A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 4

brain to play
Bale's, Errant be praised. So these foreigners were worse
than lumps of moss renting a rock, as his dear wife used to
say whenever he sat down for a rest.
    Contemplating life, my love. Contemplate this fist, dear
husband. Wasn't she something, wasn't she just something.
Been so quiet since that spigot punched her teeth down her
throat.
    'All right, Ballant,' Skorgen Kaban said in a sudden gust
of beery breath, leaning over the table. 'You come and sit
wi' us every damned night. And just sit. Saying nothing.
You're the most tight-lipped tavernkeep I've ever known.'
    'Leave the man alone,' the captain said. 'He's mourning.
Grief don't need words for company. In fact, words is the
last thing grief needs, so wipe your dripping nose, Pretty,
and shut the toothy hole under it.'
    The first mate ducked. 'Hey, I never knew nothing about
grief, Captain.' He used the back of one cuff to blot at the
weeping holes where his nose used to be, then said to
Ballant, 'You just sit here, Keeper, and go on saying nothing
to no-one for as long as you like.'
    Ballant struggled to pull his adoring gaze from the
captain, long enough to nod and smile at Skorgen Kaban,
then looked back again to Shurq Elalle.
    The diamond set in her forehead glittered in the yellowy
lantern light like a knuckle sun, the jewel in her frown –
oh, he'd have to remember that one – but she was frowning,
and that was never good. Not for a woman.
    'Pretty,' she now said in a low voice, 'you remember a
couple of them Crimson Guard – in the squad? There was
that dark-skinned one – sort of a more earthy colour than
an Edur. And the other one, with that faint blue skin, some
island mix, he said.'
    'What about them, Captain?'
    'Well.' She nodded towards the foreigners at the games
table on the other side of the room. 'Them. Something
reminds me of those two in Iron Bars's squad. Not just skin,
but their gestures, the way they move – even some of the
words I've overheard in that language they're speaking. Just
. . . odd echoes.' She then fixed her dark but luminous gaze
on Ballant. 'What do you know about them, Keeper?'
    'Captain,' Skorgen objected, 'he's in mourning—'
    'Be quiet, Pretty. Me and Ballant are having an inconsequential
conversation.'
    Yes, most inconsequential, even if that diamond blinded
him, and that wonderful spicy aroma that was her breath
made his head swim as if it was the finest liqueur. Blinking,
he licked his lips – tasting sweat – then said, 'They have
lots of private meetings with Brullyg Shake. Then they
come down here and waste time.'
    Even her answering grunt was lovely.
    Skorgen snorted – wetly – then reached out with his one
good hand and wiped clean the tabletop. 'Can you believe
that, Captain? Brullyg an old friend of yours and you can't
e'en get in to see him while a bunch of cheap foreigners can
natter in his ear all day an' every day!' He half rose. 'I'm
thinking a word with these here—'
    'Sit down, Pretty. Something tells me you don't want to
mess with that crowd. Unless you're of a mind to lose
another part of your body.' Her frown deepened, almost
swallowing that diamond. 'Ballant, you said they waste
time, right? Now, that's the real curious part about all this.
People like them don't waste time. No. They're waiting.
For something or someone. And those meetings with the
Shake – that sounds like negotiating, the kind of negotiating
that Brullyg can't walk away from.'
    'That don't sound good, Captain,' Skorgen muttered. 'In
fact, it makes me nervous. Never mind avalanches of ice –
Brullyg didn't run when that was coming down—'
    Shurq Elalle thumped the table. 'That's it! Thank you,
Pretty. It was something one of those women said. Brevity
or Pithy – one of them. That ice was beaten back, all right,
but not thanks to the handful of mages working for the
Shake. No – those foreigners are the ones who saved this
damned island. And that's why Brullyg can't bar his door
against them. It isn't negotiation, because they're the ones
doing all the talking.' She slowly leaned back. 'No wonder
the Shake won't see me – Errant take us, I'd be surprised if
he was still alive—'
    'No, he's alive,' Ballant said. 'At least, people have seen
him. Besides, he has a liking for Fent ale and orders a cask
from me once every three days without fail, and that hasn't
changed. Why, just yesterday—'
    The captain leaned forward again. 'Ballant. Next time
you're told to deliver one, let me and Pretty here do