‘One. Claims to be a mage. An obvious lunatic.’
‘Great. Guess I’d better get my pay.’
‘Yes. But not now. Got a job for you.’
‘Do I have time to eat?’
Surly gestured to the kitchens. ‘Help yourself.’
He ducked through to the kitchen area and found his brother leaning over a stone oven. ‘Progress?’ he called.
Urko glanced at him from under frowning brows. He straightened, crossed his thick arms over his stained apron. ‘Damned scones won’t rise.’
Cartheron leaned back against a stone-topped counter. ‘Maybe it’s your age. You know, as you get older…’
‘Very funny.’ Urko took a cast-iron skillet from a hook, held it in his hands. ‘There’s fighting almost every night ’gainst Geffen’s boys ’n’ girls and Sur— Surly won’t let me out!’
‘Geffen? We don’t have the personnel for that.’
‘Tell that to those two crazies. They’ve taken him on and we’re in the middle.’
‘That’s stupid. Why did Surly go along with that?’
Urko hefted the heavy skillet. ‘The deal is they get us a ship.’
‘A ship.’ Cartheron leaned forward. ‘When all the ships and crews are controlled by Mock? That’s horseshit. This is a bad deal.’
His brother grasped the pan and the handle of the skillet. His thick forearms flexed, cabling. ‘I’ll say,’ he exhaled, hissing. ‘She keeps me cooped up in here when I could tear down that fucker’s entire building.’ The blackened iron creaked, screeching, and the skillet folded completely in half. He tossed the wrecked object aside then stood looking rather embarrassed. ‘Sorry.’
‘Still,’ Cartheron observed, peering about the kitchen, ‘you got a nice set-up here. Indoor oven, enclosed fire pit.’
His brother brightened, nodding. ‘That’s true. Beats having to go outside in the damned rain.’ Then he scowled, suddenly suspicious. He jabbed a meaty finger into Cartheron’s chest. ‘Don’t you try to pacify me.’
Cartheron raised his hands. ‘Wouldn’t dare. Listen, I’ll have a word, okay?’
Urko grunted his agreement. He lifted the lid from a large blackened kettle that hung over the fire. Steam billowed out. ‘You do that.’
*
After a bowl of watery soup Cartheron went to find Surly. Their best mage, Hawl, was currently guarding the door. The woman was no beauty, with wide lumpy features and a thick build, yet she and Grinner somehow maintained a relationship that satisfied them both. ‘Surly?’ he asked her.
She raised her gaze to the ceiling. He nodded and headed for the stairs. Surly had taken the largest room on the second floor as her private quarters. Approaching the door he heard the shush of quick steps and the thump of blows. He was not alarmed; he knew the sound of her training.
He knocked and waited. After a few moments the door opened a crack and Lady Sureth peered out, her hair and light Napan-blue features gleaming with sweat, her taut chest rising and falling beneath a damp shirt.
Seeing him, she turned away, leaving the door open.
He entered, shutting the door behind him. Inside, the room stood nearly empty but for a thick training pillar at its centre, the hard blackwood beaten, scuffed and dented. The only hint that anyone lived here was bedding kicked up against one wall. Surly had returned to the tall training piece and was practising knife-hand strikes.
‘I’ve been promoted to steersman,’ he said.
‘Good. We can use the money.’
He leaned back against a wall. ‘I’ll say. No one’s downstairs.’
She glanced at him, her eyes gauging. Years of working together allowed her to ask directly: ‘What is it?’
‘Urko wants to know why we haven’t torn Geffen’s house down around him. I take it that’s because you’re trying for something a little more subtle.’
She switched to alternating right and left kicks at head height. Her bare feet snapped up with blurring speed, yet such was her control that each touched with the lightest of taps. ‘We don’t want Mock’s attention,’ she explained. ‘We don’t want these damned Malazans uniting against us. And … I’m waiting for a ship.’
He nodded to himself. ‘Met one of these would-be bosses. Is he why you’re training so hard?’
She cast him a dark look over one shoulder. ‘Get better armed. You’re on babysitting duty.’
He grimaced. ‘Managed the soup, but I’ll eat elsewhere if that’s okay. Wait, babysitting? What do you mean?’
‘Our employer who claims to be a mage has a habit of wandering off. We have to keep an eye on him.’
Cartheron straightened. ‘Is he for real? Or is he just all talk?’
Surly paused in her strikes. He noticed her hands, loose at her sides, all red and bloodied. She tilted her head, considering. ‘You know, I really have no idea. But if he can’t deliver then we fall back to the old plan.’
He nodded. ‘Grab the shop title and buy a ship.’
She sucked the blood from the side of one hand, studied the wound. ‘He has a fortnight. Dismissed.’
Cartheron saluted. ‘Aye, aye.’
*
He sat with Grinner and Hawl in the common room and caught up with the news. Back with his old friends he found himself once more being called Crust rather than Cartheron, while his brother was just plain Urko. He didn’t know when or why it started, but it was probably simply easier to bellow ‘Crust’ in storms and battle. He learned that they’d gained control of a few warehouses and shop-fronts and that the main work was in protecting these from being raided or burned to the ground.
‘There’s not enough of us,’ he complained to Hawl.
‘Tell us about it,’ she grunted, slumped in her chair.
He needn’t have said anything. Her exhaustion showed in her dark sunken eyes and lank unwashed hair. Her hands, cracked and red-raw, restlessly tapped at the table and he watched them for a time, thinking, Is that nerves? ‘Any local talent to worry about?’ he asked.
That elicited a snort of disgust. ‘No and yes. Geffen has no one – but there are some damned terrifying powers here on the island. They’re not involved, but I can feel them none the less. My back won’t stop itching.’
Grinner reached out and took her hands in one of his, stilling them. Hawl let out a long breath, her shoulders easing.
‘And our mage employer? Is he for real?’
She nodded. ‘Oh yes. He has access to something all right. Just what that is I don’t know. Whatever it is, it’s damned grating. I’ve felt his raised aspect a few times and let me tell you – for a mage it’s like having needles hammered into your skull. It just ain’t right. I even had a nosebleed one time.’
Cartheron picked up a fist of bread and tapped it to the table. Rock hard. He nodded to Hawl. ‘Okay. What about Amaron and Noc? Any word?’
‘Still in the grass,’ Grinner answered in his soft voice – so jarring from someone so scarred and savage-looking. He looked to Hawl. ‘But I don’t think they’re gonna find any support left on the island. I think the powers that be all consider it a done deal.’