A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 4

him back to Chuffs at shift's end. And
that was where he ought now to be, hurriedly devouring
his bowl of watery soup and husk of black bread, before
stumbling off to his cot. Instead, he was climbing down
this wall, without light to ensure that he would not be discovered
by those working above.
    Not a cavern after all. Instead, a pocked, sheer cliff-face
– and those gaping holes were all oddly regular, rectangular,
although not until Harllo reached this balcony ledge did
he comprehend that he was climbing down the face of
some buried building. He wanted to slip into one of these
windows and explore, but he had promised to deliver splints to the Bone Miner below, and that was what he would do.
    Careful questioning had led him to a definition of
'splints', but he could not find sticks suitable for the purpose
of fixing the Miner's shattered legs. Either too feeble
and small, or not straight enough; and besides, all the wood
brought to the camp was too well guarded. Instead, he had
gone to the tailings heaps, where all manner of garbage
was thrown. Eyed suspiciously by the old women who'd
sold children and grandchildren to the mine yet found
they could not sever their ties – thus dooming themselves
to this fringe-world at camp's edge – Harllo had picked
through the rubbish.
    Often, and especially from the run-off tunnels pumped
through layers of sandstone, miners would find piles of
bones from long-dead creatures. Bones heavy and solid and
almost impossible to break. Skulls and the like were sold to
collectors – scholars with squinty eyes and too much coin
and time for their own good. The pieces already fractured
off, broken up and forming a kind of gravel, went to the
herbalists for their gardens and the mock-healers for potions
and pastes – or so Bainisk called them, mock-healers , with
a sneer – ground-up bone's good only for constipation! This
left the oversized long bones – which for some reason were
believed to be cursed.
    Out on the heaps he found two that seemed to have
been from the same kind of beast. After some examination
and comparison, he confirmed that he had a right one
and a left one. They were heavy, thick and ridged, and he
hoped they would do.
    Between shifts at the main tunnel there was a half-bell
when no one was under rock, and Harllo, sweating beneath
the weight of the bones, hurriedly carried them in; then,
finding an abandoned side-passage, he stashed them along
with some lengths of rope and leather laces. That had been
before his shift, and now here he was, trying to do what he
had promised.
    Those long leg bones were strapped to his back. His neck
and shoulders were raw from the ropes and more than once
he had thought the swinging of the heavy bones would
tug him away from the wall, but he had held on, this far
at least.
    And now, lying on this balcony ledge, Harllo rested.
    If someone went looking for him and didn't find him, an
alarm would be raised. Always two possibilities when someone
went missing. Flight, or lost in the tunnels. Searches
would set out in both directions, and some old woman
would say how she saw him at the heaps, collecting bones
and who knew what else. Then someone else would recall
seeing Harllo carrying something back to the main tunnel
mouth in between shifts – and Venaz would say that Harllo
was clearly up to something, since he never came back for
his meal. Something against the rules! Which would put
Bainisk in a bad situation, since Bainisk had favoured him
more than once. Oh, this was all a mistake!
    Groaning, he slipped over the edge, cautious with his
handholds, and resumed his journey down.
    And, not two man-heights down from the balcony, his
groping feet found another ledge, followed immediately by
another – a staircase, angling steeply down the wall. One
hand maintaining contact with the seamless stone, Harllo
worked his way down, step by step.
    He did not recall noticing any of this his first time down
here. Of course, the candle light had been feeble – which
made easier catching the glitter of gold and the like – and
he had gone straight back to the rope. And hadn't his
mind been awhirl? A talking Imass! Down here for maybe
hundreds of years – with no one to talk to and nothing to
look at, oh, how miserable that must have been.
    So. He should not be resenting doing all this for the
Bone Miner. A few switches to the back wasn't much to
pay for this mercy.
    He reached the floor and paused. So dark! 'Hello? It's
me! Dev'ad Anan Tol,