The Malazan Empire, aye. But nothing like the Letherii Empire, with its petty games of bloodlines and racial hierarchy. No, these Malazans came in all styles indeed. Look at Tavore’s aide-a stunning tattooed barbarian whose every movement was sensuality personified. Anyone looking that savage and primitive would be cleaning stalls here in the Letherii Empire. And there was Masan Gilani, another invitation to manly blubbering-oh, how Shurq wished she had skin that luscious, burnished hue, and the graceful, leonine lines of those long legs and full thighs, the swell of unsagging breasts with nipples that made her think of overripe figs-not that I needed to peek, she’s got less modesty than me and that’s saying a lot indeed. So, Tavore keeps the pretty ones close. Now that might be a telling hint.
‘What are we waiting for?’ Shake Brullyg demanded, close to being drunk enough to start slurring his words. He slouched in the chair at the other end of the long table, directly opposite the Adjunct but with his heavy-lidded eyes fixed on Masan Gilani. The man truly believed that lascivious leers could make a woman swoon with desire. Yet Masan Gilani hid her disgust well, playing it along to keep the pathetic king dangling. The barbaric soldier was following very specific orders, Shurq suspected. To keep Brullyg from getting belligerent. Until they didn’t need him any more.
Well, that wouldn’t work with her, now, would it? Unless these Malazans had an Ublala Pung hidden nearby. Oh, that would be unfortunate indeed, to see her dissolving into an insatiable rutting animal in front of everyone. That was one secret she had better keep to herself. ‘Relax, Brullyg,’ she said. ‘All of this has to do with those huge trimarans that sailed into harbour last night.’ She’d love to have one of those, too, although she’d need two crews which meant less coin for everyone-damned logistics, always getting in the way of my dreams.
The Adjunct was eyeing her now, one of those gauging regards she settled on Shurq Elalle whenever the undead pirate said anything. Her own fault, actually-Shurq had sent Skorgen back to the Undying Gratitude. Her first mate’s unfortunate assortment of afflictions had proved far too distracting for everyone else, until she realized he was becoming a liability, undermining her… professionalism. Yes, that’s the word 1 was looking for. Got to be taken seriously here. I suspect my very existence depends on it. But she now found herself missing his weeping hole in the face, his mangled ear, blinded eye, stumped arm and bad leg-anything to swing away Tavore’s attention every time she was unwise enough to voice an opinion or observation.
Throatslitter, who sat opposite Shurq, now cleared his throat-producing an odd squeak-and smiled across at her.
She looked away, pointedly. That man was not a nice man. The way Gerun Eberict hadn’t been a nice man. Took too much pleasure in his job, she suspected. And even for a soldier, that wasn’t sensible. People like that tended to linger when lingering wasn’t good. Tended to put other soldiers at risk. Tended to get carried away. No, she didn’t like Throatslitter.
Yet her glance away had inadvertently shifted her attention to Corporal Deadsmell. Oh, funny name, that. In some ways, that man was even worse. No secrets from him, she suspected, no matter how coy she was-yes, he could smell her, and not stale herbs either. Had smelled her, from the very start. Had it been some bastard like him who wove the curse now afflicting me? No, that wasn’t right. Deadsmell had talents unknown here on Lether. Talents that made her think of that dying tower in Letheras, and Kettle, and the barrows in the yard.
Fortunately, he was dozing at the moment, bearded chin on his broad chest, thus sparing her his knowing look.
Ah, if only Tehol Beddict was here with me-he’d have them all reeling. In confusion or laughter? Laughter would be bad, very bad. For me. For anyone sitting too close to me. Very well, forget Tehol Beddict. 1 must be losing my mind.
The Adjunct addressed her. ‘Captain, I have spoken at length with Shake Brullyg, seeking to complete my understanding of this Letherii Empire. Yet I find his replies increasingly unsatisfactory-’
‘Poor Brullyg’s despondent,’ Shurq said. ‘And lovelorn. Well, perhaps unrequited lust is more accurate a description for his sordid, uncommunicative state of mind.’ Hah, she could out’Tehol Tehol Beddict! With no risk of laughing either!
Brullyg blinked at her.
Sergeant Balm leaned towards Throatslitter. ‘What did she just say?’
‘The Emperor,’ said Tavore.
Shurq frowned, but waited.
‘Of a Thousand Deaths.’
‘The title’s an exaggeration, I’m sure. Maybe a few hundred. Champions. They all die, eventually.’
‘Presumably he is well protected by his Edur in the palace.’
Shurq Elalle shrugged. ‘Not many details creep out of the Eternal Domicile, Adjunct. The Chancellor and his entire staff-Letherii-were retained after the conquest. There is also, now, a very powerful secret police, also Letherii.
As for the economic apparatus, well, that too is Letherii.’
The tattooed woman named Lostara Yil snorted. ‘Then what in Hood’s name are the Edur doing? Where do they fit?’
‘On top,’ Shurq replied. ‘Wobbling.’
There was a long moment of silence.
‘Yet,’ Tavore finally said, ‘the Edur Emperor cannot be killed.’
‘That is true.’ Shurq watched as these details worked their way through the Malazans, with the exception of Deadsmell, of course, whose snores were waves rolling ashore in the little dank cavern of a room.
‘Is that,’ Tavore asked, ‘irrelevant?’
‘Sometimes seems that way,’ Shurq conceded. Oh, she wished she could drink wine without its draining out everywhere. She could do with a tankard or two.
‘An Emperor whose very rule is dictated by the sword,’ Tavore said. ‘What remain unhoned, however, are the necessities of administering an empire.’
‘Very dull necessities, aye,’ Shurq said, smiling.
‘The Tiste Edur, leaning hard against the undying solidity of their ruler, exist under the delusion of mastery,’ Tavore continued. ‘But reality is not so generous.’
Nodding, Shurq Elalle said, ‘The Tiste Edur were fisher folk, seal-hunters. Builders in wood. A half-dozen or so tribes. There was someone called the Warlock King, Hannan Mosag, who waged a war of subjugation-why he didn’t end up with that dreadful sword only the Edur know and it is not something they talk about.’
‘Does this Hannan Mosag still live?’ Tavore asked.
‘The Emperor’s new Ceda.’
Deadsmell’s snores ceased. ‘Imperial High Mage,’ he said. ‘Ceda, a degradation of “Cedance”, I’d wager. “Cedance” was some sort of ritual back in the days of the First Empire.’ His eyes opened halfway. ‘Ebron won’t be at all surprised. These Letherii are some lost colony of the First Empire.’ The heavy lids slid down once more, and a moment later his snores groaned back to life.
Shurq Elalle thought to clear her throat, changed her mind. Things were rank enough as it was. ‘The point I was making, Adjunct, is that the Tiste Edur couldn’t administer their way through a mooring tithe. They’re warriors and hunters-the males, that is. The females are, as far as I can tell, completely useless mystics of some sort, and since the conquest they’ve virtually disappeared from sight.’
Boots echoed from the corridor and moments later the door opened. Accompanied by Gait and the odd little man named Widdershins, two Letherii soldiers strode into the chamber. One of them was an Atri-Preda.
Shake Brullyg lurched back in his chair, almost toppling it. Face twisting, he rose. ‘Damn every damned witch to the deep!’