A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 3

soldiers complied, began waving cheerfully across at
what seemed to be a mass of staring sailors and marines and
–Bottle squinted – officers.
    Smiles said, 'It's all right, Sergeant. We just thought
they'd appreciate a change of scenery.'
    'Who?'
    'Why, these heads, of course.'
    Then Stormy was running past, towards the stern, where
he dragged down his breeches and sat over the rail, his back
end hanging open, exposed. With a savage grunt, he began
defecating.
    And while his comrades lining the rail all turned to stare
at the mad corporal, Bottle was transfixed by the ghastly
expressions of delight on those severed heads. Those smiles –the line in Bottle's hands kept spinning out, then
vanished, unnoticed, as sudden nausea clenched his gut.
    And he bolted for the opposite rail.
     
    Captain Kindly made a gagging sound. 'That is disgusting.'
    Lieutenant Pores nodded. 'I'll say. Gods, what did that
man eat to produce those?'
    A crowd was gathering on the deck as laughing marines
and sailors all watched the antics proceeding apace on the Silanda half a cable ahead. The Jakatakan dromon was now
to port, a mass of onlookers on the decks, silent, watching.
    'That is highly unusual,' Pores commented. 'They're not
rising to the bait.'
    'They look scared witless,' Kindly said.
    'So those marines have got themselves a collection of
heads,' Pores said, shrugging.
    'You idiot. Those heads are still alive.'
    'They're what?'
    'Alive, Lieutenant. I have this from reliable sources.'
    'Even so, sir, since when did Malazans get so soft?'
    Kindly regarded him as he would a skewered grub. 'Your
powers of observation are truly pathetic. That ship is filled
with Untans. Coddled noble-born pups. Look at those
damned uniforms, will you? The only stains they got on 'em
is gull shit, and that's because the gulls keep mistaking
them for dead, bloated seals.'
    'Nice one, sir.'
    'Another comment like that,' Kindly said, 'and I'll get
the stitcher to sew up your mouth, Lieutenant. Ha, we're
changing course.'
    'Sir?'
    'For Hood's sake, what are those fools doing?'
    Pores followed his captain's glare, to the stern of their
own ship, where two heavy infantry soldiers were seated
side by side, their leggings round their ankles. 'I would
hazard a guess, sir, that Hanfeno and Senny are adding their
stone's worth.'
    'Get back there and make them stop, Lieutenant. Now!'
    'Sir?'
    'You heard me! And I want those two on report!'
    'Stop them, sir? How do I do that?'
    'I suggest corks. Now move!'
    Pores scrambled.
    Oh please, please be finished before I arrive. Please ...
     
    The send-off to the Jakatakan Fleet encompassed every
Malazan ship, a cavalcade of defecation that brought seagulls
for leagues round with mad shrieks and wheeling
plunges. The Adjunct had not remained on deck for very
long, but issued no orders to halt the proceedings. Nor did
Admiral Nok, although Keneb noticed that the sailors of
the dromon escorts and the transports did not participate.
This gesture belonged exclusively to the Fourteenth Army.
    And maybe it had some value. Hard to tell with things
like this, Keneb knew.
    The wind drove them onward, east by southeast now,
and before a quarter bell was sounded, the Jakatakans were
far behind.
    Destriant Run'Thurvian had appeared earlier, and had
watched the escapades of the marines on the surrounding
ships. Frowning for some time, he eventually spotted
Keneb and approached. 'Sir,' he said, 'I am somewhat confused.
Is there no honour between elements of the Mezla
military?'
    'Honour? Not really, Destriant. Rivalries provide the
lifeblood, although in this case matters proved somewhat
one-sided, and for the reason for that you will have to look
to the Silanda.'
    A sage nod. 'Of course, the ship woven in sorceries,
where time itself is denied.'
    'Do you know the manner of those sorceries, Destriant?'
    'Kurald Emurlahn, Tellann, Telas and a residue of
Toblakai, although in this latter case the nature of the
power is ... uncertain. Of course,' he added, 'there is
nothing unusual in that. Among the ancient Toblakai –
according to our own histories – there could arise individuals,
warriors, who became something of a warren unto
themselves. Such power varies in its efficacy, and it would
appear that this sort of blood talent was waning in the last
generations of the Toblakai civilization, growing ever
weaker. In any case,' the Destriant added, shrugging, 'as I
said, a residue remains on this Silanda. Toblakai. Which is
rather