A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 3

have to
get to Mock's Hold. I have to see the Imperial High
Mage—'
    'That snake! I knew it, a conspiracy! Well, I'll deal with
him later. One mass-murderer at a time, I always say.'
    'This is madness, Sergeant! Let go of me – I can
explain—'
    'Save your explanations. I got some questions for you
first and you'd better answer them!'
    'With what?' he sneered. 'Explanations?'
    'No. Answers. There's a difference—'
    'Really? How? What difference?'
    'Explanations are what people use when they need to lie.
Y'can always tell those, 'cause those explanations don't
explain nothing and then they look at you like they just
cleared things up when really they did the opposite and
they know it and you know it and they know you know
and you know they know that you know and they know
you and you know them and maybe you go out for a pitcher
later but who picks up the tab? That's what I want to know.'
    'Right, and answers?'
    'Answers is what I get when I ask questions. Answers is
when you got no choice. I ask, you tell. I ask again, you tell
some more. Then I break your fingers, 'cause I don't like
what you're telling me, because those answers don't explain
nothing!'
    'Ah! So you really want explanations!'
    'Not till you give me the answers!'
    'So what are your questions?'
    'Who said I got questions? I already know what your
answers are, anyway. No point in questions, really.'
    'And there's no need to break my fingers, Sergeant, I give
up already.'
    'Nice try. I don't believe you.'
    'Gods below—'
    Hellian dragged him back. Halting, looking about. The
sergeant scowled. 'Where are we?'
    'That depends. Where were you taking me?'
    'Back to the ships.'
    'You idiot – we went the wrong way – all you had to do
was turn around back there, when you first caught me—'
    'Well I didn't, did I? What's that?' She pointed.
    Banaschar frowned at the brooding, unlit structure
just beyond the low wall they had been walking along.
Then he cursed under his breath and said, 'That's the
Deadhouse.'
    'What, some kind of bar?'
    'No, and don't even think of dragging me in there.'
    'I'm thirsty.'
    'I have an idea, then, Sergeant. We can go to Coop's—'
    'How far is that?'
    'Straight ahead—'
    'Forget it. It's a trap.' She tugged him right and they
made their way along the front of the Deadhouse, then
through a short alley with uneven walls, where Hellian
guided her prisoner left once more. Then she halted and
pointed across the way. 'What place is that one?'
    'That's Smiley's. You don't want to go in there, it's where
rats go to die—'
    'Perfect. You're buying me a drink. Then we're heading
back to the ships.'
    Banaschar ran a hand across his scalp. 'As you like. They
say the ale brewed in there uses water run off from the
Deadhouse – and then there's the proprietor—'
    'What about him?'
    'Related, it's rumoured, to the old dead Emperor himself
– that place used to be Kellanved's, you know.'
    'The Emperor owned a tavern?'
    'He did, partnered with Dancer. And there was a serving
wench, named Surly—'
    She shook him. 'Just because I asked questions don't
mean I wanted answers, especially not those kinda answers,
so be quiet!'
    'Sorry.'
    'One drink, then we go back to the ships and take a
swim—'
    'A what?'
    'Easy. Ain't no drowned spiders in this bay.'
    'No, just blood-sucking eels! Like the one dangling from
behind your ear. It's already sucked all the blood from half
of your face. Tell me, is your scalp getting numb on one
side?'
    She glared at him. 'I never gave you no permission to ask
questions. That's my task. Remember that.' Then she shook
her head. Something long and bloated bumped against her
neck. Hellian reached up and grasped the eel. She yanked
it off. 'Ow!' Glared at the writhing creature in her hand,
then dropped it and crushed it under a heel. Black goo
spattered out to the sides. 'See that, Banaschar? Give me
trouble and you get the same treatment.'
    'If I hang from your ear? Really, Sergeant, this is
ridiculous—'
    They turned at murmuring sounds from the street behind
them. Thirty or forty locals came into view, heading for
Front Street. Some of them were now carrying bows, and
canisters of burning pitch swinging from straps. 'What are
they about?' Hellian asked.
    'They think the fleet's rotten with plague,' the ex-priest
said. 'I expect they mean to set a few transports on fire.'
    'Plague? There ain't no plague—'
    'I know that and you know that. Now, there's another
problem,' he added as the mob saw them and a