Giana herself simply yanked her thin blouse over her head and tossed it to Jute. Mechanically, unthinkingly, he caught and held it; it was warm from her body. Her upper torso was wide and muscular, her breasts small and high, the areoles dark. Only then did Jute realize he was staring and spin away.
‘Hang on to that,’ she told him. ‘That’s my one good shirt.’
He stammered, ‘Of course.’
A low laugh from Ieleen made his ears heat. ‘Getting changed, are we?’ she enquired sweetly.
‘Could be a fight,’ Giana explained. He heard her armour rattle and jangle as she pulled it on. ‘Buckle me up, won’t you?’
Still with his back to the disturbing north Genabackan woman, he said, ‘Perhaps someone else …’
‘Well, seeing as I’m blind,’ Ieleen offered, ‘she might not like the result if I took a hand. Go ahead, dear. You can tell me all about it later.’ Then, even more disturbingly, the two women shared a laugh.
Jute decided that he was at a distinct disadvantage and that perhaps it would be best if he just went along with things. He turned and found the ex-Malazan officer waiting, her side to him, buckles of her hauberk presented. He set to work.
He was almost done when the woman yanked forward out of his grip. She growled, ‘What in the name of the nitwit Boles is he doing?’ Jute found the clasps again and finished up, squinting ahead: the Resolute had surged onward, sweeps flashing.
‘Charging the blockade, looks like.’
The woman turned to where the Ragstopper continued its steady pace. ‘No flags. No signalling … Cartheron’s letting them go?’
‘They pretty much do whatever they want.’
She sent him a sceptical glance. ‘You say those soldiers are Blue Shields?’
‘Aye.’
‘This I have to see. Can we close up?’
Jute considered. They could, he supposed. The Malazans would fight if it came to that — not that he was expecting any real resistance to Tyvar and his Blue Shields. He nodded, went to the stern railing, called, ‘Follow the Resolute, Buen.’
‘Aye, captain.’ His first mate started chivvying the men and women at the oars.
He asked Giana, ‘And once we are at Mantle? Then what?’
‘That’s Cartheron’s call.’
‘You must have some idea. What would you do?’
‘Me?’ She rubbed her jaw. ‘I was never staff level. Strategy’s not my strength. But seeing as that gang outside the walls wants our blood already …’ She shrugged. ‘Ever work as a mercenary, Captain Hernan?’
Mercenary? Him? He glanced back to Ieleen; she sat with her chin resting upon her walking stick. Her head was tilted as if she was listening to something faint and far off. Her expression was intent and focused, but not alarmed. ‘I’m a businessman, not a mercenary,’ he told Giana.
‘Same thing,’ she said. ‘One just cleans up better than the other.’
As they neared base, the blockade resolved into five man-o’-wars anchored in a wide semicircle, presumably just outside the range of what appeared to be two mangonels just visible atop the cliffs.
The Resolute did not pause. It pulled alongside the middle vessel, sweeps were shipped and grapnels flew to span the gap.
At his side, Giana allowed a grudging, ‘Well executed, that.’
Yet the action at the vessels could not capture Jute’s attention; something about that squat so-called fortress kept nagging at him and now he recognized what it was: the damned thing was hardly larger than a guard tower.
This was it? The fabled fortress of the north? A wretched three-storey pile of rock that wouldn’t count for more than a border keep back home in Falar?
Giana grunted a soft, ‘Damn …’
He spared the attack a glimpse: the Resolute had moved on to the next vessel to port, while the first, obviously captured, was now moving towards its brother in line on the starboard. He cleared his throat. ‘Have you been to Mantle, Lieutenant Jalaz?’
Apparently unable to tear her amazed gaze from the attack, she shook her head. ‘No. Never.’
‘Well … you’re looking at it.’
‘A coupla fellows said there’s not much to it- Gods! That’s three now.’
Jute glanced to the attack. Tyvar’s pocket army had now captured three vessels and these were all in motion, closing on the remaining two. As for the Resolute, she was hanging back, perhaps reduced to the barest skeleton crew.
The way to Mantle’s harbour, such as it might be, was now completely open. Jute leaned over the stern railing. ‘Take us in, Buen.’
‘Aye, aye. Ahead now, lads!’ the first mate roared. ‘Take up all that damned cloth!’
Jute scanned the bay. The Ragstopper was also closing; the Supplicant still held back. He wasn’t troubled by that — typical of the sorceress’s preference for staying low in the weeds.
Sweeps alone drew them in close to the bottom of the cliffs. Here awaited a meagre wharf of driven logs covered by planks that extended a few paces out over a shore of boulders and fallen rock. One low two-masted galley lay at berth here, and its crew members helped them tie off the Dawn.
The Resolute and her captured vessels of the shattered blockade looked to be dropping anchor further out. A longboat was on its way from one of them; presumably it held Tyvar himself. The Ragstopper was limping in after the Dawn.
Jute turned to his wife. ‘Going for another negotiation, dearest.’
‘Let’s hope this one goes better than the last,’ she commented.
Jute simply winced. ‘Buen,’ he called, ‘master-at-arms … guard the ship.’
‘Aye, captain,’ Letita answered in a loud shout, shooting a glance Giana’s way.
A plank was being levered into place as a gangway. Here Jute motioned, inviting Giana to join him. She shook her head. ‘Like I said, I’m not staff level.’
‘Then you will remain?’
‘Yes.’
Jute remembered his earlier alarm at the prospect of all these ex-Malazan soldiers on board his vessel — now he felt reassured. Leaning against the side next to the gangway was the khall-head Malazan Cartheron had saddled him with in Wrongway. The man was eyeing him with his typical dreamy smile, which appeared knowing but was no doubt just empty-headed. A wad of the leaf was fat in one cheek.
‘Give my regards to King Ronal,’ the fellow murmured as he passed. Jute ignored him and walked on to descend the gangway.
The fellow who met him on the dock was a fat rascal who had the look of a pirate about him. Certainly not a local; Jute pegged him as a Genabackan. Most of the fortune-hunters were from that nearby continent.
‘Hello,’ the fellow greeted him cheerily. ‘Welcome to Mantle!’
‘And you are?’
‘Name’s Enguf. Enguf the Broad they call me.’
‘Are you surrendering?’
The fellow’s thick tangled brows rose in surprise. ‘What, me? Surrender?’
‘You’re an outlander.’
‘Not at all! Well, yes … However, you are now looking at Mantle’s own navy.’
‘Since we saw the Blue Shields,’ another of the crewmen muttered, and Enguf shot him a dark glare.
The Ragstopper drew abreast of the wharf and crewmen caught tossed lines. Jute inspected the cliff, searching for a way up. A set of wooden stairs switchbacked up the sheer rock face. The prospect looked more dangerous than any sea battle.
Cartheron joined him on the wharf. Jute gave him a hard stare, said, ‘You just had to do it …’
The old Malazan officer waved his glower aside. ‘I saw I had a chance so I took it — what d’y expect?’
Jute shook his head.
The longboat arrived and Tyvar, accompanied by his second, Haagen, climbed up on to the wharf. Enguf, a Genabackan, bowed to the two. ‘An honour, sors,’ the big pirate greeted them.