A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 4

were they thinking?
    Two empty chairs faced Kruppe, a situation most peculiar
and not at all pleasing. A short time earlier they had
been occupied. Scorch and Leff, downing a fast tankard
each before setting out to their place of employment,
their nightly vigil at the gates of the mysterious estate
and its mysterious lady. Oh, a troubled pair indeed, their
fierce frowns denoting an uncharacteristic extreme of
concentration. They'd swallowed down the bitter ale like
water, the usual exchange of pleasant idiocies sadly muted.
Watching them hurry out, Kruppe was reminded of two
condemned men on the way to the gallows (or a wedding),
proof of the profound unfairness of the world.
    But fairness, while a comforting conceit, was an elusive
notion, in the habit of swirling loose and wild about the
vortex of the self, and should the currents of one collide
with those of another, why, fairness ever revealed itself as a
one-sided coin. In this fell clash could be found all manner
of conflict, from vast continent-spanning wars to neighbours
feuding over a crooked fence line.
    But what significance these philosophical meanderings?
Nary effect upon the trudging ways of life, to be sure. Skip
and dance on to this next scene of portentous gravity, and
here arriving hooded as a vulture through the narrow
portal of the Phoenix Inn, none other than Torvald Nom.
Pausing just within the threshold, answering Sulty's passing
greeting with a distracted smile, and then to the bar,
where Meese has already poured him a tankard. And in
reaching over to collect it, Torvald's wrist is grasped, Meese
pulling him close for a few murmured words of possible import,
to which Torvald grimaces and then reluctantly nods
– his response sufficient for Meese to release him.
    Thus sprung, Torvald Nom strode over to smiling
Kruppe's table and slumped down into one of the chairs.
'It's all bad,' he said.
    'Kruppe is stunned, dear cousin of Rallick, at such
miserable misery, such pessimistic pessimism. Why,
scowling Torvald has so stained his world that even his
underlings have been infected. Look, even here thy dark
cloud crawls darkly Kruppe's way. Gestures are necessary to
ward off sour infusion!' And he waved his hand, crimson
handkerchief fluttering like a tiny flag. 'Ah, that is much
better. Be assured, Torvald, Kruppe's friend, that "bad"
is never as bad as bad might be, even when it's very bad
indeed.'
    'Rallick left a message for me. He wants to see me.'
    Kruppe waggled his brows and made an effort at leaning
forward, but his belly got in the way so he settled back
again, momentarily perturbed at what might be an expanding
girth – but then, it was in truth a question of angles,
and thus a modest shift in perspective eased his repose
once more, thank the gods – 'Unquestionably Rallick seeks
no more than a cheery greeting for his long lost cousin.
There is, Kruppe proclaims, no need for worry.'
    'Shows what little you know,' Torvald replied. 'I did
something terrible once. Horrible, disgusting and evil. I
scarred him for life. In fact, if he does track me down, I
expect he'll kill me. Why d'you think I ran away in the
first place?'
    'A span of many years,' said Kruppe, 'weakens every
bridge, until they crumble at a touch, or if not a touch,
then a frenzied sledgehammer.'
    'Will you speak to him for me, Kruppe?'
    'Of course, yet, alas, Rallick has done something terrible
and horrible and disgusting and evil to poor Kruppe, for
which forgiveness is not possible.'
    'What? What did he do?'
    'Kruppe will think of something. Sufficient to wedge
firmly the crowbar of persuasion, until he cannot but tilt
helpless and desperate for succour in your direction. You
need only open wide your arms, dear friend, when said
moment arrives.'
    'Thanks, Kruppe, you're a true friend.' And Torvald
drank deep.
    'No truer, no lie, 'tis true. Kruppe blesses you, alas, with
none of the formal panoply accorded you by the Blue
Moranth – oh, had Kruppe been there to witness such
extraordinary, indeed singular, honorificals! Sulty, sweet
lass, is it not time for supper? Kruppe withers with need!
Oh, and perhaps another carafe of vintage—'
    'Hold it,' Torvald Nom cut in, his eyes sharpening.
'What in Hood's name do you know about that , Kruppe?
And how? Who told you – no one could've told you, because
it was secret in the first place!'
    'Calmly, please, calmly, Kruppe's dearest friend.' Another
wave of the handkerchief, concluded by a swift mop as
sweat had inexplicably