
    'In that order.'
    'How long ago?'
    'Years. Decades. We're in a warren, Corporal. No telling how time works here.'
    Gesler grunted. 'What say we check the captain's cabin? There might be a log.'
    'And a "take to the oars" whistle.'
    'Yeah. You know, if we hide that drum-beater, I could send Stormy down here to beat the time.'
    'You've a wicked sense of humour, Gesler.'
    'Aye. Thing is, Stormy tells the world's most boring sea tales. It'd do a favour to anyone he meets from now on to spice things up a little.'
    'Don't tell me you're serious.'
    The corporal sighed. 'No,' he said after a moment. 'I won't invite madness on anyone, Mage.'
    They returned to the main deck. The others stared at them. Gesler shrugged. 'What you'd expect,' he said, 'if you was completely insane, that is.'
    'Well,' Felisin replied, 'you're talking to the right crowd.'
    Kulp strode towards the cabin hatch. The corporal sheathed his sword and then followed. The hatch descended two steps, then opened out into a galley. A large wooden table commanded the centre. Opposite them was a second hatch, leading to a narrow walkway with berths on either side. At the far end was the door to the captain's cabin.
    No-one occupied the berths, but there was gear aplenty, all waiting for owners who no longer needed it.
    The cabin door opened with a loud squeal.
    Even with all they had seen thus far, the interior was a scene of horror. Four bodies were immediately visible, three of them twisted grotesquely in postures of sudden death. There was no evidence of decay, but no blood was visible. Whatever had killed them had crushed them thoroughly without once breaking skin. The exception sat in the captain's chair at the end of a map table, as if presiding over Hood's own stage. A spear jutted from his chest, and had been pushed through to the chair, then beyond. Blood glistened down the front of the figure's body, pooled in his lap. It had stopped flowing, yet looked still wet.
    'Tiste Andii?' Gesler asked in a whisper.
    'They have that look,' Kulp replied softly, 'but not quite.' He stepped into the cabin. 'Their skins are grey, not black. Nor do they look very ... refined.'
    'The Tiste Andii of Drift Avalii were said to be pretty barbaric – not that anyone living has visited the isle.'
    'None returned, in any case,' Kulp conceded. 'But these are wearing skins – barely cured. And look at their