Dust of Dreams: Book Nine of The Malazan Book of the Fallen - By Steven Erikson Page 0,14

Lether, stepped into the room and, arms out to the sides, spun in a circle. Then beamed at Bugg. ‘What do you think?’

The manservant held a bronze pot in his battered, blunt hands. ‘You’ve had dancing lessons?’

‘No, look at my blanket! My beloved wife has begun embroidering it—see, there at the hem, above my left knee.’

Bugg leaned forward slightly. ‘Ah, I see. Very nice.’

‘Very nice?’

‘Well, I can’t quite make out what it’s supposed to be.’

‘Me neither.’ He paused. ‘She’s not very good, is she?’

‘No, she’s terrible. Of course, she’s an academic.’

‘Precisely,’ Tehol agreed.

‘After all,’ said Bugg, ‘if she had any skill at sewing and the like—’

‘She’d never have settled for the scholarly route?’

‘Generally speaking, people useless at everything else become academics.’

‘My thoughts inexactly, Bugg. Now, I must ask, what’s wrong?’

‘Wrong?’

‘We’ve known each other for a long time,’ said Tehol. ‘My senses are exquisitely honed for reading the finest nuances in your mood. I have few talents but I do assert, howsoever immodestly, that I possess exceptional ability in taking your measure.’

‘Well,’ sighed Bugg, ‘I am impressed. How could you tell I’m upset?’

‘Apart from besmirching my wife, you mean?’

‘Yes, apart from that.’

Tehol nodded towards the pot Bugg was holding, and so he looked down, only to discover that it was no longer a pot, but a mangled heap of tortured metal. Sighing again, he let it drop to the floor. The thud echoed in the chamber.

‘It’s the subtle details,’ said Tehol, smoothing out the creases in his Royal Blanket. ‘Something worth saying to my wife . . . casually, of course, in passing. Swift passing, as in headlong flight, since she’ll be armed with vicious fishbone needles.’

‘The Malazans,’ said Bugg. ‘Or, rather, one Malazan. With a version of the Tiles in his sweaty hands. A potent version, and this man is no charlatan. He’s an adept. Terrifyingly so.’

‘And he’s about to cast the Tiles?’

‘Wooden cards. The rest of the world’s moved on from Tiles, sire. They call it the Deck of Dragons.’

‘Dragons? What dragons?’

‘Don’t ask.’

‘Well, is there nowhere you can, um, hide, O wretched and miserable Elder God?’

Bugg made a sour face. ‘Not likely. I’m not the only problem, however. There’s the Errant.’

‘He’s still here? He’s not been seen for months—’

‘The Deck poses a threat to him. He may object to its unveiling. He may do something . . . precipitous.’

‘Hmm. The Malazans are our guests, and accordingly if they are at risk, it behoves us to protect them or, failing that, warn them. If that doesn’t work, we can always run away.’

‘Yes, sire, that might be wise.’

‘Running away?’

‘No, a warning.’

‘I shall send Brys.’

‘Poor Brys.’

‘Now, that’s not my fault, is it? Poor Brys, exactly. It’s high time he started earning his title, whatever it is, which at the moment escapes me. It’s that bureaucratic mindset of his that’s so infuriating. He hides in the very obscurity of his office. A faceless peon, dodging this way and that whenever responsibility comes a-knocking at his door. Yes, I’ve had my fill of the man, brother or not—’

‘Sire, you put Brys in charge of the army.’

‘Did I? Of course I did. Let’s see him hide now!’

‘He’s waiting for you in the throne room.’

‘Well, he’s no fool. He knows when he’s cornered.’

‘Rucket is there, too,’ said Bugg, ‘with a petition from the Rat Catchers’ Guild.’

‘A petition? For what, more rats? On your feet, old friend, the time has come to meet our public. This whole kingship thing is a real bother. Spectacles, parades, tens of thousands of adoring subjects—’

‘You’ve not had any spectacles or parades, sire.’

‘And still they adore me.’

Bugg rose and preceded King Tehol across the chamber, through the door, and into the throne room.

The only people awaiting them were Brys, Rucket and Queen Janath. Tehol edged closer to Bugg as they ascended the dais. ‘See Rucket? See the adoration? What did I tell you?’

The King sat down on the throne, smiled at the Queen who was already seated in a matching throne to his left, and then leaned back and stretched out his legs—

‘Don’t do that, brother,’ advised Brys. ‘The view from here . . .’

Tehol straightened. ‘Oops, most royally.’

‘About that,’ said Rucket.

‘I see with relief that you’ve shed countless stones of weight, Rucket. Most becoming. About what?’

‘That adoration bit you whispered to Bugg.’

‘I thought you had a petition?’

‘I want to sleep with you. I want you to cheat on your wife, Tehol. With me.’

‘That’s your petition?’

‘What’s wrong with it?’

Queen Janath spoke. ‘It can’t be cheating. Cheating would be behind my back. Deceit,