A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 4

streaked with honey – and so many things
crowding these ample but nimble hands but see how one
thing after another simply vanishes into inviting mouth
and appreciative palate as befitting all culinary arts when
the subtle merging of flavours yielded exquisite masterpiece
– butter, honey, and – oh! – jam, and pastry and cheese and
fruit and smoked eel – agh! Voluminous sleeve betrays self!
Wine to wash away disreputable (and most cruel) taste.
    Hands temporarily free once more, to permit examination
of new shirt, array of scented candles, knotted strings
of silk, handsome breeches and gilt-threaded sandals soft as
any one of Kruppe's four cheeks, and here a kid-gut condom
– gods, where did that come from? Well, an end to admiration
of the night's most successful shopping venture, and if
that crone discovered but two strings left on her harp, well,
imagine how the horse felt!
Standing now, at last, before most austere of austere
estates. The gate creaked open, inviting invitation and so
invited Kruppe invited himself in.
    Steps and ornate formal entranceway and corridor and
more steps these ones carpeted and wending upward and
another corridor and now the dark-stained door and – oh,
fling aside those wards, goodness – inside.
    'How did you – never mind. Sit, Kruppe, make yourself
comfortable.'
    'Master Baruk is so kind, Kruppe shall do as bid, with
possibly measurable relief does he so oof! into this chair
and stretch out legs, yes they are indeed stretched out, the
detail subtle. Ah, an exhausting journey, Baruk beloved
friend of Kruppe!'
    A toad-like obese demon crawled up to nest at his feet,
snuffling. Kruppe produced a strip of dried eel and offered
it. The demon sniffed, then gingerly accepted the morsel.
    'Are things truly as dire as I believe, Kruppe?'
    Kruppe waggled his brows. 'Such journeys leave self
puckered with dryness, gasping with thirst.'
    Sighing, the High Alchemist said, 'Help yourself.'
    Beaming a smile, Kruppe drew out from a sleeve a large
dusty bottle, already uncorked. He examined the stamp
on the dark green glass. 'My, your cellar is indeed well
equipped!' A crystal goblet appeared from the other sleeve.
He poured. Downed a mouthful then smacked his lips.
'Exquisite!'
    'Certain arrangements have been finalized,' said Baruk.
    'Most impressive, Baruk friend of Kruppe. How can such
portentous events be measured, one wonders. If one was
the wondering type. Yet listen – the buried gate creaks,
dust sifts down, stones groan! Humble as we are, can we
hope to halt such inevitable inevitabilities? Alas, time
grinds on. All fates spin and not even the gods can guess
how each will topple. The moon itself rises uncertain on
these nights. The stars waver, rocks fall upward, wronged
wives forgive and forget – oh, this is a time for miracles!'
    'And is that what we need, Kruppe? Miracles?'
    'Each moment may indeed seem in flux, chaotic and
fraught, yet – and Kruppe knows this most surely – when all
is set out, moment upon moment, then every aberration is
but a modest crease, a feeble fold, a crinkled memento. The
great forces of the universe are as a weight-stone upon the
fabric of our lives. Rich and poor, modest and ambitious,
generous and greedy, honest and deceitful, why, all is
flattened! Splat! Crunch, smear, ooze! What cares Nature
for jewelled crowns, coins a-stacked perilously high, great
estates and lofty towers? Kings and queens, tyrants and
devourers – all are as midges on the forehead of the world!'
    'You advise an extended perspective. That is all very
well, from an historian's point of view, and in retrospect.
Unfortunately, Kruppe, to those of us who must live it, in
the midst, as it were, it provides scant relief.'
    'Alas, Baruk speaks true. Lives in, lives out. The sobs of
death are the sodden songs of the world. So true, so sad.
Kruppe asks this: witness two scenes. In one, an angry,
bitter man beats another man to death in an alley in
the Gadrobi District. In the other, a man of vast wealth
conspires with equally wealthy compatriots to raise yet
again the price of grain, making the cost of simple bread so
prohibitive that families starve, are led into lives of crime,
and die young. Are both acts of violence?'
    The High Alchemist stood looking down at Kruppe. 'In
only one of those examples will you find blood on a man's
hands.'
    'True, deplorable as such stains are.' He poured himself
some more wine.
    'There are,' said Baruk, 'countless constructs whereby
the