A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 3

Koryk.
'That's what you remind me of, with all those bones hanging
from you. I remember one who used to come through
the village – the village outside our estate, I mean.
Collecting from kitchen middens. Grinding up all kinds
and sticking them in flasks. With labels. Dog jaws for
toothaches, horse hips for making babies, bird skulls
for failing eyes—'
    'Penis bones for homely little girls,' Koryk cut in.
    In a blur, the knife in Smiles's hand reversed grip and she
held the point between thumb and fingers.
    'Don't even think it,' Cuttle said in a growl.
    'Besides,' Tarr observed, 'Koryk ain't the only one wearing
lots of bones – Hood's breath, Smiles, you're wearing
your own—'
    'Tastefully,' she retorted, still holding the knife by its
point. 'It's the excess that makes it crass.'
    'Latest court fashion in Unta, you mean?' Cuttle asked,
one brow lifting.
    Tarr laughed. 'Subtle and understated, that modest tiny
finger bone, dangling just so – the ladies swooned with
envy.'
    In all of this, Bottle noted in passing, Corabb Bhilan
Thenu'alas simply stared, from one soldier to the next as
they bantered. On the man's face baffled incomprehension.
    From the cabin house, voices rising in argument. Again.
Gesler, Balm, Stormy and Fiddler.
    One of Y'Ghatan's pups was listening, but Bottle paid
little attention, since the clash was an old one, as both
Stormy and Balm sought to convince Fiddler to play games
with the Deck of Dragons. Besides, what was important was
out here, a whisper in the air, in this steady, unceasing neargale,
a scent mostly obscured by the salty seaspray ...
    Pausing at the port rail, Bottle looked out at that distant
ridge of land to the south. Hazy, strangely blurred, it seemed
to be visibly sweeping by, although at this distance such a
perception should have been impossible. The wind itself
was brown-tinged, as if it had skirled out from some desert.
    We have left Seven Cities. Thank the gods. He never
wanted to set foot on that land again. Its sand was a gritty
patina on his soul, fused by heat, storms, and uncounted
people whose bodies had been incinerated – remnants of
them were in him now, and would never be fully expunged
from his flesh, his lungs. He could taste their death, hear
the echo of their screams.
    Shortnose and Flashwit were wrestling over the deck,
growling and biting like a pair of dogs. Some festering argument
– Bottle wondered what part of Shortnose would get
bitten off this time – and there were shouts and curses as
the two rolled into soldiers of Balm's squad who had been
throwing bones, scattering the cast. Moments later fights
were erupting everywhere.
    As Bottle turned, Mayfly had picked up Lobe and he saw
the hapless soldier flung through the air – to crash up
against the mound of severed heads.
    Screams, as the ghastly things rolled about, eyes blinking
in the sudden light—
    And the fight was over, soldiers hurrying to return the
trophies to their pile beneath the tarpaulin.
    Fiddler emerged from the cabin, looking harried. He
paused, scanning the scene, then, shaking his head, he
walked over to where Bottle leaned on the rail.
    'Corabb should've left me in the tunnel,' the sergeant said,
scratching at his beard. 'At least then I'd get some peace.'
    'It's just Balm,' Bottle said, then snapped his mouth shut
– but too late.
    'I knew it, you damned bastard. Fine, it stays between
you and me, but in exchange I want to hear your thoughts.
What about Balm?'
    'He's Dal Honese.'
    'I know that, idiot.'
    'Well, his skin's crawling, is my guess.'
    'So's mine, Bottle.'
    Ah, that explains it, then. 'She's with us, now. Again, I
mean.'
    'She?'
    'You know who.'
    'The one who plays with your—'
    'The one who also healed you, Sergeant.'
    'What's she got to do with Balm?'
    'I'm not sure. More like where his people live, I think.'
    'Why is she helping us?'
    'Is she, Sergeant?' Bottle turned to study Fiddler.
'Helping us, I mean. True, the last time ... Quick Ben's
illusion that chased off that enemy fleet. But so what? Now
we've got this gale at our backs, and it's driving us west, fast,
maybe faster than should be possible – look at that coast –
our lead ships must be due south of Monkan by now. At this
pace, we'll reach Sepik before night falls. We're being pushed, and that makes me very nervous – what's the
damned hurry?'
    'Maybe just putting distance between us and those greyskinned
barbarians.'
    'Tiste Edur. Hardly barbarians, Sergeant.'
    Fiddler grunted. 'I've