A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 2

Kruppe said, rising with a sigh. 'Wondrous conversation. Kruppe thanks you and will now take his leave.'
    'Right. Thanks for the cakes.'
    'Kruppe's pleasure. Good night, dears.'
    He ambled off, back towards the supply wagons.
     
    As he disappeared into the gloom the two marines said nothing for a time, busy as they were licking the sap from their fingers.
    Then one sighed.
    The other followed suit.
    'Well?'
    'Ah, that was damned easy.'
    'Think so?'
    'Sure. He came expecting to find two brains and found barely one.'
    'Still, it might've babbled too much.'
    'That's the nature of half-brains, love. T'do otherwise would've made him suspicious.'
    'What do you figure he and Tattersail talk about, anyway?'
    'The old woman, is my guess.'
    'I'd figured the same.'
    'They got something in the works.'
    'My suspicions exactly.'
    'And Tattersail's in charge.'
    'So she is.'
    'Which is good enough for me.'
    'Same here. You know, that black-cake wasn't quite the same without the twigs and leaves.'
    'That's odd, I was just thinking the same thing ...'
     
    Within the wheeled fort, Kruppe approached another campfire. The two men huddled around it looked up as he arrived.
    'What's with your hands?' Murillio asked.
    'All that Kruppe touches sticks to him, my friend.'
    'Well,' Coll rumbled, 'we've known that for years.'
    'And what's with that damned mule?' Murillio enquired.
    'The beast haunts me in truth, but never mind that. Kruppe has had an interesting discourse with two marines. And he is pleased to inform that the lass Silverfox is in capable hands indeed.'
    'Sticky as yours?'
    'They are now, dear Murillio, they are now.'
    'What you say is fine enough,' Coll said, 'but is it any help to us? There's an old woman sleeping in yon wagon whose broken heart is the least of her pains and it's bad enough to break the strongest man, let alone a frail ancient.'
    'Kruppe is pleased to assure you that matters of vast mercy are in progress. Momentary appearances are to be discounted.'
    'Then why not tell her that?' Coll growled, nodding towards the Mhybe's wagon.
    'Ah, but she is not yet ready to receive such truths, alas. This is a journey of the spirit. She must begin it within herself. Kruppe and Silverfox can only do so much, despite our apparent omnipotence.'
    'Omnipotence, is it?' Coll shook his head. 'Yesterday, and I'd laugh at that claim. So you faced down Caladan Brood, did you? I'm interested in precisely how you managed that, you damned toad.'
    Kruppe's brows rose. 'Dear boon companion Coll! Your lack of faith crushes frail Kruppe to his very toes which are themselves wriggling in anguish!'
    'For Hood's sake don't show us,' Murillio said. 'You've been wearing those slippers for as long as I've known you, Kruppe. Poleil herself would balk at what might lurk likely between them.'
    'And well she should! To answer Coll with succinct precision, Kruppe proclaims that anger – nay, rage – has no efficacy against one such as himself, for whom the world is as a pearl nestled within the slimy confines of his honed and muscled brain. Uh, perhaps the allusion falters with second thought ... and worse with third. Kruppe tries again! For whom, it was said, the world is naught but a plumaged dream of colours and wonders unimagined, where even time itself has lost meaning, speaking of which, it's very late, yes? Sleep beckons, the stream of calm transubstantiation that metamorphoses oblivion into reparation and rejuvenation, and that alone is wonder enough for one and all to close this fitful night!' He fluttered his hands in a final wave and walked off. After a moment, the mule trotted in his wake.
    The two men stared after them.
    'Would that Brood's hammer connected with that oily pate,' Coll rumbled after a moment.
    'It'd likely slip,' Murillio said.
    'Aye, true enough.'
    'Mussels and brains and cheesy toes, by the Abyss, I think I'm going to be sick.'
     
    High above the camp, Crone crooked her weary, leaden wings and spiralled down towards the warlord's tent. Despite her exhaustion, shivers of excitement and curiosity ran through her. The fissure to the north of the encampment still bled Burn's fouled blood. The Great Raven had felt that detonation when still over the Vision Mountains far to the southeast, and had instantly known it for what it was.
    Caladan Brood's anger.
    Kiss of the hammer, and with it an explosive reshaping of the natural world. She could see despite the darkness, and the sharply defined spine of a basaltic mountain