A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 3

game she played here.
    Back in Darujhistan, ensconced within the Finnest
House, this land known as Seven Cities had seemed so far
from the centre of things – or what he believed would soon
become the centre of things. And it had been, in part, that
mystery that had set him on this path, seeking to discover
how what happened here would become enfolded into the
greater scheme. Assuming, of course, that such a greater
scheme existed.
    Equally as likely, he allowed, this war among the gods
would implode into a maelstrom of chaos. There had been
need, he had once been told, for a Master of the Deck of
Dragons. There had been need, he had been told, for him. Paran had begun to suspect that, even then, it was already
too late. This web was growing too fast, too snarled, for any
single mind to fathom.
    Except maybe Kruppe, the famed Eel of Darujhistan ...
gods, I wish he was here, in my place, right now. Why wasn't
he made the Master of the Deck of Dragons? Or maybe that
incorrigible aplomb was naught but bravado, behind which
the real Kruppe cowered in terror.
    Imagine Raest's thoughts ... Paran smiled, recollecting. It
had been early morning when that little fat man knocked
on the door of the Finnest House, flushed of face and beaming
up at the undead Jaghut Tyrant who opened it wide and
stared down upon him with pitted eyes. Then, hands
fluttering and proclaiming something about a crucial meeting,
Kruppe somehow slid past the Azath guardian,
waddling into the main hall and sinking with a delighted
sigh of contentment into the plush chair beside the
fireplace.
    An unexpected guest for breakfast; it seemed even Raest
could do nothing about it. Or would not. The Jaghut had
been typically reticent on the subject.
    And so Paran had found himself seated opposite the
famed Defier of Caladan Brood – this corpulent little man
in his faded waistcoat who had confounded the most
powerful ascendants on Genabackis – and watched him
eat. And eat. While somehow, at the same time, talking
nonstop.
    'Kruppe knows the sad dilemma, yes indeed, of sad befuddled
Master. Twice sad? Nay, thrice sad! Four times sad –
ah, how usage of the dread word culminates! Cease now, Sir
Kruppe, lest we find ourselves weeping without surcease!'
Lifting one greasy finger. 'Ah, but Master wonders, does he
not, how can one man such as Kruppe know all these
things? What things, you would also ask, given the chance,
said chance Kruppe hastens to intercept with suitable
answer. Had Kruppe such an answer, that is. But lo! He
does not, and is that not the true wonder of it all?'
    'For Hood's sake,' Paran cut in – and got no further.
    'Yes indeed! For Hood's sake indeed, oh, you are brilliant
and so worthy of the grand title of Master of the Deck of
Dragons and Kruppe's most trusted friend! Hood, at the
very centre of things, oh yes, and that is why you must
hasten, forthwith, to Seven Cities.'
    Paran stared, dumbfounded, wondering what detail in
that barrage of words he had missed. 'What?'
    'The gods, dear precious friend of Kruppe's! They are at
war, yes? Terrible thing, war. Terrible things, gods. The two,
together, ah, most terribler!'
    'Terri— what? Oh, never mind.'
    'Kruppe never does.'
    'Why Seven Cities?'
    'Even the gods cast shadows, Master of the Deck. But
what do shadows cast?'
    'I don't know. Gods?'
    Kruppe's expression grew pained. 'Oh my, a nonsensical
reply. Kruppe's faith in dubious friend lies shaking. No,
shaken. Not lies, is. See how Kruppe shakens? No, not
gods. How can gods be cast? Do not answer that – such is
the nature and unspoken agreement regards rhetoric. Now,
where was Kruppe? Oh yes. Most terrible crimes are in the
offing off in Seven Cities. Eggs have been laid and schemes
have hatched! One particularly large shell is about to be
broken, and will have been broken by the time you arrive,
which means it is as good as broken right now so what are
you waiting for? In fact, foolish man, you are already too
late, or will be, by then, and if not then, then soon, in the
imminent sense of the word. Soon, then, you must go,
despite it being too late – I suggest you leave tomorrow
morning and make use of warrens and other nefarious paths
of inequity to hasten your hopeless quest to arrive. On
time, and in time, and in due time you will indeed arrive,
and then you must walk the singular shadow – between,
dare Kruppe utter such dread words – between life and
death, the wavy, blurry metaphor so callously and