‘I’m a marine, soldier, and that’s what I am and this is how us marines talk. Like the sergeant says, what battle was that again? Ancient history. We fight somebody? When? Like that, you see?’
‘The best marines of all, Corporal,’ Tarr drawled, ‘are the ones who don’t say a damned thing.’
…
‘Corporal Corabb?’
‘Sorry, what, Sergeant? Like that?’
‘Perfect.’
Bottle could see Balm and his squad a dozen paces ahead. Throatslitter. Deadsmell. Widdershins.
That’s it? That’s all that’s left of them?
‘No warrens around here, right?’
‘Sergeant? Oh, aye. None at all. These Fid’s questions?’
‘So it’s dead as dead can be.’
‘Aye. Like a sucked bone.’
‘Meaning,’ Tarr resumed, ‘no one can find us out here. Right?’
Bottle blinked, and then scratched at the stubble on his jaw. His nails came away flecked with burnt skin and something that looked like salt crystals. He frowned. ‘Well, I suppose so. Unless, of course, they’ve got eyes. Or wings,’ and he nodded upward.
Breath gusted from Tarr’s nostrils, making a faint whistling sound.
‘For that, they’d have to be out here, doing what we’re doing. But this desert’s supposed to be impassable. No one in their right minds would ever try and cross it. That’s the view, isn’t it?’
The view? It ain’t opinion, Tarr. It’s a fact. No one in their right minds would try and cross it
. ‘Is there someone in particular, Sergeant, who might be trying to find us?’
Tarr shook his head. ‘Captain’s the one with the Deck, not me.’
‘But they’ll be cold here, those cards. Lifeless. So, what we’re talking about is a reading he did before we crossed over. Was someone closing in, Sergeant?’
‘No point in asking me that, Bottle.’
‘Listen, this is ridiculous. If Fiddler wants to ask me stuff, he can just hump down here and do it. That way, I can ask stuff back.’
‘Are they blind, Bottle, is what Fid wanted to know. Not us. Them.’
Them
. ‘Aye. Wide-Eyed Blind.’
Tarr grunted. ‘Good.’
‘Sergeant … can you remember who came up with our name? Bonehunters?’
‘Might have been the Adjunct herself. The first time I heard it was from her. I think.’
But this is impossible. Aren. She couldn’t have known. Not then
.
‘Why, Bottle?’
‘No reason, just wondering. Is that it? Can me and the corporal switch round again?’
‘One more question. Is Quick Ben alive?’
‘I already told Fid—’
‘This question ain’t his, Bottle. It’s mine.’
‘Listen, I don’t know – and I told Fid the same thing. I got no sense with those people—’
‘Which people?’
‘Bridgeburners. Those people. Dead Hedge, Quick Ben – even Fiddler himself. They aren’t the same as us. As you and me, Sergeant, or Corabb back there. Don’t ask me to explain what I mean. The point is, I can’t read them, can’t scry for them. Sometimes, it’s like they’re … I don’t know … ghosts. You poke and you go right through. Other times, they’re like a solid mountain, so big the sun itself can’t climb over them. So I don’t know, is my answer.’
Tarr was squinting across at him. ‘You say all that to the captain?’
‘I don’t know if Quick Ben’s dead or alive, Sergeant, but if I was to wager on it, well, I can think of a few hundred Bonehunters happy to go against me, more than a few hundred, in fact. But if I was to take that bet to Hedge, or Fiddler …’ Bottle shook his head, slapped at something biting his neck.
‘You’re wagering that he’s dead?’
‘No, I’m betting he’s alive. And I’m betting more than that. I’m betting he’s still in this game.’
The sergeant suddenly grinned. ‘Great to have you back, Mage.’
‘Not so fast, Tarr – Sergeant, I mean. Don’t forget, I didn’t see him at the end there. And from what I’ve heard, it was ugly.’
‘The ugliest.’
‘So … that’s why I’m not making any wagers.’
‘Hood knows what Fid ever saw in you, soldier. Go on, get out of my sight.’
When he’d exchanged places in the line with Corabb, Cuttle fell in on his left. ‘Listen—’
‘Who in Hood’s name am I these days, Fisher himself?’
