Toll the Hounds Part 43

'I can visit one at his or her place of work, then. Can you direct me to the nearest one?'

'Absolutely not. They have entrusted me with the responsibilities of operating the administration of the Guild. If I were to do something like that I would be disciplined for dereliction of duty, and I am sure you do not want that on your conscience, do you?'

'Actually,' said Barathol, 'that is a guilt I can live with.'

The expression hardened. 'Honourable character is an essential prerequisite to becoming a member of the Guild.'

'More than sponsorship?'

'They are balanced virtues, sir. Now, I am very busy today-'

'You were sleeping when I stepped in.'

'It may have appeared that way.'

'It appeared that way because it was that way.'

'I have no time to argue with you over what you may or may not have perceived when you stepped into my office-'

'You were asleep.'

'You might have concluded such a thing.'

'I did conclude it, because that is what you were. I suppose that too might result in disciplinary measures, once it becomes known to the members.'

'Your word against mine, and clearly you possess an agenda, one that reflects poorly on your sense of honour-' 'Since when does honesty reflect poorly on one's sense of honour?'

The clerk blinked. 'Why, when it is vindictive, of course.'

Now it was Barathol's turn to pause. And attempt a new tack. 'I can pay an advance on my dues a year's worth or more, if necessary.'

'Without sponsorship such payment would be construed as a donation. There is legal precedent to back that interpretation.'

'You'd take my coin and give me nothing in return?'

'That is the essence of a charitable donation, is it not?'

'I don't think it is, but never mind that. What you are telling me is that I cannot become a member of the Guild of Blacksmiths.'

'Membership is open to all blacksmiths wishing to work in the city, I a.s.sure you. Once you have been sponsored.'

'Which makes it a closed shop.'

'A what?'

'The Malazan Empire encountered closed shops in Seven Cities. They broke them wide open. I think even some blood was spilled. The Emperor was not one to cringe before professional monopolies of any sort.'

'Well,' the clerk said, licking his slivery lips, 'thank all the G.o.ds the Malazans never conquered Darujhistan!'

Barathol stepped outside and saw Mallet waiting across the street, eating some kind of flavoured ice in a broad-leaf cone. The morning's heat was fast melting the confection, and purple water was trickling down the healer's pudgy hand. His lips were similarly stained.

Mallet's thin brows rose as the blacksmith approached. 'Are you now a proud if somewhat poorer member of the Guild?'

'No. They refused me.'

'But why? Can you not take some kind of exam-'

'No.'

'Oh . . . so now what, Barathol?'

'What? Oh, I'll open up a smithy anyway. Independent.'

'Are you mad? They'll burn you out. Smash up your equipment. Descend on you in a mob and beat you to death. And that's just on opening day.'

Barathol smiled. He liked Malazans. Despite everything, despite the countless mistakes the Empire had made, all the blood spilled, he liked the b.a.s.t.a.r.ds. Hood knew, they weren't nearly as fickle as the natives of his homeland. Or, he added wryly, the citizens of Darujhistan. To Mallet's predictions he said, 'I've handled worse. Don't worry about me. I plan on working here as a blacksmith, whether the Guild likes it or not. And eventually they will have to accept me as a member.'

'That won't feel very triumphant if you're dead.'

'I won't be. Dead, that is.'

'They'll try to stop anyone doing business with you.'

'I am very familiar with Malazan weapons and armour, Mallet. My work meets military standards in your old empire, and as you know, those are set high.' He glanced across at the healer. 'Will the Guild scare you off? Your friends?'

'Of course not. But remember, we're retired.'

'And being hunted by a.s.sa.s.sins.'

'Ah, I'd forgotten about that. You have a point. Even so, Barathol, I doubt us few Malazans can keep you in business for very long.'

'The new emba.s.sy has a company of guards.'

'True.'

'And there are other Malazans living here. Deserters from the campaigns up north-' 'That's true, too, though they tend to hide from us not that we care. In fact, we'd rather get their business at the bar. What's the point in grudges?'

'Those that come to me will be told just that, then, and so we can help each other.'

Mallet tossed the sodden cone away and wiped his hands on his leggings. 'They tasted better when I was a young brat although they were more expensive since a witch was needed to make the ice in the first place. Here, of course, it's to do with some of the gases in the caverns below.'

