A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 3

lowered the instrument. 'What?'
    'You cannot end with such anger, Fid. Please.'
    Anger? I am sorry. He would have spoken that aloud, but
suddenly he could not. His gaze lowered, and he found himself
studying the littered floor at his feet. Someone, in
passing – perhaps Fiddler himself – had inadvertently
stepped on a cockroach. Half-crushed, smeared into the
warped wood, its legs kicked feebly. He stared at it in
fascination.
    Dear creature, do you now curse an indifferent god?
    'You're right,' he said. 'I can't end it there.' He raised the
fiddle again. 'Here's a different song for you, one of the few
I've actually learned. From Kartool. It's called "The Paralt's
Dance".' He rested the bow on the strings, then began.
    Wild, frantic, amusing. Its final notes recounted the
triumphant female eating her lover. And even without
words, the details of that closing flourish could not be
mistaken.
    The four men laughed.
    Then fell silent once more.
     
    It could have been worse, Bottle reflected as he hurried
along the dark alley. Agayla could have reached in to the
left instead of to the right, there under his shirt, pulling out
not a doll but a live rat – who would probably have bitten
her, since that was what it seemed Y'Ghatan liked to do
most. Would their subsequent conversation have taken
another track? he wondered. Probably.
    The alleys of the Mouse twisted and turned, narrow and
choking and unlit, and stumbling over a body in the gloom
was not nearly as uncommon as one would like ... but not
five bodies. Heart pounding, Bottle halted in his tracks. The
stench of death engulfed him. Bile and blood.
    Five corpses, all clothed in black, hooded, they appeared
to have been cut to pieces. Perhaps only moments earlier.
    He heard screams erupt from a street nearby, cries filled
with terror. Gods, what's out there? He contemplated releasing
Y'Ghatan, then decided against it – he would need the
rat's eyes later, he was certain of it, and risking the creature
now invited potential disaster. Besides, I'm not far from my
destination. I think. I hope.
    He picked his way gingerly past the bodies, approached
the alley mouth beyond.
    Whatever had elicited the shrieks had gone another way,
although Bottle saw a few running figures flash past, heading
towards the docks. Reaching the street he turned right
and set off in the same direction.
    Until he came opposite the entrance to a tavern. Saddlebacked
stairs, leading down. The prickle of sweat stole over
his body. In here. Thank you, Agayla.
    Bottle made his way down the steps, pushed through the
doorway, and entered Coop's Hanged Man Inn.
    The cramped, low-ceilinged den was crowded, yet
strangely quiet. Pale faces turned in his direction, hard eyes
fixing on him as he paused just inside the threshold, looking
round.
    Damned veterans. Well, at least you're not all out there, trying
to kill marines.
    Bottle made his way to the bar. Beneath the folds of his
cloak he felt the doll move slightly, a limb twitching – the
right arm – and then he saw a figure before him, facing in
the other direction. Broad back and shoulders, lifting a
tankard with his right hand as he leaned on the counter.
The ragged sleeve on that arm slipped down, revealing a
skein of scars.
    Bottle reached the man. Tapped him on the shoulder.
    A slow turn, eyes dark as cold forges.
    'You're the one called Foreigner?'
    The man frowned. 'Not many call me that, and you're
not one of them.'
    'I have a message to deliver,' Bottle said.
    'From who?'
    'I can't say. Not here, anyway.'
    'What's the message?'
    'Your long wait is at an end.'
    The faintest gleam in those eyes, as of embers fanned to
life once more. 'Is that it?'
    Bottle nodded. 'If there's things you need to gather up, I
can wait here for you. But not for long. We need to move,
fast.'
    Foreigner turned his head, called out to a huge figure
behind the bar who had just driven a spigot into a cask.
    'Temper!'
    The older man looked over.
    'Keep an eye on this one,' Foreigner said, 'until I'm back.'
    'You want me to tie him up? Knock him senseless?'
    'No, just make sure he stays breathing.'
    'He's safe enough in here,' Temper replied, stepping
closer, his eyes on Bottle. 'We know the Fourteenth did
well, soldier. That's why we're all in here and not out
there.'
    Foreigner's regard seemed to undergo some subtle alteration
as he looked upon Bottle once more. 'Ah,' he said
under his breath, 'now it's making more sense. Wait, I won't
be long.'
    Bottle watched the