A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 2

Picker looked around for Blend – damn, where is she? Here a moment ago —
    Two fingers brushed her arm and she nearly leapt out of her leathers. Beside her, Blend smiled. Picker mouthed a silent stream of curses. Blend's smile broadened, then she stepped past, up to the tent entrance, where she crouched down to untie the fastenings.
    Picker glanced over a shoulder. Detoran and Trotts stood side by side a few paces back, both hulking and monstrous.
    At the corporal's side Hedge nudged her again, and she turned to see that Blend had drawn back the flap.
    All right, Jet's get this done.
    Blend led the way, followed by Spindle, then Hedge. Picker waved the Napan and the Barghast forward, then followed them into the tent's dark confines.
    Even with Trotts at one end and Detoran at the other, with Spindle and Hedge at the sides, the table had them staggering before they'd gone three paces. Blend moved ahead of them to pull the flap back as far as she could. Within the sorcerous silence, the four soldiers managed to manoeuvre the massive table outside. Picker watched, glancing back at the divider every few moments – but the warlord made no appearance. So far so good.
    The corporal and Blend added their muscles in carrying the table, and the six of them managed to take it fifty paces before exhaustion forced them to halt.
    'Not much further,' Spindle whispered.
    Detoran sniffed. 'They'll find it.'
    'That's a wager I'll call you on,' Picker said. 'But first, let's get it there.'
    'Can't you make this thing any lighter?' Hedge whined at Spindle. 'What kind of mage are you, anyway?'
    Spindle scowled. 'A weak one, what of it? Look at you – you're not even sweating!'
    'Quiet, you two,' Picker hissed. 'Come on, heave her up, now.'
    'Speaking of heaving,' Hedge muttered as, amid a chorus of grunts, the table once again rose from the ground, 'when are you gonna wash that disgusting shirt of yours, Spindle?'
    'Wash it? Mother never washed her hair when she was alive – why should I start now? It'll lose its lustre—'
    'Lustre? Oh, you mean fifty years of sweat and rancid lard—'
    'Wasn't rancid when she was alive, though, was it?'
    'Thank Hood I don't know—'
    'Will you two save your foul breath? Which way now, Spindle?'
    'Right. Down that alley. Then left – the hide tent at the end—'
    'Bet someone's living in it,' Detoran muttered.
    'You're on with that one, too,' Picker said. 'It's the one the Rhivi use to lay out Tiste Andii corpses before cremation. Ain't been a killed Tiste since Darujhistan.'
    'How'd you find it anyway?' Hedge asked.
    'Spindle sniffed it out—'
    'Surprised he can sniff anything—'
    'All right, set her down. Blend – the flap.'
    The table filled the entire room within, with only an arm's length of space around it on all sides. The low cots that had been used for the corpses went beneath, folded and stacked. A shuttered lantern was lit and hung from the centre-pole hook. Picker watched Hedge crouch down, his eyes inches from the table's scarred, pitted surface, and run his blunt, battered fingers lovingly along the wood's grain. 'Beautiful,' he whispered. He glanced up, met Picker's eyes. 'Call in the crew, Corporal, the game's about to start.'
    Grinning, Picker nodded. 'Go get 'em, Blend.'
    'Even cuts,' Hedge said, glaring at everyone. 'We're a squad now—'
    'Meaning you let us in on the secret,' Spindle said, scowling. 'If we'd known you was cheating all that time—'
    'Yeah, well, your fortunes are about to turn, ain't they? So quit the complaining.'
    'Aren't you two a perfect match,' Picker observed. 'So tell us, Hedge, how does this work?'
    'Oppositions, Corporal. Both Decks are the real thing, you see. Fiddler had the better sensitivity, but Spindle should be able to pull it off.' He faced the mage. 'You've done readings before, haven't you? You said—'
    'Yeah yeah, squirt – no problem, I got the touch—'
    'You'd better,' the sapper warned. He caressed the table-top again. 'Two layers, you see, with the fixed Deck in between 'em. Lay a card down and there's a tension formed, and it tells ya which one the face-down one is. Never fails. Dealer knows every hand he plays out. Fiddler—'
    'Ain't here,' Trotts growled, his arms crossed. He bared his teeth at Spindle.
    The mage sputtered. 'I can do it, you horse-brained savage! Watch me!'
    'Shut up,' Picker snapped. 'They're coming.'
     
    It was near dawn when the other squads began filing back out of the tent, laughing and back-slapping as