A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 3

The canal.'
    'Ugh.'
    'Smells fresh enough—'
    'What's that wire trailing from it?'
    The manservant lifted the carcass higher, then took the dangling wire between two fingers and followed it back until it vanished in the flesh. He tugged, then grunted.
    'What?' Tehol asked.
    'The wire leads to a large, barbed hook.'
    'Oh.'
    'And the wire's snapped at this end – I thought something broke my fall.' He tore a small sliver of meat from one of the cat's legs, broke it in two, then placed one piece at each end of the insect named Ezgara. It settled to feed. 'Anyway, a quick rinse and we're ahead by two, if not three meals. Quite a run of fortune, master, of late.'
    'Yes,' Tehol mused. 'Now I'm nervous. So, have you any news to tell me?'
    'Do you realize, master, that Gerun Eberict would have had to kill on average between ten and fifteen people a day in order to achieve his annual dividend? How does he find the time to do anything else?'
    'Perhaps he's recruited thugs sharing his insane appetites.'
    'Indeed. Anyway, Shurq has disappeared – both Harlest and Ublala are distraught—'
    'Why Harlest?'
    'He had only Ublala to whom he could show off his new fangs and talons, and Ublala was less than impressed, so much so that he pushed Harlest into the sarcophagus and sealed him in.'
    'Poor Harlest.'
    'He adjusted quickly enough,' said Bugg, 'and now contemplates his dramatic resurrection – whenever it occurs.'
    'Disturbing news about Shurq Elalle.'
    'Why?'
    'It means she didn't change her mind. It means she's going to break into the Tolls Repository. Perhaps even this very night.'
    Bugg glanced over at the guard. 'Master ...'
    'Oops, that was careless, wasn't it?' He rose and walked over. 'He hears all, it's true. My friend, we can at least agree on one thing, can't we?'
    The eyes flickered as the man stared at Tehol.
    'Any thief attempting the Repository is as good as dead, right?' He smiled, then swung back to face his manservant.
    Bugg began removing his wet clothes. 'I believe I've caught a chill.'
    'The canal is notoriously noxious—'
    'No, from earlier, master. The Fifth Wing. I've managed to successfully shore up the foundations—'
    'Already? Why, that's extraordinary.'
    'It is, isn't it? In any case, it's chilly in those tunnels ... now.'
    'Dare I ask?'
    Bugg stood naked, eyes on the faint stars overhead. 'Best not, master.'
    'And what of the Fourth Wing?'
    'Well, that's where my crews are working at the moment. A week, perhaps ten days. There's an old drainage course beneath it. Rather than fight it, we're installing a fired-clay conduit—'
    'A sewage pipe.'
    'In the trade, it's a fired-clay conduit.'
    'Sorry.'
    'Which we'll then pack with gravel. I don't know why Grum didn't do that in the first place, but it's his loss and our gain.'
    'Are you dry yet, Bugg? Please say you're dry. Look at our guard here, he's horrified. Speechless.'
    'I can tell, and I apologize.'
    'I don't think I've ever seen so many scars on one person,' Tehol said. 'What do you do in your spare time, Bugg, wrestle angry cacti?'
    'I don't understand. Why would they have to be angry?'
    'Wouldn't you be if you attacked you for no reason? Hey, that's a question I could ask our guard here, isn't it?'
    'Only if he – or they – were similarly afflicted, master.'
    'Good point. And he'd have to take his clothes off for us to find out.'
    'Not likely.'
    'No. Now, Bugg, here's my shirt. Put it on, and be thankful for the sacrifices I make on your behalf.'
    'Thank you, master.'
    'Good. Ready? It's time to go.'
    'Where?'
    'Familiar territory for you, or so I was surprised to discover. You are a man of many mysteries, Bugg. Occasional priest, healer, the Waiting Man, consorter with demons and worse. Were I not so self-centred, I'd be intrigued.'
    'I am ever grateful for your self-centredness, master.'
    'That's only right, Bugg. Now, presumably, our silent bodyguard will be accompanying us. Thus, we three. Marching purposefully off into the night. Shall we?'
    Into the maze of shanties on the east side of Letheras. The night air was hot, redolent and turgid. Things skittered through the heaps of rotting rubbish, wild dogs slunk through shadows in ill-tempered packs looking for trouble – threatening enough to cause the bodyguard to draw his sword. Sight of the bared blade was enough to send the beasts scampering.
    Those few homeless indigents brave or desperate enough to risk the dangers of the alleys and streets had used rubbish to build barricades