A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 3

burst of laughter.
    Bottle glared over at Smiles. 'You don't understand a
thing, you miserable cow.'
    'I can't believe you want to take that filthy thing with
you. All right, it got us out, so now leave it be. Besides,
there's no way you can keep them alive – she's got to feed
'em, right, meaning she has to scrounge. When's she gonna
be able to do that? We're about to march, you fool.'
    'We can manage,' he replied. 'They're tribal creatures,
rats. Besides, we've already scrounged enough food – it's
only Y'Ghatan who needs to eat lots, for now. The pups just
suckle.'
    'Stop, you're making me sick. There's enough rats in the
world already, Bottle. Take the big one, sure, but leave
the others for the birds.'
    'She'd never forgive me.'
     
    Sitting nearby, Koryk studied the two bickering soldiers a
moment longer, then he rose.
    'Don't go far,' Strings said.
    The half-Seti grunted a wordless reply, then headed
towards the far, northern end of the flats, where broad,
deep pits pockmarked the ground. He arrived at the edge of
one and looked down. Long ago, these pits had yielded clay
for the potters, back when there had been water close to
the surface. When that had dried up, they had proved useful
for the disposal of refuse, including the bodies of
paupers.
    The pits nearest the city's walls held only bones,
bleached heaps, sun-cracked amidst tattered strips of burial
cloth.
    He stood above the remains for a moment longer, then
descended the crumbling side.
    The soldiers had lost most of the bones affixed to their
armour and uniforms. It seemed only fitting, Koryk
thought, that these long-dead citizens of Y'Ghatan offer up
their own. After all, we crawled through the city's own bones.
And we can't even measure what we left behind.
    Knee-deep in bones, he looked round. No shortage of fetishes
    here. Satisfied, he began collecting.
     
    'You look damn near naked without all that armour.'
    Corporal Tarr grimaced. 'I am damn near naked without
all my armour, Sergeant.'
    Smiling, Strings looked away, searching until he found
Koryk, who was in the process of climbing into the ground.
At least, it looked that way from here. Strange, secretive
man. Then again, if he wanted to crawl into the earth, that
was his business. So long as he showed up for the call to
march.
    Cuttle was near the fire, pouring out the last of the tea,
a brew concocted from a half-dozen local plants Bottle had
identified as palatable, although he'd been a little cagey on
toxicity.
    After a moment surveying his squad, the sergeant
returned to shaving off his beard, hacking at the foulsmelling,
singed hair with his camp knife – the only
weapon left to him.
    One of the foundling children had attached herself to
him and sat opposite, watching with wide eyes, her round
face smeared with ash and two wet, dirty streaks running
down from her nose. She had licked her lips raw.
    Strings paused, squinted at her, then raised one eyebrow.
'You need a bath, lass. We'll have to toss you into the first
stream we run across.'
    She made a face.
    'Can't be helped,' he went on. 'Malazan soldiers in the
Fourteenth are required to maintain a certain level of
cleanliness. So far, the captain's been easy about it, but
trust me, that won't last ...' He trailed off when he saw
that she wasn't listening any more. Nor was she looking at
him, but at something beyond his left shoulder. Strings
twisted round to follow her gaze.
    And saw a rider, and three figures on foot. Coming down
from the road that encircled Y'Ghatan. Coming towards
them.
    From a short distance to the sergeant's right, he heard
Gesler say, 'That's Stormy – I'd recognize that bludgeon
walk anywhere. And Kalam and Quick. Don't know the
woman on the horse, though ...'
    But I do. Strings rose. Walked up the slope to meet them.
He heard Gesler behind him, following.
    'Hood take us,' Strings said, studying first Apsalar, then
Kalam and Quick Ben, 'half the old squad. All here.'
    Quick Ben was squinting at Fiddler. 'You shaved,' he
said. 'Reminds me just how young you are – that beard
turned you into an old man.'
    He paused, then added, 'Be nice to have Mallet here
with us.'
    'Forget it,' Strings said, 'he's getting fat in Darujhistan
and the last thing he'd want to do is see our ugly faces
again.' He coughed. 'And I suppose Paran's there, too, feet
up and sipping chilled Saltoan wine.'
    'Turned out to be a good captain,' the wizard said after a
moment. 'Who'd have thought it, huh?'
    Strings nodded up at the woman