Toll the Hounds (The Malazan Book of the Fallen #8)
Page 170Another step closer, eyes on those wonderful tools which he’d like to take, and the corpse spoke.
‘As you please, cub.’
Harllo lunged backward. His heart pounded wild in the cage of his chest. ‘A demon!’
‘Patron of miners, perhaps. Not a demon, cub, not a demon.’
The candle had gone out with Harllo’s panicked retreat. The corpse’s voice, sonorous, with a rhythm like waves on a sandy beach, echoed out from the pitch black darkness.
‘I am Dev’ad Anan Tol, of the Irynthal Clan of the Imass, who once lived on the shores of the Jhagra Til until the Tyrant Raest came to enslave us. Sent us down into the rock, where we all died. Yet see, I did not die. Alone of all my kin, I did not die.’
Harllo shakily fumbled with the candle, forcing the oiled wick into the spring spark tube. Three quick hissing pumps of the sparker and flame darted up. ‘Nice trick, that.’
‘The tube’s got blue gas, not much and runs out fast so it needs refilling. There’s bladders upside. Why didn’t you die?’
‘I have had some time to ponder that question, cub. I have reached but one conclusion that explains my condition. The Ritual of Tellann.’
From the Imass named Dev’ad Anan Tol, silence. ‘You still there?’ Harllo asked,
‘Cub. Take my tools. The first ever made and by my own hand, I was an Inventor. In my mind ideas bred with such frenzy that I lived in a fever. At times, at night, I went half mad. So many thoughts, so many notions-my clan feared me, The bonecaster feared me. Raest himself feared me, and so he had me thrown down here. To die. And my ideas with me.’
‘Should I tell everyone about you? They might decide to lift you out, so you can see the world again.’
‘The world? That tiny flame you hold has shown me more of the world than I can comprehend. The sun… oh, the sun… that would destroy me, I think. To see it again.’
‘We have metal picks now,’ Harllo said. ‘Iron.’
‘Skystone. Yes, I saw much of it in the tunnels. The Jaghut used sorcery to bring it forth and shape it-we were not permitted to witness such things. But I thought, even then, how it might be drawn free, without magic. With heat. Drawn out, given shape, made into useful things. Does Raest still rule?’
‘Never heard of any Raest,’ said Harllo. ‘Bainisk rules Chuffs and Workmaster rules the mine and in the city there’s a council of nobles and in faraway lands there’re kings and queens and emperors and empresses.’
‘And T’lan Imass who kneel.’
‘The wrong rock, the white grit that sickens people. Foul air.’
‘So no one else comes down here.’
‘Yes.’
‘But then you’ll be alone again.’
‘Yes. Tell them, too, that a ghost haunts this place. Show them the ghost’s magical tools.’
‘I will. Listen, could be I might sneak back down here, if you like.’
‘Cub, that would be most welcome.’
‘Can I bring you anything?’
‘What?’
‘Splints.’
And now Harllo was making his way back to daylight, and in his extra-heavy bag there clunked the tools of the corpse. Antler and bone hardened into stone, tines jabbing at his hip.
If Venaz found out about them he might take them, so Harllo knew he had to be careful. He had to hide them somewhere. Where nobody went or looked or picked through things. Plenty to think about, he had.
And he needed to find something called “splints”. Whatever they were.
She insisted on taking his arm as they walked towards the Phoenix Inn, down from the Estate District, through Third Tier Wall, and into the Daru District. ‘So many people,’ she was saying. ‘This is by far the biggest city I’ve ever been in. 1 think what strikes me is how many familiar faces I see-not people I actually know, just people who look like people I’ve known.’