Sinn rounded on him. ‘How do you know that? How do you know anything about anything?’
‘On the tapestry below,’ he said, ‘those lizards. I think they were K’Chain Che’Malle.’ He glanced at her, and then shrugged. ‘This Azath House didn’t die,’ he said. ‘It just… left .’
‘Left? How?’
‘I think it just walked out of here, that’s what I think.’
‘But you don’t know anything! How can you say things like that?’
‘I bet Quick Ben knows, too.’
‘ Knows what? ’ she hissed in exasperation.
‘This. The truth of it all.’
‘Grub-’
He met her gaze, studied the fury in her eyes. ‘You, me, the Azath. It’s all changing, Sinn. Everything-it’s all changing.’
Her small hands made fists at her sides. The flames dancing from the stone floor climbed the frame of the chamber’s entranceway, snapping and sparking.
Grub snorted, ‘The way you make it talk…’
‘It can shout, too, Grub.’
He nodded. ‘Loud enough to break the world, Sinn.’
‘I would, you know,’ she said with sudden vehemence, ‘just to see what it can do. What I can do.’
‘What’s stopping you?’
She grimaced as she turned away. ‘You might shout back.’
Tehol the Only, King of 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.’
br />
Sinn rounded on him. ‘How do you know that? How do you know anything about anything?’
‘On the tapestry below,’ he said, ‘those lizards. I think they were K’Chain Che’Malle.’ He glanced at her, and then shrugged. ‘This Azath House didn’t die,’ he said. ‘It just… left .’
‘Left? How?’
‘I think it just walked out of here, that’s what I think.’
‘But you don’t know anything! How can you say things like that?’
‘I bet Quick Ben knows, too.’
‘ Knows what? ’ she hissed in exasperation.
‘This. The truth of it all.’
‘Grub-’
He met her gaze, studied the fury in her eyes. ‘You, me, the Azath. It’s all changing, Sinn. Everything-it’s all changing.’
Her small hands made fists at her sides. The flames dancing from the stone floor climbed the frame of the chamber’s entranceway, snapping and sparking.
Grub snorted, ‘The way you make it talk…’
‘It can shout, too, Grub.’
He nodded. ‘Loud enough to break the world, Sinn.’
‘I would, you know,’ she said with sudden vehemence, ‘just to see what it can do. What I can do.’
‘What’s stopping you?’
She grimaced as she turned away. ‘You might shout back.’
Tehol the Only, King of 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.’