A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 4

Island, where he wanted to give something back,
something he once stole. But we never made it. Ambushed
by T'lan Imass. They were going after him and the rest of
us just got in the way. Me, Cutter, Greyfrog. Well, they also
stole Felisin Younger – that seemed to be part of the plan,
too.'
    'Felisin Younger.'
    'That's the name Sha'ik gave her.'
    'Do you know why?'
    She shook her head. 'I liked her, though.'
    'Sha'ik?'
    'Felisin Younger. I was training her to be just like me, so
it's no wonder I liked her.' And she gave him a wide smile.
    Duiker answered with a faint one of his own – hard
indeed to be miserable around this woman. Better if he
avoided her company in the future. 'Why the Phoenix Inn,
Scillara?'
    'As I said earlier, I want to embarrass someone. Cutter, in
fact. I had to listen to him for months and months, about
how wonderful Darujhistan is, and how he would show me
this and that. Then as soon as we arrive he ducks away,
wanting nothing to do with us. Back to his old friends, I
suppose.'
    She was being offhand, but Duiker sensed the underlying
hurt. Perhaps she and Cutter had been more than just
companions. 'Instead,' he said, 'you found us Malazans.'
    'Oh, we could have done much worse.'
    'Barathol had kin,' said Duiker. 'In the Bridgeburners.
An assassin. Seeing your friend was like seeing a ghost. For
Picker, Antsy . . . Blend. Bluepearl. The old marines.'
    'One of those familiar faces belonging to someone you
don't know.'
    He smiled again. 'Yes.' Oh, yes, Scillara, you are clever
indeed.
    'And before you know it, some old marine healer is out
doing whatever he can to help Barathol Mekhar. Only
there's this history – the stuff that doesn't matter – with
our blacksmith friend. Having to do with Aren and the—'
    'Red Blades, aye.'
    She shot him a look. 'You knew?'
    'We all know. The poor bastard. Getting such a raw deal
in his own homeland. Things like that, well, we can sympathize
with, because we have our histories. The kind that
can't be ignored because they've put us right where we are,
right here, a continent away from our home.'
    'Progress?'
    'That remains to be seen. And here we are. Phoenix
Inn.'
    She stood studying the decrepit sign for a long moment.
'That's it? It's a dump.'
    'If the story is accurate, Kalam Mekhar himself went in
there once or twice. So did Sorry, who later took the name
of Apsalar, and that was where young Crokus met her
– who is now known as Cutter, right? Putting it all together
isn't easy. Mallet was there for most of that. In there,' he
added, 'you might even find a man named Kruppe.'
    She snorted. 'Cutter talked about him. Some oily fence
and ex-thief.'
    'Ambassador at large during the Pannion War. The man
who stood down Caladan Brood. Single-handedly confounding
most of the great leaders on the continent.'
    Her eyes had widened slightly. 'Really? All that? Cutter
never mentioned any of that.'
    'He wouldn't have known, Scillara. He went off with
Fiddler, Kalam and Apsalar.'
    'That's a tale I'm slowly putting together myself,' she said.
'Apsalar. The woman Cutter loves.'
    Ah.
    'Let's go, then.'
    And they set out across the street.
    'The kid's been snatched, is my guess,' Murillio concluded,
settling back in his chair. 'I know, Kruppe, it's one of those
things that just happens. Tanners grab children, trader
ships, fishing crews, pimps and temples, they all do given
the chance. So I know, there may not be much hope—'
    'Nonsense, Murillio loyal friend of Kruppe. In appealing
to this round self you have displayed utmost wisdom.
Moreover, Kruppe applauds this new profession of yours.
Instructor yes, in all fine points of fine pointiness – the
art of duelling is writ bold in blood, yes? Bold too is this
Stonny Menackis, old partner to none other than Gruntle
of the Barbs, and was there not a third? A long-armed man
who did not return from Capustan? And was his name not
Harllo? Kruppe must plumb deeper depths of memory to be
certain of such details, yet his instinct cries out true! And
how can such a voice be denied?'
    Cutter rubbed at the bristle on his chin. 'I could head
back down to the ship I came in on, Murillio. Talk to the
dock waifs and the old women under the piers.'
    'I'd appreciate that, Cutter.'
    'Kruppe suspects a whispery warming of heart in dear
Murillio for his new employer – ah, does Kruppe flinch at
vehement expostulation? Does he wince at savage denial?
Why, the answer is no to both!'
    'Leave off that, Kruppe,' Murillio said. 'The lad's her