They'd yet to approach, but the historian knew it was only a matter of time. In this village travellers would be rare, and one wearing the field cape of a soldier even rarer. Thus far, however, translating curiosity into action had proved too great an effort.
Kulp gestured to the barman for a jug of ale, then leaned close to Duiker. 'There's going to be questions. Soon. That's one problem. We don't have a boat. That's another. I'm a poor excuse for a sailor, that's a third-'
'All right, all right,' the historian hissed. 'Hood's breath, let me think in peace!'
His expression sour, Kulp leaned back.
Moths danced clumsily between the sputtering lanterns in the room. There were no villagers present, and the lone barman's attention seemed close to obsessive on the Malazan soldiers, holding his thin, dark eyes on them even as he set down the ale jug in front of Kulp.
Watching the barman leave, the mage grunted. 'This night's passing strange, Duiker.'
'Aye.'
The scrape of a chair drew their attention to the ranking Malazan, a corporal by the sigil on his surcoat, who'd risen and now approached. Beneath the dull tin sigil was a larger stain, where the surcoat's dye was unweathered — the man had once been a sergeant.
To match his frame, the corporal's face was flat and wide, evincing north Kanese blood somewhere in his ancestry. His head was shaved, showing razor scars, some still blotted with dried blood. His gaze was fixed on Kulp.
The mage spoke first. 'Watch your tongue, lest you keep walking backwards.'
The soldier blinked. 'Backwards?'
'Sergeant, then corporal — you bucking for private now? You've been warned.'
The man seemed unaffected. 'I see no rank showing,' he growled.
'Only because you don't know what to look for. Go back to your table, Corporal, and leave our business to us.'
'You're Seventh Army.' He clearly had no intention of returning to his table. 'A deserter.'
Kulp's wiry brows rose. 'Corporal, you've just come face to face with the Seventh's entire Mage Cadre. Now back out of my face before I put gills and scales on yours.'
The corporal's eyes flicked to Duiker, then back to Kulp.
'Wrong,' the mage sighed.
'Gills and scales, huh?' The corporal set his wide hands down on the tabletop and leaned close to Kulp. 'I get even a sniff of you opening a warren, you'll find a knife in your throat. This is my guardpost, magicker, and any business you got here is
Duiker cleared his throat. 'Before this goes any further-'
'Shut your mouth!' the corporal snapped, still glaring at Kulp.
Distant shouting interrupted them. 'Truth!' the corporal bellowed. 'Go see what's happening outside.'
A young Cawn sailor leapt to his feet, checking a newly issued short sword scabbarded at his hip as he crossed to the door.
'We are here,' Duiker told the corporal, 'to purchase a boat-'
A startled curse came from just outside, followed by a frantic scrabbling of boots on the rickety inn steps. The recruit named Truth tumbled back inside, his face white. An impressive stream of Cawn dockside curses issued from the youth's mouth, finishing with: '- got an armed mob outside, Corporal, and they ain't interested in talking. Saw them split, about ten heading to the
The other sailors were on their feet. One addressed the corporal. 'They'll torch her, Gesler, then we'll be stuck on this stinking strip of beach-'
'Arms out and form up,' Gesler growled. He rose, turning to the other marine. 'Front door, Stormy. Find out who's leading that group out there and stick a quarrel between his eyes.'
'We have to save the boat!' the sailors' spokesman said.
Gesler nodded. 'That we will, Vered.'
The marine named Stormy took position at the door, his cocked assault crossbow appearing as if from nowhere. Outside, the shouting had grown louder, closer. The mob was working itself into the courage it needed to rush the inn. The boy Truth stood in the centre of the room, the short sword twitching in his hand, his face red with rage.
'Calm yourself, lad,' Gesler said. His eyes fell to Kulp. 'I'm less likely to cut off your ears if you open a warren now, Mage.'
Duiker asked, 'You've made enemies in this village, Corporal?'
The man smiled. 'This has been coming for some time.
The historian sighed, then nodded.
'Expect some arrows through the walls,' Stormy said from the doorway.
'Found their leader yet?'
'Aye, and he's keeping his distance.'
'We can't wait — to the back door, everyone!'
The barman, who'd been crouching behind the small counter on one side of the room, now stepped forward, hunched crablike in expectation of the first flight of arrows through the burlap wall. 'The tab, Mezla — many weeks now. Seventy-two jakatas-'
