Deadhouse Landing

Dancer waved everyone out. ‘Take all the carts and cargo and barricade the bridges.’

A brilliant flash burst upon them then, momentarily blinding them, and a blast rumbled across the city.

‘Lightning strike,’ Tocaras said as the echoes of the eruption died away.

‘That was no lightning,’ Dancer said.

*   *   *

Once most of them were on the way, plus some thirty local hires, Cartheron ducked back within Smiley’s and shut the door against the raging winds. All that remained were Grinner, Hawl, Shrift, and a very angry Surly. ‘Are you going to cooperate, Surly, or am I going to have to guard the door?’

She thrust an arm out, pointing. ‘Get going! You’re needed. We’re too shorthanded to hold anyone back.’

‘Except you,’ he answered, firm. ‘We can’t let them see you.’

‘I can fight!’ she nearly yelled, almost stamping a foot.

Cartheron rubbed the stubble of his unshaven chin. ‘Let’s hope you don’t have to,’ he answered, ‘because that would mean we’re all dead.’

Surly straightened as if slapped. She wrapped her arms round herself in a hug and jerked a fierce nod. ‘I’m sorry. Go. You’re needed.’

He answered her nod. ‘Good luck.’ To Grinner, he ordered, ‘Guard her.’

The burly fellow, their best fighter by far, waved him off.

He pushed open the door and leaned into the gusting, contrary wind. The streets were completely empty of anyone; the inhabitants of Malaz were more than familiar with stormy nights.

Urko and he had each been given charge of one of the lower bridges; what the Dal Hon swordsman intended at the third, he had no idea. He only knew that this Dancer character – who was no fool – had confidence in him. And in any case, he had enough to worry about at his own command. Jogging up to the bridge, he saw his troops still piling and lashing crates and cargo to carts that they’d turned on their sides. Young Jack was there, as well as Choss and Dancer, and some fifteen local Malazan hires, ex-raiders, toughs, and street-bravos all.

‘Just in time,’ Choss called, pointing past the barricade.

Cartheron nodded to him and climbed up on to a cart; a column of the Napan elites was on its way up the street.

The fierce wind buffeted him then, almost sending him head over heels, and he shielded his eyes, frowning into the winds. It was odd – there were no clouds at all.

‘Something strange, Crust,’ Choss called up. ‘I seen a robed guy watching us. When I looked back, he was gone.’

‘I believe it’s a mage battle,’ Dancer put in. ‘Kellanved’s … got involved.’

Cartheron grunted, unimpressed. What entirely engrossed him was the Napan officer leading the approaching column. He started down the opposite side of the barricade.

‘Crust!’ Choss bellowed, outraged.

‘Keep building!’ he shouted back. ‘I’ll buy us some time.’ Jumping down to the worn timbers of the bridge, he walked forward, hands raised. ‘Clementh!’ he called. ‘Is that you!’

The female officer raised a hand to call a halt and started forward alone. They met about a quarter of the way up the arch of the bridge. She wore a set of heavy leather armour, scaled in skirting down to her ankles, each scale intaglioed in swirls and edged in bronze. She pushed back her domed helm and unbuttoned its cheek-guards, then set her gauntleted fists at her hips.

‘Cartheron Crust … it is you.’

‘Clementh. Good to see you.’ He gestured to her gear. ‘Coming up in the world, I see.’

She inclined her head. ‘Lieutenant in the Royal Guard.’

Cartheron nodded, impressed. ‘So he sent the Royals, hey?’

‘For his sister? Of course.’

He shook his head. ‘She’s dead. Took her own life.’

Clementh waved a hand, dismissive. ‘Don’t even try. We’ve had spies on the island for weeks. She’s been identified.’

‘Listen, Clementh. Why follow that fool? Look at the damage he’s done to the fleets. Come over to us. You know Sureth is in the right.’

She lifted her shoulders in a shrug. ‘Look what damage he’s done to the Malazan fleets. At least he acts.’

‘The right is hers.’

She lifted a hand to forestall anything more. ‘Don’t try to involve me in a political argument right now, Crust. What’s done is done. Stand aside, or, unfortunately, I’ll just have to kill you and feel bad about it afterwards.’

‘You can try.’

She pulled down her helm. ‘What? Fifty of the Royal Guard against your ragtag pirates? Don’t be a fool, Crust.’

He was backing away. ‘We’ll see. Until then.’ He saluted and jogged back to the barricade.

Climbing down, he noticed that the piled wood of the crates and carts was wet and slick with oil. Choss met him on the other side. ‘Is that Clementh?’ he asked.

‘Yeah.’

‘Damn. She’s good.’

‘I know.’

Choss handed him a spear and he took it, his brows rising. ‘Good idea.’

‘Jack’s.’

Everyone, he saw, was armed with spears and other pole weapons, even Dancer. With luck, they’d be able to hold the Napans off. He nodded to everyone. ‘Okay. Line up. Double ranks.’ He looked at the spear in Dancer’s hands. ‘You okay with that?’

The assassin was peering off at the sky as if distracted, but he nodded. ‘For now.’