A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 3

listened –
staring out to sea – as the man, pushing past lounging
soldiers, approached.
    Thump thump thump up the steps to the foredeck.
    'Bottle!'
    Blinking, he looked over. 'Sergeant?'
    'Oh no I ain't fooled – you was spying! Listening in!'
    Bottle gestured over at Koryk and Tan, who had looked
up from their game and were now staring. 'Ask them. I've
been sitting here, not doing a thing, for more than a bell.
Ask them.'
    'Your rat!'
    'Her? I lost track of her last night, Sergeant. Haven't
bothered trying to hunt her down since – what would be
the point? She's not going anywhere, not with her pups to
take care of.'
    Gesler, Stormy and Balm were now crowding up behind
Fiddler, who looked ready to rip off his own stubbly beard
in frustration.
    'If you're lying ...' Fiddler hissed.
    'Of course he's lying,' Balm said. 'If I was him, I'd be lying
right now, too.'
    'Well, Sergeant Balm,' Bottle said, 'you're not me, and
that is the crucial difference. Because I happen to be telling
the truth.'
    With a snarl, Fiddler turned round and pushed his way
back down to the mid deck. A moment later the others
followed, Balm casting one last glare at Bottle – as if only
now comprehending that he'd just been insulted.
    A low snort from Koryk after they'd left. 'Bottle, I
happened to glance up a while back – before Fiddler came
out – and, Hood take me, there must have been fifty
expressions crossing your face, one after the other.'
    'Really?' Bottle asked mildly. 'Probably clouds passing
the sun, Koryk.'
    Tarr said, 'Your rat still has those pups? You must've
carried them on the march, then. If I'd been the one carrying
them, I would've eaten them one by one. Pop into the
mouth, crunch, chew. Sweet and delicious.'
    'Well, it was me, not you, wasn't it? Why does everyone
want to be me, anyway?'
    'We don't,' Tarr said, returning to study the game. 'We're
just all trying to tell you we think you're a raving idiot,
Bottle.'
    Bottle grunted. 'All right. Then, I suppose, you two
aren't interested in what they were talking about in that
cabin just a little while ago.'
    'Get over here,' Koryk said in a growl. 'Watch us play,
and start talking, Bottle, else we go and tell the sergeant.'
    'No thanks,' Bottle said, stretching his arms. 'I think I'm
in need of a nap. Maybe later. Besides, that game bores me.'
    'You think we won't tell Fiddler?'
    'Of course you won't.'
    'Why not?'
    'Because then this would be the last time – the last time
ever – you got any inside information from me.'
    'You lying, snivelling, snake of a bastard—'
    'Now now,' Bottle said, 'be nice.'
    'You're getting worse than Smiles,' Koryk said.
    'Smiles?' Bottle paused at the steps. 'Where is she, by the
way?'
    'Mooning away with Corabb, I expect,' Tarr said.
    Really? 'She shouldn't do that.'
    'Why?'
    'Corabb's luck doesn't necessarily extend to people
around him, that's why.'
    'What does that mean?'
    It means I talk too much. 'Never mind.'
    Koryk called out, 'They'll get that rat, you know, Bottle!
Sooner or later.'
    Nobody's thinking straight around here. Gods, Koryk, you
still think those pups are little helpless pinkies. Alas, they are all
now quite capable of getting around all by themselves. So, I
haven't got just one extra set of eyes and ears, friends. No.
There's Baby Koryk, Baby Smiles, Baby Tarr, Baby ... oh,
you know the rest ...
    He was halfway to the hatch when the alarms sounded,
drifting like demonic cries across the swollen waves, and on
the wind there arrived a scent ... no, a stench.
     
    Hood take me, I hate not knowing. Kalam swung himself up
into the rigging, ignoring the pitching and swaying as the
Froth Wolf heeled hard about on a new course, northeast,
towards the gap that had – through incompetence or carelessness
– opened between two dromons of the escort. As
the assassin quickly worked his way upward, he caught
momentary glimpses of the foreign ships that had appeared
just outside that gap. Sails that might have been black,
once, but were now grey, bleached by sun and salt.
    Amidst the sudden confusion of signals and alarms, one
truth was becomingly appallingly evident: they had sailed
into an ambush. Ships to the north, forming an arc with
killing lanes between each one. Another crescent, this one
bulging towards the Malazans, was fast approaching before
the wind from the northeast. Whilst another line of ships
formed a bristling barrier to the south, from the shallows
along the coast to the west, then out in a saw-toothed