A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 4

'Here's your fat root.
Give me that vial, then go away.'
    'I so look forward to next time—'
    'Tehol Beddict, do you know what fat root is used for?'
    Her eyes had sharpened with suspicion, and Tehol
realized that, were she indeed to dry out, she might be
rather handsome after all, in a vaguely amphibian way. 'No,
why?'
    'Are you required to partake of it in some bizarre
fashion?'
    He shook his head.
    'Are you certain? No unusual tea smelling yellow?'
    'Smelling yellow? What does that mean?'
    'If you smelled it, you'd know. Clearly, you haven't.
Good. Get out, I'm puckering.'
    A hasty departure, then, from the Half-Axe. Onward, to
the entrance to Grool's Immeasurable Pots. Presumably,
that description was intended to emphasize unmatched
quality or something similar, since the pots themselves
were sold as clocks, and for alchemical experiments and the
like, and such functions were dependent on accurate rates
of flow.
    He stepped inside the cramped, damp shop.
    'You're always frowning when you come in here, Tehol
Beddict.'
    'Good morning, Laudable Grool.'
    'The grey one, yes, that one there.'
    'A fine-looking pot—'
    'It's a beaker, not a pot.'
    'Of course.'
    'Usual price.'
    'Why do you always hide behind all those pots, Laudable
Grool? All I ever see of you is your hands.'
    'My hands are the only important part of me.'
    'All right.' Tehol drew out a recently removed dorsal fin.
'A succession of spines, these ones from a capabara.
Gradating diameters—'
    'How do you know that?'
    'Well, you can see it – they get smaller as they go back.'
    'Yes, but how precise?'
    'That's for you to decide. You demand objects with
which to make holes. Here you have . . . what . . . twelve.
How can you not be pleased by that?'
    'Who said I wasn't pleased? Put them on the counter.
Take the beaker. And get that damned fat root out of here.'
    From there it was across to the small animals shop and
Beastmonger Shill, an oversized woman endlessly bustling
up and down the rows of tiny stacked cages, on her
flattened heels a piping, scurrying swarm of little creatures.
She squealed her usual delight at the gifts of beaker and fat
root, the latter of which, it turned out, was most commonly
used by malicious wives to effect the shrinkage of their
husbands' testicles; whilst Shill had, with some delicate
modifications, applied the root's diminutive properties to
her broods, feeding the yellow-smelling tea out in precise
increments using the holed beaker.
    The meeting soured when Tehol slapped at a mosquito
on his neck, only to be informed he had just killed a pygmy
blood-sucking bat. His reply that the distinction was lost
on him was not well received. But Shill opened the trapdoor
on the floor at the back of the shop nevertheless, and
Tehol descended the twenty-six narrow, steep stone steps to
the crooked corridor – twenty-one paces long – that led
to the ancient, empty beehive tomb, the walls of which had
been dismantled in three places to fashion rough doorways
into snaking, low-ceilinged tunnels, two of which ended in
fatal traps. The third passageway eventually opened out
into a long chamber occupied by a dozen or so dishevelled
refugees, most of whom seemed to be asleep.
    Fortunately, Chief Investigator Rucket was not among
the somnolent. Her brows rose when she saw him, her
admirable face filling with an expression of unfeigned relief
as she gestured him to her table. The surface was covered in
parchment sheets depicting various floor plans and
structural diagrams.
    'Sit, Tehol Beddict! Here, some wine! Drink. By the
Errant, a new face! You have no idea how sick I am of my
interminable companions in this hovel.'
    'Clearly,' he replied, sitting, 'you need to get out more.'
    'Alas, most of my investigations these days are archival
in nature.'
    'Ah, the Grand Mystery you've uncovered. Any closer to
a solution?'
    'Grand Mystery? More like Damned Mystery, and no, I
remain baffled, even as my map grows with every day that
passes. But let's not talk any more about that. My agents
report that the cracks in the foundation are inexorably
spreading – well done, Tehol. I always figured you were
smarter than you looked.'
    'Why thank you, Rucket. Have you got those lacquered
tiles I asked for?'
    'Onyx finished the last one this morning. Sixteen in all,
correct?'
    'Perfect. Bevelled edges?'
    'Of course. All of your instructions were adhered to with
diligence.'
    'Great. Now, about that inexorable spreading—'
    'You wish us to retire to my private