264 - The Crippled God (The Malazan Book of the Fallen #10) Page 264

Was it Bluepearl who’d given it a taste? She couldn’t remember, but … probably .

He was sitting working a knife tip under filthy fingernails .

‘ Am I sleeping again?’ Picker asked .

‘ Yeah,’ Bluepearl replied. ‘But I’m telling ya, Pick, getting dragged into your dreams like this ain’t much fun .’

‘ You know what’s happened to this city? ’

He grimaced, frowned at his nails. ‘I voted against settling here – do you remember that? But the count didn’t go my way – story of my life. And then Darujhistan went and killed me .’

‘ But you didn’t know why, did you? I can tell you why now, Bluepearl. I know why now .’

He sheathed his knife and the sound the weapon made as it locked in the scabbard was sharp enough to make her breath catch. Looked across at her and said, ‘We resanctified this place, did you know that? Spilling all that blood – it was stirring when we moved in, but then we went and drenched the stones in that red stuff .’

‘ Meaning? ’

He shrugged, drew out his knife again and began cleaning his nails, each gesture the same as the time before. ‘In here, Pick, we’re safe .’

She snorted. ‘Maybe for you .’

‘ You got to go soon, Sergeant. Out of the city. Will there be trouble, you doing that? ’

‘ You called me Sergeant .’

‘ Aye, I did. Because I’m passing on orders here. That’s all .’

‘ Whose orders? ’

He examined his nails. ‘There’s no such thing, Picker, as retiring from the Bridgeburners .’

‘ Go back to Hood! ’

He grunted in amusement, clicked his knife home, the sound louder and more disturbing than the first time. ‘Where Hood’s at I ain’t going, Pick. We got us the right commander again, the one we should’ve had right from the start. By whose order, Sergeant?’ He drew out his knife and set to his nails again. ‘Whiskeyjack .’

‘ What’s he got to do with any of this? I know who I’m supposed to find. I even know where he’s holed up – and staying outa Darujhistan tells me he’s smarter than he looks.’ Lifting an arm, she caught a flash of silver. Stared in horror at the torcs now encircling her upper arms. ‘Gods below! How did these come back! Get ’em off me! ’

‘ Treach needs you now. Tiger of Summer and all that.’ He grinned at her. ‘It’s all brewing up, my love .’

‘ Shit! I just put ’em on because they looked nice! ’

He was studying her, head cocked. ‘Getting fat on us, Sergeant? ’

She scowled. ‘Taken to wearing chain under everything .’

‘ Even when you’re asleep? And you say you ain’t a Bridgeburner no more? ’

‘ What kind of dream is this? ’

He sheathed his dagger. This time the click was sharp enough to make her flinch. ‘The important kind, Sergeant. Look at it this way. Hood’s gone. Death’s Gate was just … gaping. But someone sanctified us. We’ve seen more death than a sane person could stand. But we ain’t sane, are we? We’re soldiers. Veterans. We’re past sane. We’re in that other place, where all the insanity’s been storming around us for so long it can’t touch us no more either. Meaning we’re outside both. What makes us perfect for Death’s Gate? Simple, Picker. It don’t matter what we look at, we don’t blink .’

‘ I can get out of the city ,’ she said . ‘ But it won’t be easy .’

He began cleaning his fingernails, the knife blade flashing dull in the misty gloom . ‘ Glad to hear all that confidence has come roaring back. Thing is, we ain’t in the mood to challenge what’s going on here. Besides, we’re kinda busy at the moment .’

‘ So I’m on my own, is that it? ’

‘ Not quite. We arranged for a reliable … guide.’ He rose. The dagger slammed back into its scabbard —

The sound startled her awake. Lying tangled in sweaty blankets, Blend snoring at her side. Something was at the door, trying to get in. Cursing under her breath, Picker collected up the sword propped beside the bed .

She saw the latch flick once – the same sound Bluepearl’s dagger had been making .

Whoever was trying to open that door wasn’t having much luck. ‘What a fine guide you sent there, Whiskeyjack. Can’t even open a stupid door .’

‘ Mmm? ’

‘ Go back to sleep, love.’ She rose and walked to the door, turned the latch with her sword point and stepped back to let the door swing open .

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