‘Or ours,’ Pearl corrected. ‘If you so desire.’
She shrugged. ‘We can decide that later. Very well, Pearl. Now,’ she moved to his side, ‘what are these details with which the Adjunct has so kindly provided us?’
Admiral Nok had been facing the hearth, his gaze on its cold ashes. At the sound of the door opening, he slowly turned, his expression as impassive as ever.
‘Thank you,’ the Adjunct said, ‘for your patience.’
The admiral said nothing, his level gaze shifting to Gamet for a moment.
The midnight bell’s muted echoes were only now fading. The Fist was exhausted, feeling fragile and scattered, unable to meet Nok’s eyes for very long. This night, he’d been little more than the Adjunct’s pet, or worse, a familiar. Tacitly conjoined with her plans within plans, bereft of even so much as the illusion of a choice. When Tavore had first drawn him into her entourage-shortly after Felisin’s arrest-Gamet had briefly considered slipping away, vanishing in the time-honoured tradition of Malazan soldiers who found themselves in unwelcome circumstances. But he hadn’t, and his reasons for joining the Adjunct’s core of advisers-not that they were ever invited to advise-had, upon ruthless self-reflection, proved less than laudable. He had been driven by macabre curiosity. Tavore had ordered the arrests of her parents, had sent her younger sister into the horrors of the otataral mines. For her career’s sake. Her brother, Paran, had in some way been disgraced on Genabackis. He had subsequently deserted. An embarrassment, granted, but surely not sufficient to warrant Tavore’s reaction. Unless… There were rumours that the lad had been an agent of Adjunct Lorn’s, and that his desertion had led, ultimately, to the woman’s death in Darujhistan. Yet, if that were true, then why did the Empress turn her royal gaze upon another child of the House of Paran? Why make Tavore the new Adjunct? ‘Fist Gamet.’ He blinked. ‘Adjunct?’
‘Seat yourself, please. I would have some final words with you, but they can wait for the time being.’
Nodding, Gamet glanced around until he spied the lone high-backed chair set against one of the small room’s walls. It looked anything but comfortable, which was probably an advantage, given his weariness.
Ominous creaks sounded when he settled into the chair and he grimaced. ‘No wonder Pormqual didn’t send this one off with all the rest,’ he muttered.
‘It is my understanding,’ Nok said, ‘that the transport ship in question sank in the harbour of Malaz City, taking the late High Fist’s loot with it.’
Gamet’s wiry brows rose. ‘All that way… just to sink in the harbour? What happened?’
The admiral shrugged. ‘None of the crew reached the shore to tell the tale.’
None?
Nok seemed to note his scepticism, for he elaborated, ‘Malaz Harbour is well known for its sharks. A number of dories were found, all awash but otherwise empty.’
The Adjunct had, uncharacteristically, been permitting the exchange to continue, leading Gamet to wonder if Tavore had sensed a hidden significance to the mysterious loss of the transport ship. Now she spoke. ‘It remains, then, a peculiar curse-unexplained founderings, empty dories, lost crews. Malaz Harbour is indeed notorious for its sharks, particularly since they seem uniquely capable of eating victims whole, leaving no remnants whatsoever.’
‘There are sharks that can do just that,’ Nok replied. ‘I know of at least twelve ships on the muddy bottom of the harbour in question-’
‘Including the Twisted,’ the Adjunct drawled, ‘the old emperor’s flagship, which mysteriously slipped its moorings the night after the assassinations, then promptly plummeted into the deeps, taking its resident demon with it.’
‘Perhaps it likes company,’ Nok observed. ‘The island’s fishermen all swear the harbour’s haunted, after all. The frequency with which nets are lost-’
‘Admiral,’ Tavore cut in, her eyes resting on the dead hearth, ‘there is you, and three others. All who are left.’
Gamet slowly straightened in his chair. Three others. High Mage Tayschrenn, Dujek Onearm, and Whiskeyjack. Four… gods, is that all now? Tattersail, Bellurdan, Nightchill, Duiker… so many fallen-
Admiral Nok was simply studying the Adjunct. He had stood against the wrath of the Empress, first with Cartheron Crust’s disappearance, then Urko’s and Ameron’s. Whatever answers he had given, he had done so long ago.
‘I do not speak for the Empress,’ Tavore said after a moment. ‘Nor am I interested in… details. What interests me is… a matter of personal… curiosity. I would seek to understand, Admiral, why they abandoned her.’
There was silence, filling the room, growing towards something like an impasse. Gamet leaned back and closed his eyes. Ah, lass, you ask questions of… of loyalty, as would someone who has never experienced it. You reveal to this admiral what can only be construed as a critical flaw. You command the Fourteenth Army, Adjunct, yet you do so in isolation, raising the very barricades you must needs take down if you would truly lead. What does Nok think of this, now? Is it any wonder he does not-
‘The answer to your question,’ the admiral said, ‘lies in what was both a strength and a flaw of the Emperor’s… family. The family that he gathered to raise an empire. Kellanved began with but one companion-Dancer. The two then hired a handful of locals in Malaz City and set about conquering the criminal element in the city-I should point out, that criminal element happened to rule the entire island. Their target was Mock, Malaz Island’s unofficial ruler. A pirate, and a cold-blooded killer.’
‘Who were these first hirelings, Admiral?’
‘Myself, Ameron, Dujek, a woman named Hawl-my wife. I had been First Mate to a corsair that worked the sea lanes around the Napan Isles-which had just been annexed by Unta and were providing a staging point for the Untan king’s planned invasion of Kartool. We’d taken a beating and had limped into Malaz Harbour, only to have the ship and its crew arrested by Mock, who was negotiating a trade of prisoners with Unta. Only Ameron and Hawl and I escaped. A lad named Dujek discovered where we were holed up and he delivered us to his new employers. Kellanved and Dancer.’
‘Was this before they were granted entry into the Deadhouse?’ Gamet asked.
‘Aye, but only just. Our residency in the Deadhouse rewarded us with-as is now clearly evident-certain gifts. Longevity, immunity to most diseases, and… other things. The Deadhouse also provided us with an unassailable base of operations. Dancer later bolstered our numbers by recruiting among the refugee Napans who’d fled the conquest: Cartheron Crust and his brother, Urko. And Surly-Laseen. Three more men were to follow shortly thereafter. Toc Elder, Dassem Ultor-who was, like Kellanved, of Dal Honese blood-and a renegade High Septarch of the D’rek Cult, Tayschrenn. And finally, Duiker.’ He half smiled at Tavore. ‘The family. With which Kellanved conquered Malaz Island. Swiftly done, with minimal losses…’
Minimal… ‘Your wife,’ Gamet said.
‘Yes, her.’ After a long moment, he shrugged and continued, ‘To answer you, Adjunct. Unknown to the rest of us, the Napans among us were far more than simple refugees. Surly was of the royal line. Crust and Urko had been captains in the Napan fleet, a fleet that would have likely repelled the Untans if it hadn’t been virtually destroyed by a sudden storm. As it turned out, theirs was a singular purpose-to crush the Untan hegemony-and they planned on using Kellanved to achieve that. In a sense, that was the first betrayal within the family, the first fissure. Easily healed, it seemed, since Kellanved already possessed imperial ambitions, and of the two major rivals on the mainland, Unta was by far the fiercest.’