Reaper's Gale (The Malazan Book of the Fallen #7)
Page 345‘Which is precisely why you need the witches, Twilight.’
‘I know. And if that’s not misery enough, they know it, too.’
‘You need clout,’ he said.
‘Clever man.’
‘Even as a child, you were prone to sarcasm.’
‘Sorry.’
‘The answer, I think, will be found with these Tiste Andii.’
She looked across at him. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Who knows more of our past than even the witches? Who knows it as a clean thing? A thing not all twisted by generations of corruption, of half-remembrances and convenient lies?’
‘Your tongue runs away with you, Yedan.’
‘More sarcasm.’
‘No, I find myself somewhat impressed.’
The jaw bunched as he studied her.
She laughed. Could not help it. ‘Oh, brother, come-the foreigners are gone and probably won’t be back-ever.’
‘What do you think?’
‘I’m not sure, Twilight. That child mage, Sinn…’
‘You may be right. News of her imminent departure had Pully and Skwish dancing.’
‘She destroyed a solid wall of ice half as long as Fent Reach. I would not discount these Malazans.’
‘The Adjunct did not impress me,’ Yan Tovis said.
‘Maybe because she didn’t need to.’
Twilight thought about that, then thought about it some more.
Neither spoke as they turned away from the glittering bay and the now-distant foreign ships.
The morning sun was actually beginning to feel warm-the final, most poignant proof that the ice was dead, the threat past. The Isle would live on.
On the street ahead the first bucket of night-soil slopped down onto the clean cobbles from a second-storey window, forcing passers-by to dance aside.
‘The people greet you, Queen.’
‘Oh, be quiet, Yedan.’
Captain Kindly stood by the port rail, staring across the choppy waves to the Silanda. Soldiers from both of the squads on that haunted ship were visible on the deck, a handful gathered about a game of bones or some such nefarious activity, whilst the sweeps churned the water in steady rhythm. Masan Gilani was up near the steering oar, keeping Sergeant Cord company.
‘Lieutenant.’
‘Sir?’
‘What do you think you are doing?’
‘Uh, nothing, sir.’
‘You’re leaning on the gunnel. At ease. Did I at any time say “at ease”, Lieutenant?’
Pores straightened. ‘Sorry, sir.’
‘That woman should be put up on report.’
Aye, she’s not wearing much, is she?’
‘Out of uniform.’
‘Damned distracting, isn’t it, sir?’
‘Disappointing, you mean, surely, Lieutenant.’
‘Ah, that’s the word I was looking for, all right. Thank you, sir.’
‘The Shake make the most extraordinary combs,’ Kindly said. ‘Turtleshell.’
‘Expensive purchases, but well worth it, I should judge.’
‘Yes sir. Tried them yet?’
‘Lieutenant, do you imagine that to be amusing?’
‘Sir? No, of course not!’
‘Because, as is readily apparent, Lieutenant, your commanding officer has very little hair.’
‘If by that you mean on your head, then yes sir, that is, uh, apparent indeed.’
‘Am I infested with lice, then, that I might need to use a comb elsewhere on my body, Lieutenant?’
‘I wouldn’t know, sir. I mean, of course not.’
‘Lieutenant, I want you to go to my cabin and prepare the disciplinary report on that soldier over there.’
‘But sir, she’s a marine.’
‘Said report to be forwarded to Fist Keneb when such communication is practicable. Well, why are you still standing here? Get out of my sight, and no limping!’
‘Limp’s long gone, sir!’
Pores saluted then hurried away, trying not to limp. The problem was, it had become something of a habit when he was around Captain Kindly. Granted, a most pathetic attempt at eliciting some sympathy. Kindly had no sympathy. He had no friends, either. Except for his combs. And they’re all teeth and no bite,’ he murmured as he descended to Kindly’s cabin. ‘Turtleshell, ooh!’