Bedusk Pall Kovuss Agape, who called himself a Jaghut Anap, was simply gi-gantic, possibly weighing more than Mappo and at least a head and a half taller than the Trell. His skin was blue, a deeper hue than any Malazan Napan Quell could recall seeing. The blue even seemed to stain the silver-tipped tusks jutting from his lower jaw.
Quell cleared his throat. He needed to pee again, but that would have to wait.” ‘You lost her long ago?’
‘Who?’
‘Er, your mate?’
Bedusk Agape selected one of the three crystal decanters on the marble table, sniffed at its contents, and then refilled their goblets. ‘Have you ever had a wile, Wizard?’
‘No not that I’m aware of.’
‘Yes, it can be like that at times.’
‘It can?’
The Jaghut gestured towards the window. ‘One moment there, the next… gone.’
‘Oh, the cliff.’
‘No, no. I was speaking of my wife.’
Quell shot Precious Thimble a helpless look. Off near the spiral staircase, Mappo stood examining an elaborate eyepiece of some kind, mounted on a spike with a peculiar ball-hinge that permitted the long black metal instrument to be swivelled about, side to side and up and down. The damned Trell was paying at-tention to all the wrong things.
Precious Thimble looked back at Quell with wide eyes.
‘Loss,’ stammered the wizard, ’is a grievous thing.’
‘Well of course it is,’ said Bedusk Agape, frowning.
‘Urn, not always. If, for example, one loses one’s, er, virginity, or a favourite shiny stone, say…’
The red-rimmed eyes stayed steady, unblinking.
Quell wanted to squeeze his legs together-no, better, fold one over the other-lest his snake start drooling or, worse, spitting.
Precious Thimble spoke in a strangely squeaky voice, ‘Jaghut Anap, the curse afflicting this village’s daughters-’
‘There have been twelve in all,’ said Bedusk Agape. ‘Thus far.’
‘Oh. What happened to the other nine?’
The Jaghut flicked his gaze over to her. ‘You are not the first trouble to arrive in the past few years. Of course,’ he added, after sipping his wine, ‘all the young girls are now sent to the next village along this coast-permanently, alas, which does not bode well for the future of this town.’
‘I thought I saw women down in the tavern cellar,’ said Precious Thimble.
‘Bearing a child prevents the settling of the curse. Mothers are immune. There-fore, if you or your fellow female companions have at any time produced a child, you need not worry.’