A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 4

things, all the time.'
    Gruntle noted the Master gaping, like a beached fish,
and so he asked, 'What was your name when you were
alive, sir?'
    'My name? I don't recall. Being alive, I mean. But I must
have been, once. My name is Cartographer.'
    'That sounds more like a profession.'
    The corpse scratched his forehead, flakes of skin fluttering
down. 'It does. An extraordinary coincidence. What
were my parents thinking?'
    'Perhaps you are but confused. Perhaps you were a
cartographer, trained in the making of maps and such.'
    'Then it was wise that they named me so, wasn't it?
Clever parents.'
    'What did Hood command of you, Cartographer?'
    'Well, he said "Come" and nothing more. It wasn't a
command to create confusion, or arguments regarding
interpretation. A simple command. Even dogs understand
it, I believe. Dogs and sharks. I have found seventeen
species of shellfish on this beach. Proof that the world is
round.'
    Another nut thudded in the sand.
    'We are perturbing this island with our presence,' said
the cartographer. 'The trees are so angry they're trying to
kill us. Of course, I am already dead.' He climbed to his
feet, bits falling away here and there, and brushed sand and
skin from his hands. 'Can we go now?'
    'Yes,' said Master Quell, though his eyes were still a little
wild. 'We're going back to Hood's realm and we're happy to
take you with us.'
    'Oh, no, I'm not going back there. It's not time.'
    'Yes it is and yes you are,' said Master Quell.
    'No it isn't and no I'm not. Hood issued a second
command, one just to me. He said "Go" and so I did. It's
not time. Until it is, I'm staying with you.'
    'Everyone who rides the carriage,' Quell said in a growl,
'has to work for the privilege.'
    'Yes, and I have begun.' And he gestured down at the
coconut pyramids. 'You have netting bundled to the sides
of the carriage, presumably to hold people on board. If we
are to cross water, then we should place these nuts within
said netting. As flotation devices, in case someone is
washed overboard.' He made a heaving motion with his
emaciated arms. 'With a line attached for retrieval.'
    'That might work,' said Gruntle.
    'Gods below,' Master Quell muttered. 'Fine, I'm not arguing
with a dead man. Gruntle, draw your weapons. We're
going now.'
    'My weapons?'
    'Just in case. And now, no more damned talking back!'
    Quell fashioned a portal into Hood's warren that was
but a thin, elongated slice, like a parting of curtains, from
which cool lifeless breath gusted out, sweeping the sand
into the air. Eyes stinging, Gruntle glanced back just before
following the mage into the rent. And saw Amby and Jula
wave.
    They emerged on the summit of a hill, one of a long
spine of hills, each one so similar to the next that they
might be enormous barrows – although why there would
be barrows in the realm of death Gruntle could not imagine.
    In the valley before them the broad basin was a solid
river of grey figures, tens of thousands on the march.
Ragged pennons hung from standards as if impervious to
the moaning wind. Weapons glinted in muted flashes.
    'Gods below,' muttered Quell. 'He's assembling the
entire host.'
    'Looks that way,' agreed Gruntle, feeling like an idiot
with his cutlasses in his hands. He slid them back into the
under-slung scabbards. 'Do we make our way down?'
    'I'd rather not.'
    'Good. Seen enough? Can we go now, Master Quell?'
    'Look, a rider approaches.'
    The horse was clearly as dead as the man who rode it,
gaunt and withered, mottled where hair had worn off.
Both wore armour, boiled leather tarnished and cracked,
flapping on frayed leather thongs as they climbed the
slope. A ragged cape lifted like a tattered wing behind
the warrior. As they drew closer, Gruntle swore under his
breath. 'He's wearing a mask – he's a damned Seguleh!'
And he reached for his weapons—
    'Gods' breath, Gruntle, don't do that!'
    It was a struggle to lower his arms. Gruntle's blood felt
hot as fire in his veins – the beast within him wanted to
awaken, to show hackles lifted and fangs bared. The beast
wanted to challenge this . . . thing . Trembling, he made no
move as the rider drove his horse over the crest a dozen
paces to their right, sawing the reins and wheeling the
beast round to face them.
    'Now this is living!' the Seguleh roared, tilting his head
back to loose a manic laugh. Then he leaned forward on
the saddle and cocked his head, long filthy hair swinging
like ropes. 'Well,' he amended in an amused rumble, 'not
quite. But