A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 3

an angle from the ceiling. Its lowermost
corner – barely two hand's-widths above the rutted, sandy
floor – neatly bisected the passage.
    Bottle settled his forehead against the gritty floor. Air
still flowed past, a faint stirring now, nothing more than
that. And water had run down this track, heading
somewhere.
    'What's wrong?' Cuttle asked behind him.
    'We're blocked.'
    Silence for a moment, then, 'Your rat gone ahead? Past
the block?'
    'Yes. It opens out again – there's an intersection of some
kind ahead, a hole coming down from above, with air
pulling down from it and straight into a pit in the floor.
But, Cuttle – there's a big cut stone, no way to squeeze past
it. I'm sorry. We have to go back—'
    'To Hood we do, move aside if you can, I want to feel this
for myself.'
    It was not as easy as it sounded, and it was some time
before the two men managed to swap positions. Bottle
listened to the sapper muttering under his breath, then
cursing.
    'I told you—'
    'Be quiet, I'm thinking. We could try and break it loose,
only the whole ceiling might come down with it. No, but
maybe we can dig under, into the floor here. Give me your
knife.'
    'I ain't got a knife any more. Lost it down a hole.'
    'Then call back for one.'
    'Cuttle—'
    'You ain't giving up on us, Bottle. You can't. You either
take us through or we're all dead.'
    'Damn you,' Bottle hissed. 'Hasn't it occurred to you that
maybe there's no way through? Why should there be? Rats
are small – Hood, rats can live down here. Why should
there be a tunnel big enough for us, some convenient route
all the way out from under this damned city? To be honest,
I'm amazed we've gotten this far. Look, we could go back,
right to the temple – and dig our way out—'
    'You're the one who doesn't understand, soldier. There's
a mountain sitting over the hole we dropped into, a
mountain that used to be the city's biggest temple. Dig out?
Forget it. There's no going back, Bottle. Only forward; now
get me a knife, damn you.'
     
    Smiles drew out one of her throwing-knives and passed it
up to the child ahead of her. Something told her that this
was it – as far as they would go. Except maybe for the
children. The call had come to send the urchins ahead. At
the very least, then, they could to go on, find a way out. All
this effort – somebody had better live through it.
    Not that they'd get very far, not without Bottle. That
spineless bastard – imagine, depending on him. The man
who could see eye to eye with rats, lizards, spiders, fungi.
Matching wits, and it was a tough battle, wasn't it just.
    Still, he wasn't a bad sort – he'd taken half the load that
day on the march, after that bitch of a captain revealed just
how psychotic she really was. That had been generous of
him. Strangely generous. But men were like that, on
occasion. She never used to believe that, but now she had
no choice. They could surprise you.
    The child behind Smiles was climbing over her, all
elbows and knees and running, drippy, smearing nose. It
smelled, too. Smelled bad. Awful things, children. Needy,
self-centred tyrants, the boys all teeth and fists, the girls all
claws and spit. Gathering into snivelling packs and sniffing
out vulnerabilities – and woe to the child not cunning
enough to hide their own – the others would close in like
the grubby sharks they were. Great pastime, savaging
someone.
    If these runts are the only ones here who survive, I will haunt
them. Every one of them, for the rest of their days. 'Look,' she
snarled after an elbow in the nose, 'just get your smelly
slimy hide out of my face! Go on, you little ape!'
    A voice from behind her: 'Easy there. You was a child
once, you know—'
    'You don't know nothing about me, so shut it!'
    'What, you was hatched? Hah! I believe it! Along with
all the other snakes!'
    'Yeah, well, whoever you are, don't even think of climbing
past me.'
    'And get that close? Not a chance.'
    She grunted. 'Glad we're understood, then.'
    If there was no way through – they'd all lose their minds.
No doubt of that at all. Well, at least she had a couple
knives left – anybody fool enough to come for her and
they'd pay.
     
    The children were squirming through – even as Cuttle dug
into the floor with the knife – and then huddling on the
other side. Weeping, clinging to each other, and Bottle's
heart cried out for them. They would have to find courage,
but for the moment, there seemed to be no hope of
that.
    Cuttle's grunts and gasps, then