A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 4

When he tore it loose, the thong cut
like wire across the back of her neck and behind one ear.
She could feel blood. She thought that her ear had very
nearly been cut loose, that it hung by a strand of—
    He flung her back down. Her head cracked against the
stone of the wall. She slumped onto the floor, ragged sobbing
erupting from her heaving chest.
    And listened – beyond the close roar of blood in her
skull – to his dwindling footsteps.
    He had taken the severed finger.
    He goes to find the soul of Brys Beddict.
    Tehol staggered into the single room, collapsed down near
the hearth. Sheathed in sweat, gasping to gain his breath.
    Bugg, seated with his back to a wall and sipping tea,
slowly raised his brows. 'Afflicted with the delusion of
competence, I see.'
    'That – that's what you said – to Ublala? You cruel,
heartless—'
    'The observation was made regarding all mortals,
actually.'
    'He didn't take it that way!'
    Janath spoke from where she sat sipping from her own
chipped clay cup. 'All those alarms ringing through the city
are because of you, Tehol Beddict?'
    'They will be on the lookout now,' Bugg observed, 'for a
man wearing a blanket.'
    'Well,' Tehol retorted, 'there must be plenty of those,
right?'
    There was no immediate reply.
    'There must be,' Tehol insisted, a little wildly even to his
own ears. He hastened on in a more reasonable tone. 'The
ever growing divide between the rich and the poor and all
that. Why, blankets are the new fashion among the
destitute. I'm sure of it.'
    Neither listener said anything, then both sipped from
their cups.
    Scowling, Tehol said, 'What's that you're drinking?'
    'Hen tea,' Bugg said.
    'Soup, you mean.'
    'No,' said Janath. 'Tea.'
    'Wait, where are all the chickens?'
    'On the roof,' Bugg said.
    'Won't they fall off?'
    'One or two might. We do regular rounds. So far, they
have displayed uncharacteristic cleverness. Rather unique
for this household.'
    'Oh right, kick the exhausted fugitive why don't you?
They probably caught poor old Ublala.'
    'Maybe. He did have a diversion in mind.'
    Tehol's eyes narrowed on his manservant. 'Those wisps
above your ears need trimming. Janath, find me a knife,
will you?'
    'No.'
    'You would side with him, wouldn't you?'
    'Bugg is actually a very capable man, Tehol. You don't
deserve him, you know.'
    'I assure you, Scholar, the undeservedness is mutual.'
    'What does that mean?'
    'You know, from the smell I think I could make a strong
argument that hen tea is no different from watery chicken
soup, or, at the very least, broth.'
    'You never could grasp semantics, Tehol Beddict.'
    'I couldn't grasp much of anything, I seem to recall.
Yet I will defend my diligence, my single-minded
lust for seductive knowledge, the purity of true
academic . . . uh, pursuit – why, I could go on and
on—'
    'Ever your flaw, Tehol.'
    '—but I won't, cursed as I am with an unappreciative
audience. So tell me, Bugg, why was Ublala so eager to talk
to this true blood Tarthenal?'
    'He wishes to discover, I imagine, if the warrior is a god.'
    'A what?'
    'A new god, I mean. Or an ascendant, to be more precise.
I doubt there are worshippers involved. Yet.'
    'Well, Tarthenal only worship what terrifies them, right?
This is just some warrior doomed to die by the Emperor's
sword. Hardly the subject to inspire poor Ublala Pung.'
    To that Bugg simply shrugged.
    Tehol wiped sweat from his brow. 'Give me some of that
hen tea, will you?'
    'With or without?'
    'With or without what?'
    'Feathers.'
    'That depends. Are they clean feathers?'
    'They are now,' Bugg replied.
    'All right, then, since I can't think of anything more
absurd. With.'
    Bugg reached for a clay cup. 'I knew I could count on
you, Master.'
    She woke to a metallic clang out in the corridor.
    Sitting up, Samar Dev stared into the darkness of her
room.
    She thought she could hear breathing, just outside her
door, then, distinctly, a muted whimper.
    She rose, wrapping the blanket about her, and padded to
the doorway. Lifted the latch and swung the flimsy barrier
aside.
    'Karsa?'
    The huge figure spun to face her.
    'No,' she then said. 'Not Karsa. Who are you?'
    'Where is he?'
    'Who?'
    'The one like me. Which room?'
    Samar Dev edged out into the corridor. She looked to
the left and saw the motionless forms of the two palace
guards normally stationed to either side of the corridor's
entranceway. Their helmed heads were conspicuously close
together, and those iron pots were both severely dented.
'You killed