Barathol thought about that for a moment as he looked upon the healer with his purple lips and saw, for the briefest moment, how this man had been when he was a child, and then he smiled once more. 'I need to find a suitable location for my smithy. Will you walk with me, Mallet?'

'Glad to,' the healer replied. 'Now, I know the city what precisely are you looking for?'

And so Barathol told him.

And oh how Mallet laughed and off they went into the city's dark chambers of the heart, where blood flowed in a roar and all manner of deviousness was possible. If the mind was so inclined. A mind such as Barathol Mekhar's when down down! down! was thrown the ghastly gauntlet! was thrown the ghastly gauntlet!

The ox, the selfsame ox, swung its head back and forth as it pulled the cartload of masonry into the arched gateway, into blessed shade for a few clumping strides, and then out into the bright heat once more delicate blond lashes fluttering to find itself in a courtyard and somewhere close was sweet cool water, the sound as it trickled an invitation, the smell soft as a kiss upon the broad glistening nose with its even more delicate blond hairs, and up rose the beast's ma.s.sive head and would not the man with the switch have pity on this weary, thirsty ox?

He would not. The cart needed unloading first and so the ox must stand, silently yearning, jaws working the cud of breakfast with loud, thick sounds of suction and wetly clunking molars, and the flies were maddening but what could be done about flies? Nothing at all, not until the chill of night sent them away and so left the ox to sleep, upright in bovine majesty beneath stars (if one was lucky) which, perhaps, was where the flies slept.

Of course, to know the mind of an ox is to waste inordinate amounts of time before recognizing the placid civility of a herbivore's sensibilities. Lift gaze, then, to the two vaguely shifty characters edging in through the gate not workers struggling to and fro in the midst of the old estate's refurbishment; not clerks nor servants; not masons nor engineers nor inspectors nor weight-gaugers nor measurers. To all appearances malingerers, skulkers, but in truth even worse than that- Twelve names on the list. One happily struck off. Eleven others found and then escaped like the slippery eels they no doubt were, being hunted by debt, ill luck and the vagaries of a clearly malicious universe intent on delivering misery and whatnot. But no matter such failure among the thugs sent out to enforce collection or deliver punishment not the problem of these men, now, was it?

Bereft of all burdens, blessed with exquisite freedom, Scorch and Leff were here, in this soon-to-be-opulent estate that was even now rising from the dust of neglect and decay to enshroud like a cloak of jewels the mysterious arrival of a n.o.bleborn a woman, it was rumoured, all veiled, but see the eyes! Eyes of such beauty! Why, imagine them widening as I reach down- Eyes of such beauty! Why, imagine them widening as I reach down- Scorch and Leff, edging in nervously, barely emerging from the shadow of the arched gate. Peering round, as if lost, as if moments from running off with stolen chunks of masonry or an armload of bricks or even a bag of iron wedges- Scorch and Leff, edging in nervously, barely emerging from the shadow of the arched gate. Peering round, as if lost, as if moments from running off with stolen chunks of masonry or an armload of bricks or even a bag of iron wedges- 'Ho you two! What do you want here?'

Starting guiltily. Scorch staring wide-eyed at the grizzled foreman walking up to them a Gadrobi so bowlegged he looked to be wading hip-deep through mud. Leff ducking his head as if instinctively dodging an axe which said a lot about his life thus far, didn't it and then stepping one small pace forward and attempting a smile that fared so poorly it could not even be described as a grimace.

'Is there a castellan we could talk to?' Leff asked.

'About what?'

'Gate guards,' Leff said. 'We got lots of qualifications.'

'Oh. Any of them relevant?'

'What?'

Leff looked at Scorch and saw the panic spreading like a wildfire on his friend's face. A match to his own growing dismay madness, thinking they could just step up another rung on the ladder. Madness! 'We . . . we could walk her dogs, I mean?'

'You could? I suppose you could, if the Mistress had any.'

'Does she?' Leff asked.

'Does she what?'

'Have any. Dogs we could walk.'

'Not even ones you can't walk.'

'We can guard the gate!' Scorch shouted. 'That's what we're here for! To get hired on, you see, as estate guards. And if you don't think we can swing a sword or use a crossbow, why, you don't know us at all, do you?'

'No, you're right,' the foreman replied. 'I don't.'

Leff scowled. 'You don't what?'

'Stay here,' the old man said, turning away, 'while I get Castellan Studlock.'