‘What? No. It’s something Koryk said—’
‘Which thing? The thing about the Piss Drinker? Fid doesn’t make his own cards, Cuttle. He’s not that kind of Deck monger. So—’
‘About booty, soldier. That thing about booty.’
‘I think that was sarcasm.’
On his right, Smiles grunted, but offered nothing more.
‘That’s just it,’ Cuttle said. ‘Now, it was Dassem Ultor who really came down on the whole pillaging stuff—’
‘We were conquering, not raiding. When you occupy a city, it’s bad practice to loot and rape the citizens. Riles them, and before you know it your occupying garrison soldiers start getting murdered on night patrol.’
‘So, we weren’t in the habit of it anyway, but even then we still had a chance to get rich. Every company got itself a scribe and everything was portioned out. Collected weapons and armour. Horses, all that. Winning a battle meant bonuses.’
‘All very well, Cuttle,’ nodded Bottle. ‘But we here got us a temple treasury. The pay rolls are still being maintained. The fact is, sapper, we’re all stinking rich.’
‘Assuming we live to get it.’
‘That’s always how it is. I don’t see your point.’
The sapper’s small eyes glittered. ‘Tell me,’ he said in a rough voice, ‘do you give a Nacht’s ass about it? Do you, Bottle?’
He considered. Four, five, seven strides. ‘No,’ he admitted, ‘but then, I never did care much. Not in it for wealth.’
‘You’re young, aye. It’s the adventure that tugs you along. But you see, get to a certain age, seen enough of all that’s out there, and you start thinking about your life when it’s all done with. Y’start thinking about some cosy cottage, or maybe a decent room above a decent tavern. Aye, you know it’ll probably never be, but you dream about it anyway. And that’s where all the coin comes in.’
‘And?’
His voice dropped lower. ‘Bottle, I ain’t thinking past next week. I ain’t thought about my pay in months. You hearing me? No cottage, no tavern. No nice little fisher boat or, gods forbid, a garden. None of it.’
‘That’s because we’re the walking dead, right?’
‘I thought so, what with what Fid said the other night, but now I don’t.’
Curious, Bottle eyed the sapper. ‘Go on, then.’
Cuttle shrugged, as if suddenly uncomfortable. ‘Something’s happened to us, that’s all. The Bonehunters. Maybe it was invading Lether. Maybe it was Malaz City, or even Y’Ghatan, I don’t know. Look at us. We’re an army not thinking about loot. Why do you think Koryk went and mocked Smiles here about charging for her piss?’
‘Because he’s broke,’ Smiles answered. ‘And jealous.’
‘It’s because no one cares about silver and gold, or buying stinking estates, or breeding horses or taking up sea trades. We’re probably the only army in the world that doesn’t.’
Smiles snorted. ‘Hold on, sapper. You don’t think that when we’ve chopped up whoever and we’re standing there on that battlefield – don’t you think we’re gonna start cutting off fingers and all the rest? Loading up on torcs and rings and decent swords and whatever?’
‘No. I don’t, Smiles.’
‘I think I agree with Cuttle on this one,’ said Bottle. ‘Then again, maybe
you
will—’
‘Why should I?’ she retorted. ‘I wasn’t talking about me at all—’
‘Another first,’ Bottle muttered.
‘Oh, I’m gonna walk around checking bodies, aye,’ she said, nodding. ‘Find one still breathing, and slit goes the throat. Rings and shit? Forget it.’
‘Just what I been saying,’ Cuttle said, and he fixed wide eyes upon Bottle. ‘It’s exactly it, Bottle. This army has gone insane.’
‘Fid’s captain now,’ Balm growled. ‘What more do you need to know? He’ll do us right. He was a Bridgeburner, wasn’t he? Look at his old squad, lads – didn’t lose a damned one of them. If that ain’t the kind eye of a god looking down, what is?’
Widdershins crowded up behind Throatslitter, Deadsmell and the sergeant. ‘Did any of you hear Bottle back there? That stuff about our name?’
Throatslitter scowled. ‘What?’
‘He was asking about how we got our name.’
‘So?’
‘So, I just think … well … I think it’s important. I think Bottle knows something, but he’s keeping it quiet—’
‘Bottled up?’ Deadsmell asked.
Throatslitter’s high-pitched laugh triggered curses up and down the line. The assassin hissed under his breath. ‘Sorry, that just came out.’
