Dassem sat before a modest fire next to a small series of half-buried walls and toppled stone arches. It was not night, as he would understand it, though the mage Kellanved had called it that. It was more like an overcast dusk, the sky a dark iron, the shadows thick and heavy. Sighing his impatience, he made a show of warming his hands. In his opinion this was a stupid errand. They should be on the island; it was clear to him that the power base these two counted on was not secure. Enemies remained within striking distance and ought to be eliminated. Greater consolidation was necessary, yet here they were, wasting precious time.
A dark shape came looming out of the dusky sky. Its ragged membranous wings flapped loudly as it descended to alight on an arch of ancient stones across the fire from him and he sat back, studying the strange cross between a pelican and a bat.
At last, he thought.
The creature paced atop the stone ledge. ‘A fire?’ it cawed harshly. ‘You sit here plain as day and light a fire? Don’t you know where you are?’ Dassem opened his mouth to answer but the beast cut in, ‘Never mind! Who are you? What are you doing here? What do you want?’
He thought through the answers the mage had schooled him in and responded, casually, ‘I just thought I’d take a stroll…’
The beast pressed the tiny hands on its wings to its head. ‘A stroll! Ancient ones! What have we come to?’ It swept a wing to encompass the desolate surroundings. ‘What does this look like? A garden pastoral? Have you no respect?’
‘It seems quiet enough,’ Dassem answered.
The thing cackled a cawed laugh. It shifted its tiny black pebble eyes left and right. ‘You’ll see. Soon enough.’ It pressed a tiny hand to one earhole, head cocked. ‘Any time now…’
Dassem peered round as well, as if curious.
‘Yup. Any moment…’ The creature dropped its little hand. ‘They should be here by now.’
‘What should?’ Dassem asked.
‘Shut up, fool.’
Dassem sat back, sighing. ‘Please?’ he called loudly.
The thing frowned its confusion at him. ‘What’s that? Please? Why?’ It hopped then, startled, peering round at the ruins. ‘Who’s there? Gaahh!’ It leapt into the sky but shadows came lashing about it like knotted ropes and it fell tumbling to the sands.
Dancer came charging out from among the fallen stones to stand over it. Kellanved strolled along behind.
‘You!’ the creature gaped, astonished. ‘How did you…?’
Kellanved shrugged modestly, waved his walking stick. ‘Oh, it was nothing really. I just—’
‘Enough,’ Dancer cut in. To the beast: ‘Who do you work for?’
‘Go to the Abyss.’
Kellanved planted his stick into the sands and sighed his disappointment. ‘You really should cooperate.’
‘I will tell you nothing. Nothing.’ It struggled to raise one little hand, thumb and finger pinched together. ‘See this? You are this. Tiny. A flea. Nothing. Shadow will swallow you.’
‘We shall see.’ He nodded to Dassem and Dancer, and the two grasped the thing’s feet and dragged it off.
‘What are you doing?’ it demanded. ‘What’s going on?’
Dancer directed Dassem to a dark hole exposed among flagstones in the middle of the ruined building. They held the bat-like creature at the hole’s lip.
Coming along behind, Kellanved offered, ‘One last chance. Who is in charge here?’
‘Kiss my furry—’
Dassem and Dancer let it fall. They heard it thump to the floor far below.
‘What’s this?’ it squawked. ‘Bodies? There are bodies down here!’
Kellanved nodded to the stone that had covered the hole and Dassem began edging it towards the space. ‘Do you wish to talk now?’ he called.
‘Only if you join me!’
‘Well, you have a think about it,’ Kellanved suggested. ‘We’ll talk later. In a hundred years,’ he added, mostly to himself, as the stone slotted neatly back into place. ‘Disappointing,’ he went on. ‘I’d hoped to get something out of that creature.’
‘The island?’ Dassem reminded him. ‘Their strategic position is weak.’
‘Hmm? What’s that?’
‘The Napans.’
‘Our friend is right,’ Dancer added. ‘We’re supposed to be in charge, remember?’
Kellanved rolled his eyes. He threw his arms out wide as if to embrace their surroundings. ‘But this is all so much more fascinating!’
‘Later,’ Dancer answered firmly, and Dassem nodded his support.
Kellanved let his arms fall. His lips tightened into a disappointed moue, so very put upon. ‘Oh, very well! If you insist.’
*
It was late afternoon and Cartheron had the last of a pot of rendered glue heating over a fire on the pier next to the Twisted when Tocaras, up aloft among the standing rigging, called to him and pointed out to the bay. He stepped up on to a crate for a good look and as soon as he saw the vessel swinging in across the mouth of the harbour he knew with a sort of heavy weight of despair that they’d waited too long.
It was Tarel’s flagship, the Sapphire.
Choss, Urko, Hawl and Tocaras all gathered round.
‘Jammed with marines, no doubt,’ Urko said with a curse.
‘Why just the flagship?’ Tocaras wondered.
‘They’re not here to fight the Malazans,’ Hawl observed darkly.
Cartheron nodded his agreement. ‘Grab your gear and let’s go.’ He doused the fire, collected his tools, and jogged with the others for Smiley’s.
Already a launch was being lowered over the Sapphire’s side. Cartheron’s last glimpse of the harbour waters allowed him to see a white flag flapping above the crowded boat.
*
When word came of a large Napan man-o-war blockading the harbour mouth, Lee’s brows rose. When further word came that it was no less than King Tarel’s flagship, Lee decided to amble down to the waterfront to see how poor old Admiral Mock was going to handle this development.
The Malazan captains had the waterfront cordoned off by ranks of armed marines and sailors. A small contingent of Napans, an honour guard of some sort, together with one rather fat official, climbed up from a packed launch and approached along a jetty.
Mock was waiting with a handful of his captains. Lee pushed her way closer, thinking, This really ought to be good.
‘Admiral Koreth,’ Mock said, bowing. ‘You are come for another visit?’
The Napan admiral returned the bow, if curtly. ‘I am come at behest of King Tarel.’
Mock stroked his moustache, nodding. ‘Ah, yes. My brother regent. How fares he?’
Koreth had drawn off leather gloves that he now slapped across one leg, impatient. ‘The king is well. He is irked, however, by an oversight of yours. A mistake, no doubt, as I am certain you mean no insult.’
Mock peered about, eyeing the massed Malazan sailors and marines who held the waterfront and were glaring down at the admiral’s elite Napan escort. ‘Oh? An oversight, you say? And that is?’
‘You have allowed wanted Napan criminals to reside on your island.’
Mock raised his face to a freshening wind coming in off the bay, nodding to himself. ‘Ah … I see the way of your tack now, admiral.’ He shrugged. ‘Malaz is an open port. Any and all are welcome.’
Koreth was tapping his gloves against his thigh. ‘I understand your pride in this. Malaz has traditionally been an open port. That is a shame.’
Mock lost his playful smile, eyed the man’s small escort significantly. ‘Have a care, admiral.’
Koreth raised his open hands. ‘Oh, I do not mean for you or me. I meant for our prisoners.’
‘Prisoners?’
‘Yes. Captives from our recent … unpleasantness. Some four score Malazan crew, men and women.’