Dust of Dreams: Book Nine of The Malazan Book of the Fallen - By Steven Erikson Page 0,361

what’s the difference? Now I’ll need to find something else.’

‘How about a sheepskin?’ Balm asked.

‘Is a sheepskin alive? No. Won’t work. Needs to be breathing.’

‘Because breathing fluffs the swirls,’ Balm said, nodding. ‘I get it.’

Widdershins cast a helpless look upon Deadsmell, who shrugged and then said, ‘This whole thing’s a waste of time anyway. Every seer and diviner in the whole damned world’s got scrambled brains right now.’ He gingerly touched his own neck. ‘I swear I felt that sword’s bite. What was Hood thinking? It’s insane. The whole thing—’

‘Never mind Hood,’ snapped Widdershins. ‘Wasn’t him made me wet my trousers.’

Balm stared with huge eyes. ‘Did you really? Gods below.’

Throatslitter burst out a sudden, piping laugh. Then ducked. ‘Sorry. Just . . . well, never mind.’

Widdershins spat on the ground. ‘None of this is funny, Throatslitter. You don’t get it. That . . . that thing. It didn’t show up on the other side of the world. It showed up here.’

Balm started, looked round. ‘Where? Get me my armour—who—what—’

‘Relax, Sergeant,’ Deadsmell said. ‘He didn’t mean “here” as in right here. He meant it as . . . Wid, what did you mean, exactly?’

‘What’s with the jokes? You’re as bad as Throatslitter. I don’t know why I’m talking to any of you.’

‘We wanted a divination,’ said Throatslitter. ‘I’m changing my mind. It was a stupid idea. You think Fid’s playing with the Deck right now? Not a chance. Forget it, I’m going to bed. Not that I’ll get any sleep. In fact—’

Balm stepped up and punched Widdershins. The man fell in a heap.

Throatslitter yelped again. ‘Sergeant! What did you do that for?’

Frowning, Balm rubbed at his knuckles. ‘He said he wasn’t gonna get any sleep. He’s asleep now. You two, drag him to his tent. It’s time to take charge of things and that’s what I’m doing. Once you get him tucked in, why, we can go find Ebron. We’ll get a divination tonight if it kills us.’

‘I need more corporals,’ Hellian announced to the night sky. She’d been sitting by the hearth, staring into the flames. But now she was on her back, beneath spinning stars. The world could change in an instant. Who decided things like that? ‘One ain’t enough. Ballsgird, you’re now a corporal. You too, Probbly.’

‘It’s Maybe.’

‘No, I made up my mind.’

‘And Balgrid.’

‘Tha’s what I said. As soon as the earthquake’s over, we’ll get right on it. Who am I missing? How many in my squad? Four of ya, right? That last one, he’s a corporal now, too. I want four corporals, t’take my orders.’

‘What orders?’

‘The ones I come up with. Firs’ off, you’re all my bodyguards—I’m done with Skulldumb—keep him away from me.’

‘He’s convinced you’re royalty, Sergeant.’

‘An’ I am, Iffy, so you got to do what I say. Where my ’riginal corporal? Touchy Breath? You here?’

‘Aye, Sergeant.’

‘Yes, Sergeant.’

‘I can’t be looking at this mess any longer. Take me to my tent—no, quit that, don’t help me up, you idiots. Take my feet. Nice an’ slow now—ow, who put rocks under me? Corperl Marble, clear them rocks, will ya? Gods, where’s my tent? Letheras?’

‘We’re looking, Sergeant—didn’t you put it up?’

‘Me? You’re my corperl, that was your job.’

‘Hold on, Sergeant. Just rest here—we’re on it.’

‘So I should think. Derliction of duty. Gi’me a wax and a stick, someone, got to write you up. I’m bustin’ you down, to . . . to, uh, undercorperl. What’s that pounding?’

‘Putting the stakes down, Sergeant. Not long now.’

‘Hey! Look at those green things! In the sky! Who put those there—get rid of ’em!’

‘Wish I could, Sergeant.’

‘You’re now an unnerunnercorperl—for disobeying unners. Orners. Oars. Udders. Hold on.’ She rolled on to her side and was sick, but in a lazy way. ‘Orders. Hah. Hey, where you dragging me to? I wasn’t done there. Something’s in the sky—I saw it—cut right across those greens. Saw it, corperls, you lissinin’? Big wings—I saw . . . oh, whatever. Someone’s in turble, but it ain’t me. Check that tent now—no spiders allowed—stupid stars, how’d they get in here?’

Gesler brought the lantern close. ‘Look at that, will you? One of Bottle’s rats did that, I bet. Chewed right through the Hood-damned strap. If I catch ’im, I’m going to twist his tiny head right off.’

‘The rat or Bottle?’ Stormy asked.

‘Either. Both. I knew it was hanging funny, down on one shoulder—’

‘Aye,’ Stormy said, ‘you looked ridiculous. Lopsided. Like some green recruit ain’t figured out how to wear the slingwork.’

Gesler glared across at his corporal. ‘And you didn’t