A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 2

coinage, isn't it?'
    'Pale's adopted the Malazan jakata as standard weight,' Blend said. 'What's the exchange?'
    'Damned if I know,' Picker muttered.
    'If you please,' the trader ventured, 'the exchange in Darujhistan is two and one-third jakatas to one council. Broker's fees comprise at least one jakata. Thus, strictly speaking, one and a third.'
    Blend shifted her weight, leaned forward for a closer look at the torcs. 'Three hundred councils would keep a family comfortable for a couple of years at least...'
    'Such was my goal,' the old man said. 'Although, as I live alone and modestly, I anticipated four or more years, including materials for my craft. Anything less than three hundred councils and I would be ruined.'
    'My heart weeps,' Picker said. She glanced over at Blend. 'Who'll miss it?'
    The soldier shrugged.
    'Rustle up three columns, then.'
    'At once, Corporal.' Blend stepped past the old man, moved silently up the trail, then out of sight.
    'I beg you,' the trader whined. 'Do not pay me in jakatas—'
    'Calm down,' Picker said. 'Oponn's smiling on you today. Now, step away from the pack. I'm obliged to search it.'
    Bowing, the old man backed up. 'The rest is of lesser value, I admit. Indeed, somewhat rushed—'
    'I'm not looking to buy anything else,' Picker said, rummaging with one hand through the pack. 'This is official, now.'
    'Ah, I see. Are some trade items now forbidden in Pale?'
    'Counterfeit jakatas, for one. Local economy's taking a beating, and Darujhistan councils aren't much welcome, either. We've had quite a haul this past week.'
    The trader's eyes widened. 'You will pay me in counterfeited coin?'
    'Tempting, but no. Like I said, Oponn's winked your way.' Finished with her search, Picker stepped back, and pulled out a small wax tablet from her belt-pouch. 'I need to record your name, trader. It's mostly smugglers using these trails, trying to avoid the post at the plains track through the Divide – you're one of the few honest ones, it seems. Those clever smugglers end up paying for their cleverness tenfold on these here trails, when the truth is they'd have a better chance slipping through the chaos at the post.'
    'I am named Munug.'
    Picker glanced up. 'You poor bastard.'
    Blend returned down the trail, three wrapped columns of coins cradled in her arms.
    The trader shrugged sheepishly, his eyes on the wrapped coin stacks. 'Those are councils!'
    'Aye,' Picker muttered. 'In hundred-columns – you'll probably throw your back lugging them to Pale, not to mention back again. In fact, you needn't bother making the trip at all, now, right?' She fixed him with her eyes as she put the tablet back into the pouch.
    'You have a valid point,' Munug conceded, rewrapping the torcs and passing the packet to Blend. 'I shall journey to Pale none the less – to deal the rest of my work.' Eyes shifting nervously, he bared his crooked teeth in a weak smile. 'If Oponn's luck holds, I might well double my take.'
    Picker studied the man a moment longer, then shook her head. 'Greed never pays, Munug. I'd lay a wager that in a month's time you'll come wending back down this trail with nothing but dust in your pockets. What say you? Ten councils.'
    'If I lose, you'd have me ten in debt to you.'
    'Ah well, I'd consider a trinket or three instead – you've skilled hands, old man, no question of that.'
    'Thank you, but I respectfully decline the wager.'
    Picker shrugged. 'Too bad. You've another bell of daylight. There's a wayside camp up near the summit – if you're determined enough you might reach it before sunset.'
    'I shall make the endeavour.' He slung his arms through the pack's straps, grunted upright, then, with a hesitant nod, moved past the corporal.
    'Hold on there,' Picker commanded.
    Munug's knees seemed to weaken and the old man almost collapsed. 'Y-yes?' he managed.
    Picker took the torcs from Blend. 'I've got to put these on, first. Interlocking, you claimed. But seamless.'
    'Oh! Yes, of course. By all means, proceed.'
    The corporal rolled back the sleeve of her dusty shirt, revealing, in the heavy wool's underside, its burgundy dye.
    Munug's gasp was audible.
    Picker smiled. 'That's right, we're Bridgeburners. Amazing what dust disguises, hey?' She worked the ivory rings up her scarred, muscled arm. Between her biceps and shoulder there was a soft click. Frowning, Picker studied the three torcs, then hissed in surprise. 'I'll be damned.'
    Munug's smile broadened for the briefest of moments, then