A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 4

settled, and
the two compound guards hunched down over them to
study the cast.
    That's what he's watching. He's watching the throws.
    And Torvald Nom saw both men slowly straighten, and
turn as one to face the man standing in the doorway.
    Who must have stepped back inside, softly closing the
door.
    Oh, shit.
    There was a scuffle somewhere behind him and Torvald
Nom spun round. It was too damned dark – where was
the moon? Hiding somewhere behind the storm clouds,
of course, and he glanced up. And saw a sweep of bright
stars. What clouds? There aren't any clouds. And if that's
thunder, then where's the lightning? And if that's the howl of
wind, why is everything perfectly still? He wasn't sure now if
he'd actually heard anything – nothing was visible on the
roof, and there were no real places to hide either. He was
alone up here.
    Like a lightning rod.
    He tried a few deep breaths to slow the frantic beat of
his heart. At least he'd prepared himself. All his instincts
strumming like taut wires, he'd done all he could.
    And it's not enough. Gods below, it's not enough!
    Scorch looked startled, but then he always looked startled.
    'Relax,' hissed Leff, 'you're driving me to distraction.'
    'Hey, you hear something?'
    'No.'
    'Exactly.'
    'What's that supposed to mean? We ain't hearing
nothing. Good. That means there's nothing to hear.'
    'They stopped.'
    'Who stopped?'
    'Them, the ones on the other side of the gate, right?
They stopped.'
    'Well, thank Hood,' said Leff. 'Those knuckles was
driving me crazy. Every damned night, on and on and
on. Click clack click clack, gods below. I never knew
Seguleh were such gamblers – it's a sickness, you know, an
addiction. No wonder they lost their masks – probably in a
bet. Picture it. "Ug, got nuffin but this mask, and m'luck's
boot to change, 'sgot to, right? So, I'm in – look, 'sa good
mask! Ug".'
    'That would've been a mistake,' Scorch said, nodding. 'If
you don't want nobody to know you're bluffing, what better
way than to wear a mask? So, they lost 'em and it's been
downhill ever since. Yeah, that makes sense, but it's got me
thinking, Leff.'
    ''Bout what?'
    'Well, the Seguleh. Hey, maybe they're all bluffing!'
Leff nodded back. This was better. Distract the fidgety
idiot. All right, maybe things didn't feel quite right. Maybe
there was a stink in the air that had nothing to do with
smell, and maybe he had sweat trickling down under his
armour, and he was keeping his hand close to the sword at
his belt and eyeing the crossbow leaning against the gate.
Was it cocked? It was cocked.
    Click clack click clack. Come on, boys, start 'em up again,
before you start making me nervous.
    Cutter halted the horse and sat, leaning forward on the
saddle, studying the ship moored alongside the dock. No
lights showed. Had Spite gone to bed this early? That
seemed unlikely. He hesitated. He wasn't even sure why he
had come here. Did he think he'd find Scillara?
    That was possible, but if so it was a grotesque desire,
revealing an ugly side to his nature that he did not want
to examine for very long, if at all. He had pretty much
abandoned her. She was a stranger to Darujhistan – he
should have done better. He should have been a friend.
    How many more lives could he ruin? If justice existed,
it was indeed appropriate that he ruin himself as well.
The sooner the better, in fact. Grief and self-pity seemed
but faint variations on the same heady brew that was self-indulgence
– did he really want to drown Scillara in his
pathetic tears?
    No, Spite would be better – he'd get three words out and
she'd start slapping him senseless. Get over it, Cutter. People
die. It wasn't fair, so you put it right. And now you feel like
Hood's tongue after a night of slaughter. Live with it. So wipe
your nose and get out there. Do something, be someone and
stay with it.
    Yes, that was what he needed right now. A cold, cogent
regard, a wise absence of patience. In fact, she wouldn't
even have to say anything. Just seeing her would do.
    He swung down from the saddle and tied the reins to a
bollard, then crossed the gangplank to the deck. Various
harbour notices had been tacked to the mainmast. Moorage
fees and threats of imminent impoundment. Cutter
managed a smile, imagining a scene of confrontation
in the near future. Delightful to witness, if somewhat
alarming, provided he stayed uninvolved.
    He made his way below. 'Spite? You here?'
    No response. Spirits plunging once more, he tried the
door to the