A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 3

the throne card of High
House War, and aren't they looking baleful – Fist, where's
Grub hiding these days?'
    'On Nok's ship,' Keneb replied, bewildered and strangely
frightened.
    'Well, that knocks you outa the game, though you still
get four more cards, since we've made a course correction
and the northeast headland's rising up two pegs to starboard.
In seventy heartbeats we'll be sliding closest to that
rocky coast, and Nok's ship will be even closer, and Grub
will dive overboard. He's got three friends living in the
caves in the cliff and here are their cards—' Three more
skidded out to just beyond the centre of the table. 'Crown,
Sceptre, Orb. Hmm, let's ignore those for now.'
    Keneb half-rose. 'Diving overboard?'
    'Relax, he'll be back. So, we get to the Adjunct's card.
House of War, Guardians of the Road, or the Dead – title's
uncertain so take your pick.' He threw another card and it
slid up beside it. 'Oponn. As I thought. Decisions yet to be
made. Will it be the Push or the Pull? And what's that got
to do with this one?' A skitter, ending up in the middle,
opposite both Kalam and Quick Ben – 'Herald of High
House Death. A distinctly inactive and out-of-date card in
this field, but I see a Rusty Gauntlet—'
    'A what?' demanded Kalam Mekhar.
    'Right here before me. A new drink that Bottle in his
inebriated state just invented. Rum and wine – half and
half, soldier, fill us up – you too, that's what you get for
making that face.'
    Keneb rubbed at his own face. He'd taken but a single
mouthful of the wine, but he felt drunk. Hot in here. He
started as four cards appeared in a row in front of the one
already before him.
    'Spinner of Death, Queen of Dark, Queen of Life and,
ho, the King in Chains. Like hopping stones across a
stream, isn't it? Expecting to see your wife any time soon,
Fist? Forget it. She's set you aside for an Untan noble, and
my, if it isn't Exent Hadar – I bet he kept his gaze averted
back then, probably ignored you outright, that's both guilt
and smugness, you know. Must have been the weak chin
that stole her heart – but look at you, sir, you look damned
relieved and that's a hand that tops us all and even though
you were out when it comes to winning you're back in
when it comes to losing, but in this case you win when you
lose, so relax.'
    'Well,' muttered Bottle, 'hope I nev'win one a
theez'ands.'
    'No,' Fiddler said to him, 'you got it easy. She plays and
she takes, and so—' A card clattered before the owl-eyed
soldier. 'Deathslayer. You can sleep now, Bottle, you're
done as done for the night.'
    The man's eyes promptly closed and he slid down from
his chair, the piece of furniture scraping back. Keneb heard
the man's head thump on the boards, once.
    Yes, that'd be nice. Exent Hadar. Gods, woman, really!
    'So how does Kalam get from Herald Death to Obelisk?
Let's see. Ah, King of High House Shadows! That shifty
slime bung, oh, doesn't he look smug! Despite the sweat on
his upper lip – who's gone all chilled in here? Hands up,
please.'
    Reluctantly ... Kalam, T'amber, then Apsalar all lifted
hands.
    'Well, that's ugly as ugly gets – you've got the bottles
now, Apsalar, now that Bottle's corked. This one's for you,
T'amber. Virgin of Death, as far as you go. You're out, so
relax. Kalam's cold, but he don't get another card 'cause he
don't need one and now I know who gets pushed and who
gets pulled and I'll add the name to the dirge to come. Now
for the hot bloods. Quick Ben gets the Consort in Chains
but he's from Seven Cities and he just saved his sister's life
so it's not as bad as it could've been. Anyway, that's it for
you. And so, who does that leave?'
    Silence for a moment. Keneb managed to lift his leaden
head, frowning confusedly at the scatter of cards all over
the table.
    'That would be me and you, Sergeant,' the Adjunct said
in a low voice.
    'You cold?' Fiddler asked her, drinking down yet another
cup of Rusty Gauntlet.
    'No.'
    'Hot?'
    'No.'
    Fiddler nodded, slamming his empty cup down for
Apsalar to refill with wine and rum. 'Aye,' He floated a card
down the length of the table. It landed atop the first card.
'Master of the Deck. Ganoes Paran, Adjunct. Your brother.
Even cold iron, Tavore Paran, needs tempering.' He lifted
up another card and set it down before him. 'Priest of Life,
hah, now that's a good one. Game's done.'
    'Who wins?' the Adjunct, her face pale as candlewax,
asked in a whisper.
    'Nobody,' Fiddler replied. 'That's Life for you.' He
suddenly