A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 4

his
wife was an assassin? What kind of Guild are they running
here?'
    'You don't know she was his wife,' Antsy retorted. 'And
you don't know but that was a signal to somebody on a roof.
We could be walking right into an ambush!'
'Of course,' agreed Blend, 'that woman was his mother,
because Guild rules state that Ma's got to come along to
make sure he's got the hand signals down, and that he
eats all his lunch and his knives are sharp and he's tied up
his moccasins right so he doesn't trip in the middle of his
murderous lunge at Sergeant Antsy.'
    'I ain't so lucky he trips,' Antsy said in a growl. 'In case
you ain't noticed, Blend, it's been a run of the Lord's push
for us. Oponn's got it in for me, especially.'
    'Why?' Scillara asked.
    'Because I don't believe in the Twins, that's why. Luck
– it's all bad. Oponn only pulls now to push later. If you've
been pulled, it don't end there. Never does. No, you can
expect the push to come any time and all you know for sure
is it's gonna come, that push. Every time. In fact, we're all
as good as dead.'
    'Well,' said Scillara, 'I can't argue with that. Sooner or
later, Hood takes us all, and that's the only certainty there
is.'
    'Aren't you two cheerful this morning,' Blend observed.
'Look, here we are.'
    They had arrived at the Warden Barracks, suitably
sombre and foreboding.
    Blend saw an annexe fronting the blockish building
with barred windows and set out towards it, the other two
following.
    A guard lounging outside the door watched them
approach, and then said, 'Check your weapons at the front
desk. You here to visit someone?'
    'No,' snorted Antsy, 'we've come to break 'im out!' And
then he laughed. 'Haha.'
    No one found the joke at all amusing, especially after
the sharper was found and correctly identified. Antsy then
made the mistake of getting belligerent, in the midst of five
or six stern-visaged constabulary, which led to a scuffle and
then an arrest.
    When all was said and done, Antsy found himself in
a lock-up with three drunks, only one of whom was conscious
– singing some old Fisher classic in a broken-hearted
voice – and a fourth man who seemed to be entirely mad,
convinced as he was that everyone he saw was wearing
a mask, which was hiding something demonic, horrible,
bloodthirsty. He'd been arrested for trying to tear off a
merchant's face and he eyed Antsy speculatively before
evidently deciding that the red-whiskered foreigner looked
too tough to take on, at least while he was still awake.
    The sentence was three days long, provided Antsy
proved a model prisoner. Any trouble and it could stretch
out some more.
    As a result of all this, it was some time before Scillara
and Blend managed to gain permission to see Barathol
Mekhar. They met him in a holding cell while two guards
stood flanking the single door, shortswords drawn.
    Noting this, Scillara said, 'Making friends in here, are
you?'
    The blacksmith looked somewhat shamefaced as he
shrugged. 'I had no intention of resisting the arrest,
Scillara. My apprentice, alas, decided otherwise.' Anxiety
tightened his features as he asked, 'Any news of him? Has
he been captured? Is he hurt?'
    Scillara shrugged. 'We've not seen or heard anything
like that, Barathol.'
    'I keep telling them here, he's only a child in his head.
It was my responsibility, all of it. But he went and broke
some bones and noses, and they're pretty annoyed about
that.'
    Blend cleared her throat. Something was going back and
forth between Barathol and Scillara and it made her uneasy.
'Barathol, we can pay the fine to the Guild, but that
scrap you had, that one's more serious.'
    He nodded morosely. 'Hard labour, yes. Six months or
so.' There was the twitch of a grin. 'And guess who I will
be working for?'
    'Who?'
    'Eldra Foundry. And in six months I'll earn my ticket as
a smith, since that's allowed. Some kind of rehabilitation
programme.'
    Scillara's throaty laugh straightened up both guards.
'Well, that's one way to get there, I suppose.'
    He nodded. 'I went about it all wrong, it seems.'
    'I'm not sure,' said Scillara. 'Is the Guild happy with that?
I mean, it's sort of a way round them, isn't it?'
    'They've no choice. Every Guild in the city has to
comply, barring, I suppose, the Assassins' Guild. Obviously,
for most prisoners six months working in a trade might
earn them an apprentice grade of some sort – but there's
no limit to how fast you can advance. Just pass the exams
and that's that.'
    Scillara looked ready to burst out