A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 2

reconstruct this leviathan. But I kept uncovering more and more of those Hood-damned ribs – I can't even attach the shoulder blades, much less the forearms, neck and head. I was planning on dismantling the tower eventually, anyway, so I could get at the skull. But now all my plans are awry, and I'm going to have to extend the roof, which is tricky. Damned tricky.'
    Karsa moved over to the hearth, bent down to sniff at the other pot, wherein a thick, soupy liquid bubbled.
    'Wouldn't try that,' the man said. 'It's what I use to fix the bones together. Sets harder than the stone itself, takes any weight once it's cured.' He found some extra clay cups and ladled the herbal tea into them. 'Makes good dishware, too.'
    Torvald dragged his eyes from the huge skeleton looming over them and approached to collect his cup. 'I am named Torvald Nom—'
    'Nom? Of the House of Nom? Darujhistan? Odd, I'd figured you for a bandit – before you became a slave, that is.'
    Torvald threw Karsa a grimace. 'It's these damned shackle scars – we need a change of clothes, something with long sleeves. And moccasins that go up to the knees.'
    'Plenty of escaped slaves about,' the Napan said, shrugging. 'I wouldn't worry too much about it.'
    'Where are we?'
    'North coast of Seven Cities. The sea yonder is the Otataral Sea. The forest covering this peninsula is called the A'rath. Nearest city is Ehrlitan, about fifteen days on foot west of here.'
    'And what is your name, if I may ask?'
    'Well, Torvald Nom, there's no easy answer to that question. Locally, I'm known as Ba'ienrok, which is Ehrlii for "Keeper". Beyond that, in the fierce and unpleasant world, I'm not known at all, except as someone who died
long ago, and that's how I plan on keeping it. So, Ba'ienrok or Keeper, take your pick.'
    'Keeper, then. What is in this tea? There are flavours I do not recognize, and from someone born and raised in Darujhistan, that detail alone is close to impossible.'
    'A collection of local plants,' Keeper replied. 'Don't know their names, don't know their properties, but I like their taste. I long ago weeded out the ones that made me sick.'
    'Delighted to hear that,' Torvald said. 'Well, you seem to know a lot about that fierce and unpleasant world out there. Daru, Teblor... That wrecked boat down below, was that yours?'
    Keeper slowly rose. 'Now you're making me nervous, Torvald. It's not good when I get nervous.'
    'Uh, I'll ask no more questions, then.'
    Keeper jabbed a fist against Torvald's shoulder, rocking the Daru back a step. 'Wise choice, lad. I think I can get along with you, though I'd feel better if your silent friend said a thing or two.'
    Rubbing at his shoulder, Torvald turned to Karsa.
    The Teblor bared his teeth. 'I have nothing to say.'
    'I like men with nothing to say,' Keeper said.
    'Lucky for you,' Karsa growled. 'For you would not wish me as an enemy.'
    Keeper refilled his cup. 'I've had worse than you, Teblor, in my day. Uglier and bigger and meaner. Of course, they're mostly all dead, now.'
    Torvald cleared his throat. 'Alas, age takes us all, eventually.'
    'That it does, lad,' Keeper said. 'Too bad none of them had the chance to see for themselves. Now, I expect you're hungry. But to eat my food, you've got to do something to earn it first. And that means helping me dismantle the roof. Shouldn't take more than a day or two.'
    Karsa looked around. 'I will not work for you. Digging up bones and putting them together is a waste of time. It is pointless.'
    Keeper went perfectly still. 'Pointless?' He barely breathed the word.
    'It's that woeful streak of Teblor pragmatism,' Torvald said hastily. 'That and a warrior's blunt manners, which often come across as unintentionally rude—'
    'Too many words,' Karsa cut in. 'This man wastes his life with stupid tasks. When I decide I am hungry, I will take food.'
    Though the Teblor was anticipating a violent reaction from Keeper, and though Karsa's hand was close to the grip of his bloodsword, he was unable to avoid the blurred fist that lashed out, connecting with his lower ribs on his right side. Bones cracked. The air in his lungs exploded outward. Sagging, Karsa staggered back, incapable of drawing breath, a flood of pain darkening his vision.
    He had never been hit so hard in his life. Not even Bairoth Gild had managed to deliver such a blow. Even as consciousness slipped from him, he swung a look of astonished, unfeigned admiration on Keeper. Then he collapsed.
    When he awoke,