As the foreman waded away through the dust watched with longing by the ox beside the rubble heap Leff turned on Scorch. 'Studlock?'

Scorch shrugged helplessly. 'I ain't never heard of him.

Why, have you?'

'No. Of course not. I'd have remembered.'

'Why?'

'Why? Are you a Hood-d.a.m.ned idiot?'

'What are we doing here, Leff?'

'Torvald said no, remember? To everything. He's too good for us now. So we'll show him. We'll get hired on this fancy estate. As guards. With uniforms and polished buckles and those braided peace-straps for our swords. And so he'll curse himself that he didn't want us no more, as partners or anything. It's his wife, I bet she never liked us at all, especially you, Scorch, so that's what you've done to us and I won't forget any time soon neither so don't even think otherwise.'

He shut his mouth then and stood at attention since the foreman was returning and at his side pitter-pattered a figure so wrapped up in swaddles of cotton it took three steps for every pendulum pitch forward from the foreman.

The feet beneath the ragged hem were small enough to be cloven hoofs. A hood covered the castellan's head and in the shadow of the hood's broad mouth there was something that might have been a mask. Gloved hands were drawn up in a way that reminded Leff and, a moment later, Scorch of a praying mantis, and if this was the estate castellan then someone had knocked the world askew in ways unimaginable to either Leff or Scorch.

The foreman said, 'Here they are, sir.'

Were there eyes in the holes of that smooth mask? Who could tell? But the head shifted and something told both men like spider legs dancing up their spines that they were under scrutiny.

'So true,' Castellan Studlock said in a voice that made Leff think of gravel under the fingernails while Scorch thought about the way there was always one gull that bullied all the rest and if the others just ganged up, why, equality and freedom would belong to everyone! 'So true,' said the swaddled, masked man (or woman, but then the foreman had said 'sir', hadn't he), 'there is need for estate guards. The Mistress will be arriving today, in fact, from the out-country. Proper presentation is desired.' The castellan paused and then leaned forward from the waist and Leff saw the red glint of unhuman eyes in the holes of the mask. 'You, what is your name?'

'Leff Bahan, sir, is my name.'

'You have been eating raw lake conch?'

'What? Er, not recently.'

A wrapped finger darted upward and wagged slowly back and forth. 'Risky. Please, open your mouth and stick out your tongue.'

'What? Er, like this?'

'That is fine, very fine, yes. So.' The castellan leaned back. 'Greva worms. You are infected. Pustules on your tongue. Dripping sinuses, yes? Itchy eyelids the eggs do that, and when they hatch, why, the worms will crawl out from the corners of your eyes. Raw lake conch, tsk tsk.'

Leff clawed at his face. 'G.o.ds, I need a healer! I gotta go-'

'No need. I will happily see your ailment treated you must be presentable to the Mistress, yes, each standing at attention on either side of the gate. Well attired, hale of complexion and parasite-free. A small barracks is being readied. It will be necessary to hire at least three more to complete the requirements do you have reliable friends capable of such work?'

'Er,' said Scorch when it was obvious that Leff had momentarily lost his facility for speech, 'we might. I could go and see . . .'

'Excellent, and your name is?'

'Scorch. Er, we got references-'

'No need. I am confident in my ability to judge character, and I have concluded that you two, while not to be considered vast of intellect, are nevertheless inclined to loyalty. This here will mark an advancement in your careers, I am sure, and so you will be diligent as befits your secret suspicion that you have exceeded your competence. All this is well. Also, I am pleased to note that you do not possess any parasites of a debilitating, unsightly sort. So, Scorch, go yonder and find us one, two or three additional guards. In the meantime, I will attend to Leff Bahan.'

'Right. Yes sir, I will do just that!'

The foreman was standing nearby, smirking. Neither Scorch nor a stunned Leff noticed this detail, and yes, they should have.

'A woman needs her secrets,' said Tiserra, lifting up an eggsh.e.l.l-thin porcelain cup and holding it in front of the bright sunlight. 'This one is good, darling. No flaws.' And the hag in the stall grinned, head bobbing.

Torvald Nom nodded happily, then licked his lips. 'Isn't this fun?' he said. 'Fine crockery to go into our new kitchen and the fancy oven on its four legs and all. Real drapes. Plush furniture, colourful rugs. We can get the storage shed rebuilt, too. Bigger, solid-' Tiserra set the cup down and moved directly in front of him. 'Husband.'

'Yes?'