Midnight Tides & The Bonehunters - By Steven Erikson Page 0,478

Toles. Ambush—'

One hand leaning hard on Hanno's shoulder, Hellian pulled herself upright. She shook her head. 'Right,' she said, something cold and hard straightening within her, as if her spine had turned into a sword, or a spear, or whatever else won't bend, no, it'll bend, maybe, but not break. Gods, I feel sick. 'Join up with my squad. Urb, what squad are we?'

'No idea, Sergeant.'

'Don't matter, then, you're with us, Hanno. Ambush? Fine, let's go get the bastards. Touchy, Brethless, pull out those grenados you stole—'

The twins faced her – innocence, indignation, both dreadful efforts, then the two pulled out munitions. 'They're smokers, Sergeant, and one cracker,' Touchy said. 'That's all—'

'Smokers? Perfect. Hanno, you're going to lead us into the building the bastards attacked from. Touchy, you throw yours ahead of her. Brethless, pick the open flank and do the same. We ain't gonna stand around – we ain't even going in slow and cautious. I want fast, you all got that? Fast.'

'Sergeant?'

'What is it, Urb?'

'Nothing. Only, I'm ready, I guess.'

Well that makes one of us. I knew I'd hate this city. 'Weapons out, soldiers, it's time to kill people.'

They set off.

'We done left everybody behind,' Galt said.

'Shut that whining,' Sergeant Balm snapped, wiping sweat and mud from his eyes. 'We just made it easier for the rest of 'em.' He glared at the soldiers in his squad. Breathing hard, a few cuts here and there, but nothing serious. They'd carved through that ambush quick and dirty, like he'd wanted it.

They were on a second floor, in a room filled with bolts of cloth – a fortune's worth of silks. Lobe had said they'd come from Darujhistan, of all places. A damned fortune's worth, and now most of it was soaked with blood and bits of human meat.

'Maybe we should check the top floor,' Throatslitter said, eyeing the nicks in his long-knives. 'Thought I heard some scuffing, maybe.'

'All right, take Widdershins. Deadsmell, go to the stairs—'

'Leading up? It's a ladder.'

'Fine, the Hood-damned fucking ladder, then. You're backup and mouthpiece, got it? Hear any scrapping upstairs and you join it, but not before letting us know about it. Understood?'

'Clear as piss, Sergeant.'

'Good, the three of you go. Galt, stay at the window and keep looking at what's opposite you. Lobe, do the same at that window. There's more crap waiting for us and we're gonna carve right through all of it.'

A short while later, the sound of footfalls padding back and forth from above ceased and Deadsmell called out from the hallway that Throatslitter and Widdershins were coming down the ladder. A dozen heartbeats later and all three entered the silk room. Throatslitter came close to Balm's side and crouched. 'Sergeant,' he said, his voice near a whisper.

'What?'

'We found something. Don't much like the looks of it. We think you should take a look.'

Balm sighed, then straightened. 'Galt?'

'They're there, all right, all three floors.'

'Lobe?'

'Same here, including on the roof, some guy with a hooded lantern.'

'Okay, keep watching. Lead on, Throatslitter. Deadsmell, back into the hallway. Widdershins, do some magic or something.'

He followed Throatslitter back to the ladder. The floor above was low-ceilinged, more of an attic than anything else. Plenty of rooms, the walls thick, hardened clay.

Throatslitter led him up to one such wall. At his feet stood huge urns and casks. 'Found these,' he said, reaching down behind one cask and lifting into view a funnel, made from a gourd of some sort.

'All right,' Balm said, 'what about it?'

His soldier kicked one of the casks. 'These ones are full. But the urns are empty. All of 'em.'

'Okay ...'

'Olive oil.'

'Right, this city's famous for it. Go on.'

Throatslitter tossed the funnel aside, then drew a knife. 'See these damp spots on these walls? Here.' He pointed with the knife-tip, then dug into the patch. 'The clay's soft, recently plugged. These walls, they're hollow.'

'For Fener's sake, man, what are you going on about?'

'Just this. I think these walls – the whole building, it's filled with oil.'

'Filled? With ... with oil?'

Throatslitter nodded.

Filled with oil? What, some kind of piping system to supply it downstairs? No, for Hood's sake, Balm, don't be an idiot. 'Throatslitter, you think other buildings are rigged like this? Is that what you're thinking?'

'I think, Sergeant, that Leoman's turned Y'Ghatan into one big trap. He wants us in here, fighting in the streets, pushing in and in—'

'But what about his followers?'

'What about them?'

But ... that would mean ... He thought back – the faces of the enemy, the fanaticism, the