Dust of Dreams: Book Nine of The Malazan Book of the Fallen - By Steven Erikson Page 0,122

few paces away was Sergeant Fiddler, and just beyond him Sergeant Balm sat crosslegged, studying the short sword he was holding, his expression confused. A dozen heavies waited nearby, grouped together and seeming to be engaged in comparing their outthrust hands—counting knuckle hairs, I bet.

‘Fist, Scout Smiles reporting, sir.’

Keneb glanced up. ‘As predicted?’

‘Aye, sir. Can we go kill ’em all now?’

The Fist looked over at Fiddler, ‘Looks like you lost your bet, Sergeant.’

Eyes still closed, Fiddler grunted, then said, ‘We ain’t done any killing yet, sir. Brys Beddict’s been fishin in our brains for some time now, he’s bound to have snagged a fin or gill or two. Smiles, how many scouts on the track?’

‘Just the one, Sergeant. Picking his nose.’

Fiddler opened his eyes and squinted over at Keneb. ‘Like that, Fist. Beddict’s reconfigured his scouting patrols—they pair up. If Smiles and Koryk saw only one, then where was the other one?’ He shifted to get more comfortable and closed his eyes again. ‘And he runs five units—five pairs—in advance of his main body. So.’

‘So,’ repeated Keneb, frowning. He rose, slipped the dagger into his scabbard. ‘If he’s sent one or two down the track, they were meant to be seen. Sergeant Balm, find me that map.’

‘Map, sir? What map?’

Muttering under his breath, Keneb walked over to the heavies. ‘You there—yes, you—name?’

‘Reliko, sir.’

‘What are you doing with those heavies, Reliko?’

‘Why, cos I am one, sir.’

Watching this, Smiles snorted. The top of Reliko’s gnarly head barely reached her shoulder. The man looked like a prune with arms and legs.

‘Who’s your sergeant?’ Keneb asked the Dal Honese soldier.

‘Badan Gruk, sir. But he stayed back sick, sir, along with Sergeant Sinter and Kisswhere. Me and Vastly Blank here, we squadding up with Drawfirst and Shoaly, under Sergeant Primly, sir.’

‘Very well. Go into the command tent and bring me the map.’

‘Aye sir. You want the table with it?’

‘No, that won’t be necessary.’

As the soldier walked off, Fiddler said, ‘Coulda been there and back by now, sir. All by yourself.’

‘I could have, yes. And just for that observation, Sergeant, go and get that map-table for me.’

‘Thought it wasn’t necessary, sir?’

‘I changed my mind. On your feet.’

Groaning, Fiddler sat up, nudged Balm and said, ‘You and me, we got work to do.’

Blinking, Balm stared at him a moment. Then he leapt upright, sword in his hand. ‘Where are they, then?’

‘Follow me,’ Fiddler said, climbing to his feet. ‘And put that thing away before you poke me with it.’

‘Why would I stab you? I mean, I know you, right? I think. Aye, I know you.’

They passed Reliko on their way to the tent.

As the soldier stepped up, Keneb took the rolled-up hide. ‘Thank you. Reliko, before you go, a question—why are all the heavies examining their hands?’

‘We was adding up lost bits, sir, t’see if it made up a whole hand.’

‘Does it?’

‘We’re missing a thumb, but we heard there’s a heavy without any thumbs—might be over in Blistig’s legion.’

‘Indeed, and what would his name be?’

‘Nefarias Bredd, sir.’

‘And how would this soldier be able to wield any weapons, without thumbs?’

Reliko shrugged. ‘Can’t say, sir, as I only seen ’im once, and that was from too far away. I expect he ties ’em up sort of, somehow.’

‘Perhaps,’ ventured Keneb, ‘he’s missing only one thumb. Shield hand, perhaps.’

‘Might be, sir, might be, in which case as soon as we find a thumb, why, we’ll let him know.’ Reliko returned to his companions.

Keneb stared after the soldier, frowning.

‘Kingdoms toppled one by one,’ said Smiles, ‘because of soldiers like him, sir. Keep telling yourself that—that’s how I do it.’

‘Do what, scout?’

‘Stay sane, sir. He’s the one, you know.’

‘Who, what?’

‘The shortest heavy in the history of the Malazan Empire, sir.’

‘Really? Are you certain of that, scout?’

‘Sir?’

But he’d unfurled the map and was now studying it.

Fiddler and Balm were approaching, a heavy table between them. As soon as they arrived, Keneb rolled up the map and set it on the tabletop. ‘You can take that back now, Sergeants. Thank you.’

Smiles jogged her way back to where Koryk was hidden along the ridge. Behind her clunked Corporal Tarr, sounding like a damned tinker’s cart. She shot him a glare over one shoulder. ‘You shoulda strapped down, you know that, don’t you?’

‘This is a damned feint,’ said Tarr, ‘what difference does it make?’

They reached the base of the ridge.

‘I’ll wait here. Go collect the fool, Smiles, and be quick about it.’

Biting back a retort, she set off up the slope. It’d be different, she knew, if