A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 4

to
tell.
    Iskaral Pust rode like a madman. Unfortunately, the mule
beneath him had decided that a plodding walk would
suffice, making the two of them a most incongruous pair.
The High Priest flung himself back and forth, pitched
from side to side. His feet kicked high, toes skyward, then
lashed back down. Heels pounded insensate flanks in
a thumping drum-roll entirely devoid of rhythm. Reins
flailed about but the mule had chewed through the bit and
so the reins were attached to nothing but two mangled
stumps that seemed determined to batter Pust senseless.
    He tossed about as if riding a goaded bull. Spraying
sweat, lips pulled back in a savage grimace, the whites
visible round his bugged-out eyes.
    The mule, why, the mule walked. Clump clump (pause)
clump (pause) clump clump. And so on.
    Swirling just above Iskaral Pust's head, and acrobatically
avoiding the bit-ends, flapped the squall of bhokarala. Like
oversized gnats, and how that mule's tail whipped back and
forth! She sought to swat them away, but in the spirit of
gnat-hood the bhokarala did not relent, so eager were they
to claim the very next plop of dung wending its way out
beneath that tail. Over which they'd fight tooth, talon and
claw.
    Swarming in mule and rider's wake was a river of spiders,
flowing glittering black over the cobbles.
    At one point three white Hounds tramped across the
street not twenty paces distant. A trio of immensely ugly
heads swung to regard mule and rider. And to show that it
meant business, the mule propped up its ears. Clump clump
(pause) clump clump clump.
    The Hounds moved on.
    It does no good to molest a mule.
    Alas, as Iskaral Pust and his placid mount were moments
from discovering, there were indeed forces in the world
that could confound both.
    And here then, at last, arrives the shining, blazing,
astonishing nexus, the penultimate pinnacle of this
profound night, as bold Kruppe nudges his ferocious warmule
into the path of one Iskaral Pust, mule, and sundry
spiders and bhokarala.
    Mule sees mule. Both halt with a bare fifteen paces between
them, ears at bristling attention.
    Rider sees rider. Magus grows dangerously still, eyes
hooded. Kruppe waves one plump hand in greeting.
    Bhokarala launch a mid-air conference that results in
one beast landing awkwardly on the cobbles to the left of
the High Priest, whilst the others find window sills, projections,
and the heads of handsome gargoyles on which to
perch, chests heaving and tongues lolling.
    The spiders run away.
    Thus, the tableau is set.
    'Out of my way!' screeched Iskaral Pust. 'Who is this fool
and how dare he fool with me? I'll gnash him! I'll crush
him down. I'll feint right and dodge left and we'll be by in
a flash! Look at that pathetic mule – he'll never catch us!
I got a sword to claim. Mine, yes, mine! And then won't
Shadowthrone grovel and simper! Iskaral Pust, High Priest
of Dragnipur! Most feared swordsman in ten thousand
worlds! And if you think you've seen justice at its most
fickle, you just wait!' He then leaned forward and smiled.
'Kind sir, could you kindly move yourself and yon beast to
one side? I must keep an appointment, you understand.
Hastily, in fact.' Then he hissed, 'Go climb up your own
arse, you red-vested ball of lard that someone rolled across
a forest floor! Go! Scat!'
    'Most confounding indeed,' Kruppe replied with his
most beatific smile. 'It seems we are in discord, in that you
seek to proceed in a direction that will inevitably collide
with none other than Kruppe, the Eel of Darujhistan. Poor
priest, it is late. Does your god know where you are?'
    'Eel? Kruppe? Collide? Fat and an idiot besides, what a
dastardly combination, and on this of all nights! Listen,
take another street. If I run into this Crappy Eel I'll be sure
to let him know you're looking for him. It's the least I can
do.'
    'Hardly, but no matter. I am Kruppe the Crappy Eel,
alas.'
    'So fine, we've run into each other. Glad that's over with.
Now let me pass!'
    'Kruppe regrets that any and every path you may seek
shall be impeded by none other than Kruppe himself.
Unless, of course, you conclude that what you seek is not
worth the effort, nor the grief certain to follow, and so
wisely return to thy shadowy temple.'
    'You don't know what I want so it's none of your damned
business what I want!'
    'Misapprehensions abound, but wait, does this slavering
fool even understand?'
    'What? I wasn't supposed to hear that? But I did! I did,
you fat idiot!'
    'He only thought he