A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 4

Mappo grunted but otherwise offered no
comment.
    The tower was something between square and round, the
corners either weathered down by centuries and centuries
of wind or deliberately softened to ease that same buffeting,
howling wind. The entranceway was a narrow gloomy
recess beneath a mossy lintel stone, the moss hanging in
beards that dripped in a curtain of rainwater, each drop
popping into eroded hollows on the slab of the landing.
    'So,' said Quell with brittle confidence, 'the village
Provost went and moved into a Jaghut tower. That was
brave—'
    'Stupid.'
    'Stupidly brave, yes.'
    'Unless,' she said, sniffing the air. 'That's the other
problem with Jaghut. When they build towers, they live in
them. For ever.'
    Quell groaned. 'I was pretending not to think that,
Witch.'
    'As if that would help.'
    'It helped me!'
    'There's two things we can do,' Precious Thimble
announced. 'We can turn right round and ignore the curse
and all that and get out of this town as fast as possible.'
    'Or?'
    'We can go up to that door and knock.'
    Quell rubbed at his chin, glanced back at a silent Mappo,
and then once more eyed the tower. 'This witchery – this
curse here, Precious, that strikes when a woman comes of
age.'
    'What about it? It's a damned old one, a nasty one.'
    'Can you break it?'
    'Not likely. All we can hope to do is make the witch or
warlock change her or his mind about it. The caster can
surrender it a whole lot more easily than someone else can
break it.'
    'And if we kill the caster?'
    She shrugged. 'Could go either way, Wizard. Poof! Gone.
Or . . . not. Anyway, you're stepping sideways, Quell. We
were talking about this . . . this Provost.'
    'Not sideways, Witch. I was thinking, well, about you
and Sweetest Sufferance and Faint, that's all.'
    All at once she felt as if she'd just swallowed a fistful of
icy knuckles. Her throat ached, her stomach curdled. 'Oh,
shit.'
    'And since,' Quell went on remorselessly, 'it's going to be a
day or two before we can effect repairs – at best – well . . .'
    'I think we'd better knock,' she said.
    'All right. Just let me, er, empty my bladder first.'
    He walked off to the stone-lined gutter to his left. Mappo
went off a few paces in the other direction, to rummage in
his sack.
    Precious Thimble squinted up at the tower. 'Well,' she
whispered, 'if you're a Jaghut – and I think you are – you
know we're standing right here. And you can smell the
magic on our breaths. Now, we're not looking for trouble,
but there's no chance you don't know nothing about that
curse – we need to find that witch or warlock, you see,
that nasty villager who made up this nasty curse, because
we're stuck here for a few days. Understand? There's three
women stuck here. And I'm one of them.'
    'You say something?' Quell asked, returning.
    'Let's go,' she said as Mappo arrived, holding an enormous
mace.
    They walked to the door.
    Halfway there, it swung open.
    'My mate,' said the Provost, 'is buried in the yard below.'
He was standing at the window, looking out over the
tumultuous seas warring with the shoals.
    Quell grunted. 'What yard?' He leaned forward and
peered down. 'What yard?'
    The Provost sighed. 'It was there two days ago.' He
turned from the window and eyed the wizard.
    Who did his best not to quail.
    Bedusk Pall Kovuss Agape, who called himself a Jaghut
Anap, was simply gigantic, possibly weighing more than
Mappo and at least a head and a half taller than the Trell.
His skin was blue, a deeper hue than any Malazan Napan
Quell could recall seeing. The blue even seemed to stain
the silver-tipped tusks jutting from his lower jaw.
    Quell cleared his throat. He needed to pee again, but
that would have to wait. 'You lost her long ago?'
    'Who?'
    'Er, your mate?'
    Bedusk Agape selected one of the three crystal decanters
on the marble table, sniffed at its contents, and then refilled
their goblets. 'Have you ever had a wife, Wizard?'
    'No, not that I'm aware of.'
    'Yes, it can be like that at times.'
    'It can?'
    The Jaghut gestured towards the window. 'One moment
there, the next . . . gone.'
    'Oh, the cliff.'
    'No, no. I was speaking of my wife.'
    Quell shot Precious Thimble a helpless look. Off near
the spiral staircase, Mappo stood examining an elaborate
eyepiece of some kind, mounted on a spike with a peculiar
ball-hinge that permitted the long black metal instrument
to be swivelled about, side to side and up and down.
The damned Trell was paying attention to all the wrong
things.
    Precious