A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 2

its progress with low-lidded eyes. There was still plenty of food to be found in the kitchen – or so its nose was telling it. That bounty, Gruntle well knew, would not last if the siege drew out.
    His gaze flicked up to the smoke-stained main truss spanning the room, where the inn's cat slept, limbs dangling from the crossbeam. The feline hunted only in its dreams, for the moment at least.
    The mouse reached the foot-bar of the counter, waddled parallel to it towards the kitchen entrance.
    Gruntle took another mouthful of watered wine – more water than wine after almost a week's stranglehold on the city by the Pannions. The six other patrons were each sitting alone at a table or leaning up against the counter. Words were exchanged among them every now and then, a few desultory comments, usually answered by little more than a grunt.
    Over the course of a day and night, the inn was peopled by two types, or so Gruntle had observed. The ones before him now virtually lived in the common room, nursing their wine and ale. Strangers to Capustan and seemingly friendless, they'd achieved a kind of community none the less, characterized by a vast ability to do nothing together for long periods of time. Come the night the other type would begin to assemble. Loud, boisterous, drawing the street whores inside with their coins which they tumbled onto the tabletops with no thought of tomorrow. Theirs was a desperate energy, a bluff hail to Hood. We're yours, you scything bastard, they seemed to say. But not till the dawn!
    They'd churn like a foaming sea around the immovable, indifferent rocks that were the silent, friendless patrons.
    The sea and the rocks. The sea celebrates in the face of Hood as soon as he looms close. The rocks have stared the bastard in the eye for so long they're past budging, much less celebrating. The sea laughs uproariously at its own jokes. The rocks grind out a terse line that can silence an entire room. A Capan mouthful. . .
    Next time, I'll keep my tongue to myself.
    The cat rose on the crossbeam, stretching, its banded black stripes rippling across its dun fur. Cocked its head downward, ears pricking.
    The mouse was at the edge of the kitchen entrance, frozen.
    Gruntle hissed under his breath.
    The cat looked his way.
    The mouse darted into the kitchen and out of sight.
    With a loud creak, the inn door swung inward. Buke stepped inside, crossed Gruntle's view then sank down into the chair beside him.
    'You're predictable enough,' the old man muttered, gesturing for two of the same when he caught the barkeep's eye.
    'Aye,' Gruntle replied. 'I'm a rock.'
    'A rock, huh? More like a fat iguana clinging to one. And when the big wave comes—'
    'Whatever. You've found me, Buke. Now what?'
    'Just wanted to thank you for all the help, Gruntle.'
    'Was that subtle irony, old man? A little honing—'
    'Actually, I was almost serious. That muddy water you made me drink – Keruli's concoction – it's done wonders.' His narrow face revealed a slightly secretive smile. 'Wonders ...'
    'Glad to hear you're all better. Any more earth-shattering news? If not ...'
    Buke leaned back as the barkeep delivered the two tankards, then said after the man shambled away, 'I've met with the elders of the Camps. At first they wanted to go straight to the prince—'
    'But then they came to their senses.'
    'With a little prodding.'
    'So now you've got all the help you need in keeping that insane eunuch from playing doorman to Hood's gate. Good. Can't have panic in the streets, what with a quarter-million Pannions laying siege to the city.'
    Buke's eyes thinned on Gruntle. 'Thought you'd appreciate the calm.'
    'Now that's much better.'
    'I still need your help.'
    'Can't see how, Buke. Unless you want me to kick down the door and separate Korbal Broach's head from his shoulders. In which case you'll need to keep Bauchelain distracted. Set him on fire or something. I only need a moment. Of course, timing's everything. Once the walls have been breached, say, and there's Tenescowri mobbing the streets. That way we can all go hand in hand to Hood singing a merry tune.'
    Buke smiled behind his tankard. 'That'll do,' he said, then drank.
    Gruntle drained his own cup, reached for the new one. 'You know where to find me,' he said after a moment.
    'Until the wave comes.'
    The cat leapt down from the crossbeam, pounced forward, trapping a cockroach between its paws. It began playing.
    'All right,' the caravan captain growled after a