A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 4

refreshments
as well?'
    'Er, no, that won't be necessary, Raest.'
    The Jaghut stepped back.
    Picker edged round him and halted a few steps in. Antsy
pushed in behind her. They stood in a vaulted entryway,
raw black stone underfoot. Opposite the front door there
were twin doors and a narrow corridor off to the right and
left. The air was dry and warm, smelling of freshly turned
earth – reminding Antsy of the cellar beneath K'rul's Bar.
    'Been digging graves?' he asked, and then cursed himself,
trying to ignore Picker's wild stare.
    Raest shut the door and faced them. 'What manner of
refreshments were you expecting, Sergeant Antsy? I am
afraid I have nothing buried within the house. If you like,
however—'
    'No that's fine,' Picker said hastily.
    Antsy could only nod agreement. His mouth had dried
up, tongue like a piece of leather gummed against the palate.
And he needed to empty his bladder, but the thought
of asking directions to the water closet was suddenly akin
to demanding that the Jaghut hand over all his money or
else.
    Raest studied them in silence for a moment longer, and
then said, 'Follow me, if you must.'
    The lich's moccasin-wrapped feet made rasping sounds.
Cloth rustled, the mail of the coat crackling, as Raest
walked to the double doors and pushed them open.
    Within was a main room bearing a stone fireplace
directly opposite, wherein flames flickered cosily, and two
deep, high-backed chairs to either side, sitting on a thick
woven rug bearing arcane, geometric patterns barely visible
in the general gloom. Large tapestries covered the walls to
either side, one clearly Malazan in origin – probably Untan
given the subject matter (some antiquated court event,
significance long lost but no doubt relevant to House
Paran); the other was local and depicted a scene from the
Night of the Moon, when Moon's Spawn had descended
to brush the highest buildings in the city; when dragons
warred in the night sky, and Raest himself had attempted
his assault upon Darujhistan. The image focused on the
dragons, one black and silver-maned, the other muted
bronze or brown. Jaws and talons were locked upon one
another as they fought in midair, with the backdrop the
base of Moon's Spawn and the silhouettes of rooftops and
spires, all bordered in an intricate pattern of Great Ravens
in flight.
    'That's not bad,' Picker muttered, eyeing the work.
    Antsy grunted, not one to ponder too much on artwork
beyond identifying whatever scene it happened to be recording.
Personally, he could not imagine a more useless
talent, and thanked the gods he'd never been cursed with
such creative misery. Most of his own memories of great
events he had witnessed employed stick figures, and that
was good enough for him. It did not occur to him that this
was at all unusual.
    Raest gestured to the two chairs. 'Sit down,' he said, the
tone only vaguely related to an invitation. When they had
done so, both angling their chairs to face the Jaghut, he
said, 'Explain to me, if you will, how precisely you intend to
send Ganoes Paran a message.'
    'We have no idea,' Picker said, with a queasy smile. 'We
were hoping you might have some suggestions.'
    'I have many suggestions,' Raest replied, 'none of which
are relevant to your request.'
    Antsy slowly narrowed his eyes, but said nothing.
    Picker opened her mouth a few times, breaking off
a succession of possible responses, the repeated gaping
reminding Antsy of netted fish on the deck of his da's
fisher boat. Unless I just made that up. All a lie, maybe.
Maybe I seen a fish on some other deck. How can I be sure?
How can—
    'One possibility occurs to me,' Raest said. 'It would, I
suspect, require that one of you be an adept with the Deck
of Dragons. Or possessing the potential thereof.'
    'I see,' said Picker. 'Well, I've had a few brushes with the
Deck.'
    'You are an illustrator of Decks?'
    'What? Oh, not that kind of brush. I mean, I've had my
hands on 'em a few times.'
    'Did such contact leave you damaged, Corporal Picker?'
    'Damaged how?'
    'Are you, perhaps, now insane?'
    She sat upright. 'Hang on, how in Hood's name would I
even know if I was insane or not?'
    'Precisely,' said Raest, and waited.
    Antsy's gaze fixed once more on the Jaghut. 'Pick,' he
finally growled.
    She twisted to face him in exasperation. 'What is it now,
Antsy?'
    'This bastard's having us on.'
    Her eyes bulged momentarily, and then she looked once
more at the Jaghut.
    Who shrugged. 'One needs to amuse oneself on occasion.
Company