A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 4

light.
    Two such horrors drew closer. One was enormous,
broad-shouldered and oddly short-legged, his hair shaggy as
a yak's. He was smiling – or, that is, his teeth gleamed and
perhaps it was indeed a smile, perhaps not. His companion
was almost as tall, but much thinner, almost skeletal. Bald,
the high dome of his forehead bore a tattooed scene of
some sort within an elaborate oval frame of threaded gold
stitched through the skin. His teeth, also visible, were all
capped in silver-tipped gold, like a row of fangs. He wore a
cloak of threadbare linen so long it dragged behind him,
while his looming companion was dressed like a court
jester – bright greens, oranges and reds and yellows – and
these were just the colours of his undersized vest. He wore
a billowy blouse of sky-blue silk beneath the vest, the cuffs
of the sleeves stiff and reaching halfway between wrist and
elbow. A shimmering black kerchief encircled his ox-like
neck. He wore vermilion pantaloons drawn tight just beneath
the knees, and calf-high snug moccasins.
    'I think,' muttered Scorch, 'I'm going to be sick.'
    'Stop there!' Leff barked. 'State your business if you have
any – but know this, the Mistress is seeing no one.'
    'Excellent!' said the huge one in a thunderous voice.
'There will be no delay then in her granting us audience.
If you please, O orange-eyed one, do inform the Mistress
that Lazan Door and Madrun have finally arrived, at her
service.'
    Leff sneered, but he was wishing that Torvald Nom
hadn't gone off for supper or a roll with his wife or whatever,
so he could pass all this on to him and not have to worry
about it any more. Standing here at the gate, yes, that was
within his abilities. 'Train your weapon on 'em, Scorch,' he
said. 'I'll go find the castellan.'
    Scorch shot him a look of raw terror. 'There's two, Leff,
but only one quarrel! Leave me yours.'
    'Fine, but I'd like to see you get two off with them only
ten paces away. If they rushed you, why, you'd be lucky to
get just one off.'
    'Still, it'll make me feel better.'
    'Now now, gentlemen,' the big one said, all too smoothly,
'there's no need for concern. I assure you, we are expected.
Is this not the estate of Lady Varada? I do believe it is.'
    'Varada?' hissed Scorch to Leff. 'Is that her name?'
    'Shut it,' Leff snapped under his breath. 'You're making
us look like idiots!' He carefully set his crossbow down and
drew out the gate key. 'Nobody move unless it's to go away
– not you, Scorch! Stay right there. I'll be right back.'
    After Leff slipped out of sight, closing and locking the
gate behind him, Scorch faced the two strangers once
more. He managed a smile. 'Nice get-up, that,' he said to
the jester. 'You a court clown or something? Sing us a song.
How 'bout a riddle? I ain't any good at riddles but I like
hearing 'em and the way when I do my thinking, trying to
figure 'em out, my whole brain just goes white, sorta. Can
you juggle? I like juggling, tried it once, got up to two at a
time – that took weeks, let me tell you. Weeks. Juggling
demands discipline all right, and maybe it looks easier to
other people, but you and I know, well, just how talented
you have to be to do it. Do you dance, too, or stand on your
head—'
    'Sir,' the giant cut in, 'I am not a jester. Nor a juggler. Nor
a riddler, nor singer, nor dancer.'
    'Oh. Colour-blind?'
    'Excuse me?'
    'The guard,' said the other man, the thin one, in a voice
even thinner, 'has misconstrued your attire, Madrun. Local
fashion is characteristically mundane, unimaginative. Did
you not so observe earlier?'
    'So I did. Of course. A clash of cultures—'
    'Just so!' cried Scorch. 'Your clothes, yes, a clash of
cultures all right – good way of describing it. You a
puppetmaster, maybe? I like puppet shows, the way they
look so lifelike, even the ones with wrinkled apples for
heads—'
    'Not a puppeteer, alas,' cut in Madrun with a heavy
sigh.
    The gate creaked open behind Scorch and he turned
to see Leff and Studlock step through. The castellan
floated past and hovered directly in front of the two
strangers.
    'Well, you two took your time!'
    Madrun snorted. 'You try digging your way out of a
collapsed mountain, Studious. Damned earthquake came
from nowhere—'
    'Not quite,' said Studlock. 'A certain hammer was involved.
I admit, in the immediate aftermath I concluded
that never again would I see your miser— your memorable
faces. Imagine my surprise when I heard from a caravan
merchant that—'
    'Such