One of the Malazans at the table said, ‘Careful, Masan, he’s getting that look again.’
The woman named Masan Gilani straightened catlike in her chair, lifting her smooth, not-scrawny arms in an arching stretch that transformed her large breasts into round globes, tautening the worn fabric of her shirt. “S long as he keeps thinking with the wrong brain, Lobe, we’re good and easy.’ She then settled back, straightening her perfect legs.
‘We should bring him another whore,’ the one named Lobe said as he gathered the knuckle bones into a small leather bag.
‘No,’ Masan Gilani said. ‘Deadsmell barely revived the last one.’
But that’s not the real reason, is it? Brullyg smiled. No, you want me for yourself. Besides, I’m not usually like that. 1 was taking out some… frustrations. That’s all. His smile faded. They sure do use their hands a lot when talking. Gestures of all sorts. Strange people, these Malazans. He cleared his throat and spoke Letherii in the slow way they seemed to need. ‘I could do with another walk. My legs want exercise.’ A wink towards Masan Gilani, who responded with a knowing smile that lit him up low down, enough to make him shift in the chair. ‘My people need to see me, you understand? If they start getting suspicious-well, if anybody knows what a house arrest looks like, it is the citizens of Second Maiden Fort.’
In terribly accented Letherii, Lobe said, ‘You get your ale comes today, right? Best want to be waiting here for that. We walk you tonight.’
Like a Liberty mistress her pampered dog. Isn’t that nice? And when I lift a leg and piss against you, Lobe, what then?
These soldiers here did not frighten him. It was the other squad, the one still up-island. The one with that scrawny little mute girl. And she had a way of showing up as if from nowhere. From a swirl of light-he wondered what the Shake witches would make of that cute trick. All Lobe needed to do-Lobe, or Masan Gilani, or Gait, any of them-all they needed to do was call her name.
Sinn.
A real terror that one, and not a talon showing. He suspected he’d need the whole coven to get rid of her. Preferably with great losses. The coven had a way of crowding the chosen rulers of the Shake. And they’re on their way, like ravens to a carcass, all spit and cackle. Of course, they can’t fly. Can’t even swim. No, they’ll need boats, to take them across the strait-and that’s assuming the Reach isn’t now a jumbled mass of ice, which is how it looks from here.
The soldier named Gait rose from his chair, wincing at some twinge in his lower back, then ambled over to what had been the prefect’s prize possession, a tapestry that dominated an entire wall. Faded with age-and stained in the lower left corner with dried spatters of the poor prefect’s blood-the hanging depicted the First Landing of the Letherii, although in truth that was not the colonizers’ first landing. The fleet had come within sight of shore somewhere opposite the Reach. Fent canoes had ventured out to establish contact with the strangers. An exchange of gifts had gone awry, resulting in the slaughter of the Fent men and the subsequent enslavement of the women and children in the village. Three more settlements had suffered the same fate. The next four, southward down the coast, had been hastily abandoned.
The fleet had eventually rounded Sadon Peninsula on the north coast of the Ouster Sea, then sailed past the Lenth Arm and into Gedry Bay. The city of Gedry was founded on the place of the First Landing, at the mouth of the Lether River. This tapestry, easily a thousand years old, was proof enough of that. The general belief these days was that the landing occurred at the site of the capital itself, well up the river. Strange how the past was remade to suit the present. A lesson there Brullyg could use, once he was king. The Shake were a people of failure, fated to know naught but tragedy and pathos. Guardians of the shore, but incapable of guarding it against the sea’s tireless hunger. All of that needed… revising.
The Letherii had known defeat. Many times. Their history on this land was bloody, rife with their betrayals, their lies, their heartless cruelties. All of which were now seen as triumphant and heroic.
This is how a people must see itself. As we Shake must. A blinding beacon on this dark shore. When I am king…
‘Look at this damned thing,’ Gait said. ‘Here, that writing in the borders-that could be Ehrlii.’
‘But it isn’t,’ Lobe muttered. He had dismantled one of his daggers; on the table before him was the pommel, a few rivets and pins, a wooden handle wrapped in leather, a slitted hilt and the tanged blade. It seemed the soldier was now at a loss on how to put it all back together again.