Alone. The choice was mine, High Mage, and mine alone.'
'What's she talking about, Quick?' Kalam demanded.
But his friend was silent, studying the woman before him. Then he asked, 'Why?'
She smiled. 'I have my reasons, but at the moment, I see no reason to share any of them with you.'
Apsalar then turned away, walked towards the prow.
'It's just that, isn't it?' Quick Ben muttered under his breath.
'What do you mean?'
'Undecided, Kal. We're all undecided. Aren't we?' Then he swung round and looked back down at the Adjunct.
The assassin did the same.
Tavore and Nok were talking, but quietly, their words stolen by the wind.
'Now,' Quick Ben continued, 'is she?'
Undecided? Not about anything, it seems. Kalam grimaced. 'Malaz City.
I didn't have much fun the last time I visited. Your skin crawling, Quick? Mine is. Crawling bad.'
'You notice something?' the wizard asked. 'That commander – he didn't ask a damned thing about the Perish ships with us. Now, that Claw, he must have made his report already, by warren, to Topper or the Empress herself. So…'
'So, she knows we've got guests. Maybe that's why she doesn't want us sailing into Unta's harbour.'
'Right, Laseen's rattled.'
Then Kalam grunted. 'I just realized something else,' he said in a low voice.
'What?'
'The Adjunct, she sent the Destriant to her cabin. And she made no formal invitation to the commander the way she's supposed to – no, she made them all discuss things out here, in the open. Anyway, maybe the Adjunct didn't want the commander or that Claw to see Run'thurvian, or talk to him, about anything.'
'She's no fool.'
'A damned game of Troughs between them, isn't it? Quick Ben, what is going on here?'
'We'll find out, Kal.'
'When?'
The High Mage scowled, then said, 'The moment, friend, we stop being undecided.'
****
Aboard the Silanda, Fiddler had crawled from the hold like a crippled rat, dishevelled, pale and greasy. He spied Bottle and slowly, agonizingly, made his way over. Bottle was feeding out line. There were shoals out there, and he'd seen fish leaping clear of whatever chased them beneath the surface. One of the Jakatakan dromons was sidling past to port, a rock's throw away, and the rest of the squad had lined up to give them a show.
Bottle shook his head, then glanced over as his sergeant arrived. '
Feeling any better?'
'I think so. Gods, I think that nightmare realm cured me.'
'You don't look any better.'
'Thanks, Bottle.' Fiddler pulled himself into a sitting position, then looked over at the rest of the squad. 'Hood's breath!' he exploded. '
What are you doing?!'
Koryk, Smiles, Cuttle and Tarr had joined up with Deadsmell, Throatslitter and Widdershins, standing in a row at the rail, looking across at the passing dromon, and under each soldier's left arm was a Tiste Andii head.
At Fiddler's outburst, Gesler and Stormy appeared on deck.
Bottle watched them take it all in, then Gesler called out, 'Give 'em a wave!'
The soldiers complied, began waving cheerfully across at what seemed to be a mass of staring sailors and marines and – Bottle squinted – officers.
Smiles said, 'It's all right, Sergeant. We just thought they'd appreciate a change of scenery.'
'Who?'
'Why, these heads, of course.'
Then Stormy was running past, towards the stern, where he dragged down his breeches and sat over the rail, his back end hanging open, exposed. With a savage grunt, he began defecating.
And while his comrades lining the rail all turned to stare at the mad corporal, Bottle was transfixed by the ghastly expressions of delight on those severed heads. Those smiles – the line in Bottle's hands kept spinning out, then vanished, unnoticed, as sudden nausea clenched his gut.
And he bolted for the opposite rail.
****
Captain Kindly made a gagging sound. 'That is disgusting.'
Lieutenant Pores nodded. 'I'll say. Gods, what did that man eat to produce those?'
A crowd was gathering on the deck as laughing marines and sailors all watched the antics proceeding apace on the Silanda half a cable ahead.
The Jakatakan dromon was now to port, a mass of onlookers on the decks, silent, watching.
'That is highly unusual,' Pores commented. 'They're not rising to the bait.'
