Cuttle waved the others in their squad forward, then glanced back to see Balm leading his own soldiers, and beyond them Sergeant Urb. And then the rest of them. Hellian, Badan Gruk, Sinter, Gaunt-Eye, and the heavies falling in wherever they felt like it.
He stepped in behind Shortnose – the man had a way of wandering off, as if forgetting which squad he’d joined, but now he was here, trudging along under a massive bundle of rolled chain armour, weapons and shield. The heavy had tied a Nah’ruk finger bone to his beard and it made a thumping sound on his chest as he walked. His maimed shield hand was bound up in leather straps.
As they walked, the regulars to either side began converging ahead, as if to line their route, as if to watch in that Hood-damned silence of theirs as the marines and heavies passed. His unease deepened. Not a word from them, not a thing. As if we’re strangers. As the troop approached the broad avenue, the only sound came from their marching – the hard impact of their boots and the clatter of equipment – and through his growing anger Cuttle had an uncanny sensation of walking through an army of ghosts as the regulars drew up on either side. He didn’t see a single youthful face among all the onlookers. And not a nod, not even a tilt of a head.
But we look just as old and ruined, don’t we? What are they seeing? What are they thinking?
Tavore, I don’t envy you these soldiers. I can’t read them at all. Do they understand? Have they worked it out yet?
They’re heading east – to block the army the Assail are sending after us – to buy us the time we need. But if they can’t do it – if they can’t slow the bastards down – it’s all lost. This whole damned thing falls apart.
You’re headed for a fight. And we won’t be there for you – any of you. No fist of heavies. No knots of marines in the line. So if that’s a look of betrayal in your faces, if you think all this is about abandoning all of you, then Hood take me—
The thought ended abruptly, and Cuttle’s growing anger simply disintegrated.
The regulars began saluting, fists to their chests. Standing at attention, in suddenly perfect rows to either side.
The few muttered conversations among the marines and heavies fell off, and suddenly the silence became oppressive in an entirely different way. Cuttle felt more than heard the company’s footfalls slipping into cadence, and in the squad directly in front of him he now saw the soldiers edging into paired rows behind Captain Fiddler, with Corabb and Tarr in the lead, Smiles and Koryk behind them, followed by Bottle and Shortnose.
‘You just had to be uneven,’ growled Balm in a low voice as he came up on his right.
‘Then drop back.’
‘And shake this out all over again? Can’t even remember the last time I found myself on a parade – no, we just hold this, sapper, and hope to Hood no one trips over their own Hood-damned feet.’
‘Wasn’t expecting this.’
‘I hate it. I feel sick. Where we going again?’
‘Stop panicking, Sergeant.’
‘And who in the White Jackal’s name are you, soldier?’
Cuttle sighed. ‘Just march, Sergeant. Once we get through this, we can relax again. Promise.’
‘We getting medals or something?’
No. This is something else. This is what the Adjunct said wouldn’t happen. Look at these regulars.
They’re witnessing us.
‘Did you see this?’ Kisswhere asked.
Sinter kept staring straight ahead, but she frowned. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Your visions – did you see any of this? And what about what’s coming – what about tomorrow, or the next day?’
‘It’s not like that.’
Her sister sighed. ‘Funny. I can see what’s coming, right through to the very end.’
‘No you can’t. That’s just fear talking.’
‘And it’s got a lot to say.’
‘Just leave it, Kisswhere.’
‘No. I won’t. Tell me about a vision of the future, with us in it. Here’s mine. You’ve got a baby on your hip, with a boy running ahead. It’s the morning walk down to the imperial school – the one they were building before we left. And I got a girl who looks just like me, but wild, a demon in disguise. We’re exhausted, in the way of all mothers, and I’m getting fat. We brag about the runts, complain about our husbands, bitch at how tired we are. It’s hot, the flies are out and the air smells of rotted vegetables. Husbands. When are they going to finish fixing the roof, that’s what we want to know, when instead of doing something useful the lazy bastards spend all day lying in the shade picking their noses. And then if that’s not—’
‘Stop it, Kisswhere.’
To Sinter’s astonishment, her sister fell silent.
Was that the first time? Must’ve been. Sorido the miller’s boy. I’d woken up that morning with tits. We went behind the old custom house annexe, on that burnt stubble where they’d toasted an infestation of spiders only a few days before, and I lifted up my shirt and showed them off.
What was that boy’s name? Rilt? Rallit? His eyes got huge. I’d stolen a flask from the house. Peach brandy. You could set your breath on fire with that stuff. I figured he needed loosening up. Hood knows I did. So we drank and he played with them.
I had to fight him to get his cock out.
And that was the first time. Wish there’d been a thousand more, but it didn’t work out that way. He was killed a year later in his father’s shop – some rushed order on ship fittings, rumours of another crackdown on Kartoolii pirates because the Malazan overlords were losing revenues or something.
They weren’t pirates. That’s just a name for people being obvious about theft.
There could have been other boys. Dozens of them. But who wants to lie down on the ground on an island crawling with deadly spiders?
Rallit or Ralt or whatever your name was, I’m glad we fucked before you died. I’m glad you had at least that.
It’s not fair, how the years just vanish.
I love you, Hellian. How hard could it be to just say those words? But even thinking them made Urb’s jaw tighten as if bound in wire. Sudden sweat under his armour, a thudding heart, a thickening sensation of nausea in his throat. She had never looked better. No, she was beautiful. Why wasn’t he the drunk? Then he could blather out all he wanted to say in that shameless way drunks had. But why would she want him then? Unless she was just as drunk. But she wasn’t anything like that now. Her eyes were clear and they never rested, as if she was finally seeing things, and all that slackness was gone from her face and she could probably have any man she wanted now so why bother looking at him?
He kept his gaze ahead, trying not to notice all these regular soldiers with their salutes. Better to pretend they weren’t even there, weren’t paying them any attention, and they could walk out of this army, off to do whatever it was that needed doing, and no one needed to notice anything.
Attention made him nervous, when the only attention he really wanted was from her. But if she gave it to him, he’d probably fall to pieces.
I’d like to make love. Just once. Before I die. I’d like to hold her in my arms and feel as if the world’s just slid and shifted into its proper shape, making everything perfect. And I could see all of that, right there in her eyes.
And looking up … I’d see all these soldiers saluting me.
No, that’s not right. Don’t look up, Urb. Listen to yourself! Idiot!