A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 3

long moment, then he gestured the man away.
    Bugg turned right, so Tehol went left. The air was warming, yet still fresh after the rain. Wet dogs nosed the rubbish in the settling puddles. Cats chased the cockroaches that had swarmed up from the drains. A beggar had found a sliver of soap and stood naked beneath a stream of water coming from a cracked eaves trough, working up a murky lather while he sang a lament that had been popular a hundred years ago. Residents had taken advantage of the unexpected downpour, emptying chamber pots from their windows rather than carrying them a few dozen paces to the nearest communal dump-hole. As a result, some of the pools held floating things and the streams in the gutters carried small flyblown islands that collected here and there in buzzing rafts that bled yellowy brown slime.
    It was a fine evening in the city of Letheras, Tehol reflected, testing the air a moment before taking a deep breath and releasing it in a contented sigh. He went on down the street until he reached Quillas Canal, then walked along it towards the river. To his right rose a forest of masts from fisherboats moored to wait out the storm. Tarps were being pulled aside, water splashing as the crews bailed feverishly so they could make for open water before the day's light failed. Near one jetty a half-dozen city guardsmen were fishing a corpse from the murky water, a crowd of onlookers shouting advice as the squad struggled with hook-poles. Above them flapped seagulls.
    Tehol came within sight of the old palace, then took a side street away from the canal, proceeding on a winding, confused route until he came to the grounds of the towers. Gathering dusk made the air grainy as Tehol reached the low crumbling wall and stared across the short expanse of broken, uneven yard to the one, battered tower that was clearly different in construction from all the others, being square instead of round.
    The strange triangular windows were dark, crowded with dead vines. The inset, black-stained wooden door was shrouded in shadow. Tehol wondered how such a door could have survived – normal wood would have rotted to dust centuries ago.
    He could see no-one in the yard. 'Kettle! Child, are you in there?'
    A small bedraggled figure stepped out from behind a tree.
    Startled, Tehol said, 'That was a good trick, lass.'
    She approached. 'There's an artist. A painter. He comes to paint the tower. He wants to paint me too, but I stay behind trees. It makes him very angry. You are the man who sleeps on the roof of your house. Lots of people try spying on you.'
    'Yes, I know. Shurq tells me you, uh, take care of them.'
    'She said maybe you could help find out who I was.'
    He studied her. 'Have you seen Shurq lately?'
    'Only once. She was all fixed. I barely recognized her.'
    'Well, lass, we could see the same done for you, if you like.'
    The grubby, mould-patched face wrinkled into a frown. 'Why?'
    'Why? To make you less noticeable, I suppose. Wouldn't you enjoy looking the way Shurq does now?'
    'Enjoy?'
    'Think about it at least?'
    'All right. You look friendly. You look like I could like you. I don't like many people, but I could like you. Can I call you Father? Shurq is my mother. She isn't, really, but that's what I call her. I'm looking for brothers and sisters, too.' She paused, then asked, 'Can you help me?'
    'I'll try, Kettle. Shurq tells me the tower talks to you.'
    'Not words. Just thoughts. Feelings. It's afraid. There's someone in the ground who is going to help. Once he gets free, he'll help us. He's my uncle. But the bad ones scare me.'
    'The bad ones? Who are they? Are they in the ground, too?'
    She nodded.
    'Is there a chance they will get out of the ground before your uncle does?'
    'If they do, they'll destroy us all. Me, Uncle and the tower. They've said so. And that will free all the others.'
    'And are the others bad, too?'
    She shrugged. 'They don't talk much. Except one. She says she'll make me an empress. I'd like to be an empress.'
    'Well, I wouldn't trust that one. Just my opinion, Kettle, but promises like that are suspect.'
    'That's what Shurq says, too. But she sounds very nice. She wants to give me lots of treats and stuff.'
    'Be careful, lass.'
    'Do you ever dream of dragons, Father?'
    'Dragons?'
    Shrugging again, she turned away. 'It's getting dark,' she said over her shoulder. 'I need to kill someone ... maybe that artist
    Turudal Brizad, the consort to Queen Janall, stood leaning against the wall