Deadhouse Landing

Urko slammed open the door and they marched up the entranceway into the main reception hall. A huge fire burned in a large stone fireplace along the rear wall. Tables were crowded by crews who stared now, suddenly silent. At the high table sat three captains. These three now eyed them, surprised and rather annoyed.

‘So, it is true,’ Kellanved announced loudly. ‘Mock no longer.’

The three captains shared dark knowing grins.

‘Fell drunk from a parapet,’ said one.

‘Threw himself over pining for his sorceress lass,’ said another.

‘We haven’t decided yet,’ explained the third. Then he added, ‘So, what are you doing here, mage? You have the city. The old rules as under Mock remain.’

Kellanved walked forward, out on to the open floor of the wide hall. He tapped the stones with his walking stick as he went, a finger raised as if about to question a point of procedure. ‘Ah! The old rules … about them. I have a question. Is it not Malazan tradition that the strongest captain rules?’

‘That is so,’ answered the bearded one on the right. Renish, Dancer believed was his name. ‘But you are no captain.’

Kellanved gave an exaggerated nod. ‘Ah. But … you see, I believe I am. I have a vessel. The Twisted.’

The middle one laughed his scorn. He bore long moustaches after the style of Mock. Hess, Dancer knew. ‘You may own that scow, but you are no seaman. No mariner!’

The gathered crews all joined in the laughter. Kellanved waited for the noise to die down, rocking back and forth on his heels, hands behind his back. He nodded again. ‘True, true. I am no sailor. However, I do have sailors and captains who serve me. Skilled captains such as Urko, Choss, and Cartheron Crust.’

‘Napans,’ hissed the last captain at the table, scarred and sun-darkened, wearing a sturdy leather jack, long-knives at his waist. Guran.

Kellanved raised his chin. ‘Napan renegades. Wanted outlaws. Thus, dare I say, honorary Malazans?’

Arguments broke out among the company as the gathered raiders and marines set to talking all at once. Guran banged a pewter tankard on the table for silence. Once the babble had settled, he regarded Kellanved. ‘Your point?’ he demanded.

‘Ah! My point. Yes. Well … seeing as I have as many as four or five captains in my service, I suppose that makes me an admiral.’

‘What!’ Guran exploded. The crews surged to their feet in an uproar. Hess and Renish gaped at the mage, astounded by his claim.

Dancer peered round at the chaos and struggled to suppress a smile. Whatever was going to transpire this night he was enjoying this. The odd little fellow nominating himself as admiral.

It took all three captains waving their arms and shouting and banging the table to restore order. Hess, at the centre, now spoke. ‘You are standing for admiral of Malaz, are you?’

Kellanved inclined his head. ‘I am.’

‘You do realize that you must be ready to enforce this claim? That any challenge must be met in combat? Combat with knife or sword – no tricks or damned magery?’

‘Yes.’

‘Combat,’ Hess added, ‘to the death?’

Kellanved waved a hand dismissively. ‘I do.’

The three captains exchanged triumphant glances. Guran stood.

Dancer felt a sudden sinking feeling, as if all their plans had just gone awry. How could the lad hope to fight any of these experienced raiders? Hadn’t he foreseen a challenge?’

Kellanved raised a finger once more. Guran scowled, but nodded, ‘What?’

‘I understand I may nominate a champion – should you agree.’

Guran cast his brother captains another glance of triumph. ‘Wrong.’ He started down from the high table. ‘If you choose to hide behind a champion, then the challenger may select him from among your crew.’

The sturdy fellow rounded the table and set his fists to his waist. He studied all who had come with Kellanved. The crews had remained on their feet as well, and now they set to moving the tables and benches aside, clearing a space.

The captain took his time, eyeing every one of Kellanved’s people. Most he dismissed immediately, such as Dassem and Urko. His gaze lingered for a time on Surly, before moving on to the last of them at the rear, the young woman, Lee.

Dancer snarled inwardly. Stupid traditions! They should just set to knifing everyone! To this end he caught Surly’s eye, and was surprised to see there a similar opinion. But Kellanved obviously knew him too well, because he felt the lad’s hand at his arm, pressing him back.

Guran gestured to Lee, inviting her forward. ‘You, lass. You’ll do. Will you fight for your admiral here?’

‘No!’ Dassem called, stepping up. ‘Not her. I will fight.’

Guran waggled a finger at him. ‘No, boyo. Not you.’ He pointed to Lee. ‘Her.’

Dassem faced her. ‘You need not do this. None will hold you to it.’

Surprising Dancer, the lean young woman looked to Surly, as if seeking permission, and Surly nodded as if granting it. Smiling, she turned to Guran. ‘I accept.’