Dust of Dreams

and friends! Why, there’d be a war, a feud! Soldiers would be called in, slit-eyed scouts and master hunters wearing green floppy hats, the king would raise taxes and a thousand whores would follow in the baggage train! Poets would sing rousing ballads to fan the flames of righteousness! Entire epics would be penned to recount the venal escapades!’
    ‘They’re just puffed up on themselves, Telorast. That’s all. They’re all emperors and empresses in their own puny minds, don’t you see? With all in the domain theirs to do with as they will. How dare some dumb beast bite back!’
    ‘We’ll get them in the end, Curdle.’
    ‘Us and the hares!’
    ‘Exactly! Rule the domain, will you? No, my friends, the domain rules you!’
    Telorast fell silent then, as grim thoughts whispered through her. ‘Curdle,’ she ventured, lifting her small reptilian skull. ‘We’ll need to act soon.’
    ‘I know. It’s awful!’
    ‘Someone in the city’s causing trouble. We don’t like trouble, do we? At least, I don’t think we do.’
    ‘Unless it’s ours, Telorast. If we’re the ones causing trouble, that’s just fine. Perfect, in fact.’
    ‘Until it all goes wrong, like last time. And wasn’t that your fault? That’s how I remember it, Curdle. All your fault. This time round, watch yourself. Do as I say, everything I say.’
    ‘Should we tear him apart then?’
    ‘Who?’
    ‘The one who likes keeping the throne empty. In out in out in out, just shuffle them through. Nobody get comfortable! Chaos and confusion, civil wars and betrayals and blood everywhere! What a creep!’
    ‘You think we should tear him apart, Curdle?’
    ‘I thought I was supposed to be following your lead. So lead, Telorast! Do we rend him into little messy pieces or don’t we?’
    ‘That depends.’ Telorast leapt to her taloned feet and began pacing, tiny forearms twitching. ‘Is he the enemy?’
    ‘Is he—what? Sweetness, aren’t they
all
our enemies?’
    ‘Agh! You’re right! What got into me?’
    ‘Simple, he just thought to ignore us. We don’t like being ignored. People who ignore us die. That’s the rule we’ve always lived by. Snub us and we’ll chew you into mangled flaps of skin and hair! Chips of bone, things that drip and leak!’
    ‘Should we go and kill him then?’
    ‘Maybe.’
    ‘Oh, tell me what to do! I can’t tell you to follow my lead unless I get guidance from you first!’
    ‘It’s a partnership all right,’ agreed Curdle. ‘Let me think.’
    Telorast paused, head lifting yet higher. ‘Gah! What’s those green blobs in the sky?’
     
    ‘Don’t come near me.’
    Withal eyed his wife, decided he’d seen this before, and so kept his distance. ‘Why did she want you there at all? That’s what I can’t figure.’
    Sandalath sat down, the effort a protracted procedure measured in winces, grunts and cautious sighs. ‘I didn’t anticipate a physical assault, that’s for sure.’
    Withal almost stepped forward then, but managed to restrain his instinctive gesture. ‘She beat you up? Gods below, I knew the Adjunct was a hard woman, but that’s going too far!’
    ‘Oh, be quiet. Of course she didn’t beat me up. Let’s just say the cards were assigned with some, uh, force. As if that would convince us of anything. The whole sorcery surrounding the Deck of Dragons is an affront to sensible creatures—like me.’
    Sensible?
Well, I suppose.
‘The caster found you a card, then. Which one?’
    He watched as she weighed the value of answering him. ‘It threw me into a wall.’
    ‘What did?’
    ‘The card, you idiot! Queen of Dark! As if I could be anything like that—stupid deck, what does it know of High House Dark? The past is dead, the thrones abandoned. There is no King and certainly no Queen! It’s senseless—how can Quick Ben be Magus of Dark? He’s not even Tiste Andii. Bah, all nonsense, all of it—gods, I think my ribs are cracked. Make some tea, love, be useful.’
    ‘Glad I waited up for you,’ Withal muttered, setting off to brew a pot. ‘Any preferences?’
    ‘No, but add a drop of d’bayang oil, will you? Next time, I’ll wear armour. Is it cold in here? Feed the hearth, I don’t want to get a chill. Throw me those furs. Is that water pipe just ornamental? Do we have any durhang? Gods, it hurts to talk.’
    News to me, darling.
     
    The dead iguana’s last animate act had been to clamp its jaws on Limp’s right ear. The soldier was weeping softly as