‘So give him a shake, Wid,’ pressed Deadsmell, ‘until it all gushes out. He’s got a cork somewhere, go and find it.’
Throatslitter snorted, and then choked as he held down another squeal.
‘Stop that, Deadsmell,’ Balm ordered. ‘I mean it.’
‘But I’ve just scratched the surface of possibilities, Sergeant—’
‘You saw what Cuttle went and did to Koryk? I’ll lay you out, Deadsmell—’
‘You can’t do that – you’re our sergeant!’
‘Meaning I
can
do it, idiot.’
Widdershins said, ‘Bottle’s a mage, just like me. We got us a common bond. Think I might talk to him after all. There’s something he’s not saying. I know it.’
‘Well,’ mused Deadsmell, ‘the man did somehow survive the Nah’ruk kitchen tent, so that’s kind of impressive.’
‘And he came in with Captain Ruthan Gudd. There’s an inner circle, you see. I suspected it from way back.’
‘Widdershins, you may have hit on something there,’ said Deadsmell. ‘People in the know. Knowing … something.’
‘More than us, right.’
‘Probably got it all mapped out, too. Even how we’re going to get across this desert, and then take down another empire just like we took down Lether.’
‘Just like we crushed the Whirlwind, too. And got ourselves out of Malaz City. So now you ain’t making fun of me no more, Deadsmell, are ya?’
As one, the four marines twisted round to glare at the squad trudging behind them. Sergeant Tarr’s brows lifted.
‘You hearing this, Tarr?’ Balm called back.
‘Not a word of it, Balm.’
‘Good.’
Facing forward again, Widdershins tried to press even closer. ‘Listen,’ he whispered, ‘we can work out who’s in the know. Fid, and Ruthan Gudd—’
‘And Bottle,’ said Deadsmell, ‘because he’s Fid’s shaved knuckle.’
‘Masan Gilani—’
‘What? Really?’
‘Another one attached to the Adjunct’s retinue – they didn’t kill her horse, did you know that? They kept her two of ’em, in fact.’ Widdershins rubbed at his face. ‘Gets cold with the sun down, don’t it? Then there’s Lostara Yil, who did that Shadow Dance – that one for sure. Who else?’
‘Keneb but he’s dead,’ said Balm. ‘Quick Ben, too.’
Widdershins barked a low laugh. ‘I’m with Bottle on that one. He’s out there, somewhere. Maybe with Gesler and Stormy—’
‘Of course!’ Balm cut in. ‘Ges and Stormy! And don’t they have the runts with them?’
‘Sinn and Grub, aye.’
Widdershins nodded. ‘Could be the whole conspiracy right there, then. The inner circle I was talking about—’
‘The conniving cabal,’ said Deadsmell.
‘Aye—’
‘The secret sneaks.’
‘Just so.’
‘The shifty-eyed sentinels of truth—’
Throatslitter’s laugh pierced the night.
Sinter winced at the cry behind them. ‘Gods, I wish he’d stop doing that.’
‘Nothing very funny about this,’ Badan Gruk agreed. ‘But then it’s Throatslitter, isn’t it? That man would laugh over his dying sister.’ He shook his head. ‘I don’t get people like him. Taking pleasure in misery, in torture, all that. What’s to laugh about? Talk about a messed-up mind.’
She glanced at him curiously. His face was lit in the green glow of the Jade Spears. Ghoulish. Ethereal. ‘What’s eating you, Badan?’
‘That conspiracy of Wid’s.’ He shot her a suspicious look. ‘It’s got to include you, Sinter, don’t it?’
‘Like Hood it does.’
‘You had a chat with Masan Gilani – and’ – he nodded towards the wagon rocking and creaking just ahead of them – ‘your sister.’
‘We was just trying to work out stuff to help the Adjunct—’
‘Because you knew something. Those feelings you get. You knew we were in trouble, long before the lizards showed up.’
‘Little good it did us. Don’t you see? I knew but I didn’t know. Do you have any idea how helpless that made me feel?’
‘So what’s coming, Sinter?’
‘No idea – and that’s just how I want it.’ She tapped her helm. ‘All quiet, not a whisper. You think I’m in some inner circle? You’re wrong.’
‘Fine,’ he said. ‘Forget it.’