A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 4

the compound, intent,
it seemed, on some loose stitching or tear in one of her
leather gauntlets.
    Making his way along one side of the mob getting lost
in clouds of white dust, Murillio approached the instructor.
She noted him briefly then returned her attention to the
gauntlet.
    'Excuse me,' Murillio said as he arrived. 'Are you the
duelling mistress?'
    'I am.' She nodded without looking at the students,
where a couple of fights had started for real. 'How am I
doing so far?'
    Murillio glanced over and studied the fracas for a
moment. 'That depends,' he said.
    She grunted. 'Good answer. What can I do for you?
Do you have some grandson or daughter you want
thrown in there? Your clothes were expensive . . . once.
As it looks, I doubt you can afford this school, unless
of course you're one of those stinking rich who make
a point of dressing all threadbare. Old money and all
that.'
    'Quite a sales pitch,' Murillio observed. 'Does it actually
work?'
    'Classes are full. There's a waiting list.'
    'I was wondering if you need help. With basic instruction.'
    'What school trained you then?'
    'Carpala.'
    She snorted. 'He took one student every three years.'
    'Yes.'
    And now she looked at him with an intensity he'd not
seen before. 'Last I heard, there were seven students of his
left in the city.'
    'Five, actually. Fedel tumbled down a flight of stairs and
broke his neck. He was drunk. Santbala—'
    'Was stabbed through the heart by Gorlas Vidikas – the
brat's first serious victory.'
    Murillio grimaced. 'Not much of a duel. Santbala had
gone mostly blind but was too proud to admit it. A cut on
the wrist would have given Gorlas his triumph.'
    'The young ones prefer killing to wounding.'
    'It's what duelling has come to, yes. Fortunately, most
of your students here are more likely to stab themselves
than any opponent they might one day face, and such
wounds are rarely fatal.'
    'Your name?'
    'Murillio.'
    She nodded as if she'd already guessed. 'And you're here
because you want to teach. If you'd taken up teaching when
Carpala was still alive—'
    'He would have hunted me down and killed me, yes. He
despised schools. In fact, he despised duelling. He once said
teaching the rapier was like putting a poisonous snake into
a child's hand. He drew no pleasure from instruction and
was not at all surprised when very nearly every one of his
prize students either got themselves killed or wasted away
as drunkards or worse.'
    'You did neither.'
    'No, that's true. I chased women.'
    'Only now they're too fast for you?'
    'Something like that.'
    'I am Stonny Menackis. This school exists to make me
rich, and yes, it's working. Tell me, will you be sharing your
old master's hatred of teaching?'
    'Not as vehemently, I imagine. I don't expect to take any
pleasure in it, but I will do what's needed.'
    'Footwork.'
    He nodded. 'Footwork. The art of running away. And
forms, the defensive cage, since that will keep them alive.
    Stop-hits to the wrist, knee, foot.'
    'Non-lethal.'
    'Yes.'
    She sighed and straightened. 'All right. Assuming I can
afford you.'
    'I'm sure you can.'
    She shot him a quizzical glance, and then added, 'Don't
think about chasing me, by the way.'
    'I am finished with all that, or, rather, it's finished with
me.'
    'Good—'
    At this moment they both noticed that a woman had
come up to them.
    Stonny's voice was suddenly . . . different, as she said,
'Myrla. What are you doing here?'
    'I've been looking for Gruntle—'
    'That fool went off with the Trygalle – I warned him and
now he's going to get himself killed for no good reason!'
    'Oh. It's Harllo, you see . . .'
    'What about him?'
    The woman was flinching at everything Stonny said and
Murillio suspected he would have done the same in the
face of such a tone. 'He's gone missing.'
    'What? For how long?'
    'Snell said he saw him, two days back. Down at the
docks. He's never not come home at day's end – he's only
five—'
    'Two days!'
    Murillio saw that Stonny's face had gone white as death
and a sudden terror was growing in her eyes. 'Two days!'
    'Snell says—'
    'You stupid woman – Snell is a liar! A damned thief!'
    Myrla stepped back under the onslaught. 'He gave us the
coin you brought—'
    'After I nearly had to strangle him, yes! What's Snell
done to Harllo ? What's he done?'
    Myrla was weeping now, wringing her chapped hands.
'Said he done nothing, Stonny—'
    'A moment,' cut in Murillio, physically stepping between
the two women as he saw Stonny about to move