Midnight Tides (Malazan Book of the Fallen, #5)

by Steven Erikson

‘This is the curse, then, that we are so inclined to look ahead, ever ahead. As if the path before us should be any different from the one behind us.’

‘What do you want?’ asked the bald one. ‘That was my question. My servant informs me that you visited my residence this morning. I am Tehol Beddict…the one who sleeps on his roof.’ Three sets of eyes fixed on him. Enough to make a stalwart warlord wilt…but me? Only slightly. ‘You?’ Tehol scowled at the bald woman. ‘Why does everyone keep asking that? Yes, me. Now, by your accent, I’d hazard you’re from the islands. I don’t know anyone in the islands. Accordingly, I don’t know you. Not to say I wouldn’t like to, of course. Know you, that is. At least, I think so.’ The red-haired woman set her bottle down with a clunk. ‘We’ve made a mistake.’ ‘I’m sorry to hear that—’ ‘No,’ the bald woman said to her companion. ‘This is an affectation. We should have anticipated a certain degree of…mockery.’ ‘He has no trousers.’ The dark-eyed woman added, ‘And his arms are lopsided.’ ‘Not quite accurate,’ Tehol said to her. ‘It’s only the sleeves that are somewhat askew.’ ‘I don’t like him,’ she pronounced, crossing her arms. ‘You don’t have to,’ the bald woman said. ‘Errant knows, we’re not going to bed him, are we?’ ‘I’m crushed.’ ‘You would be,’ the red-haired woman said, with an unpleasant smile. ‘Bed him? On the roof? You must be insane, Shand.’ ‘How can not liking him be unimportant?’ The bald woman, the one named Shand, sighed and rubbed her eyes. ‘Listen to me, Hejun. This is business. Sentiments have no place in business—I’ve already told you that.’ Hejun’s arms remained crossed, a...

Everything worth fighting for is gained without fighting. Every struggle is a struggle against doubt. Honour is not a thing to be chased, for it, as with all other forces of life, is in fact impelled, streaking straight for you. The moment of collision is where the truth of you is revealed.

We have a talent for disguising greed under the cloak of freedom. As for past acts of depravity, we prefer to ignore those. Progress, after all, means to look ever forward, and whatever we have trampled in our wake is best forgotten.’

Nothing will be decided. Not by us. The game’s end awaits the Great Meeting.

‘Don’t stand so close—no, closer, so you can hear me, Shand, but not too close. Not like we know each other.’ ‘You’ve lost your mind,’ she replied. ‘Maybe. Anyway, see that man?’ ‘Who?’ ‘That criminal, of course. The half-blood who tore apart Urum’s—the extortionist deserved it by the way—’ ‘Tarthenal have four lungs.’ ‘And so does he. I take it you didn’t wager?’ ‘I despise gambling.’ ‘Very droll, lass.’ ‘What about him?’ ‘Hire him.’ ‘With pleasure.’ ‘Then buy him some clothes.’ ‘Do I have to?’ ‘He’s not being employed because of his physical attributes—well, not those ones, anyway. You three need a bodyguard.’ ‘He can guard my body any time.’ ‘That’s it, Shand. I’m done talking with you today.’ ‘No you’re not, Tehol. Tonight. The workshop. And bring Bugg.’ ‘Everything is going as planned. There’s no need—’ ‘Be there.’

‘If he catches a whiff that it’s you—’ ‘Then I’m a dead man.’ ‘And I’m out of work.’ ‘Nonsense. The lasses will carry on. Besides, you are my beneficiary—unofficially, of course.’ ‘Should you have told me that?’ ‘Why not? I’m lying.’

‘Shurq Elalle.’ Listless, murky eyes fixed on him. ‘I give no pleasure,’ she said. ‘Alas, neither do I, these days. I am here to deliver to you an indefinite contract from my master.’ ‘And who would that be?’ ‘Not yet, I’m afraid. Thieving work, Shurq.’ ‘What need have I for riches?’ ‘Well, that would depend on their substance, I’d imagine.’ She stepped out from the shadowed alcove where she’d been standing. ‘And what does your master imagine I desire?’ ‘Negotiable.’ ‘Does he know I’m dead?’ ‘Of course. And sends his regrets.’ ‘Does he?’ ‘No, I made that up.’ ‘No-one hires me any more.’ ‘That is why he knew you would be available.’ ‘No-one likes my company.’ ‘Well, a bath wouldn’t hurt, but he’s prepared to make allowances.’ ‘I will speak to him.’ ‘Very good. He has anticipated your wishes. Midnight.’ ‘Where?’ ‘A rooftop. With a bed.’ ‘Him?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘In his bed?’ ‘Um, I’m not sure if that was in his mind—’ ‘Glad to hear it. I may be dead, but I’m not easy. I’ll be there. Midnight, until a quarter past. No more. If he can convince me in that time, all and well. If not, too bad.’ ‘A quarter should be more than enough, Shurq.’ ‘You are foolish to be so confident of that.’ Bugg smiled. ‘Am I?’

‘The difference between me and our mother is that I carry no burden. No children. So, brother, I think I will end up achieving the very thing she could not do, despite her love for Father.’ ‘By dressing in rags and sleeping on your roof?’ ‘Perception enforces expectation, Brys.’

Thank the Errant he’s on my side… He is on my side, isn’t he?

‘Ah! As suspected. The flux in the composite is due entirely to curdled milk. Brys Beddict, are you ready?’ The King’s Champion shrugged. Kuru Qan nodded. ‘I was going to have you drink this.’ ‘Curdled milk will not harm me,’ Brys said, taking the goblet from the Ceda. He quickly tossed it down, then set the silver cup on the table. ‘How long?’ ‘For what?’ ‘Until the potion takes effect.’ ‘What potion? Come with me. We shall use the Cedance for this journey.’

Fallen. Who tracks our footsteps, I wonder? We who are the forgotten, the discounted and the ignored. When the path is failure, it is never willingly taken. The fallen. Why does my heart weep for them? Not them but us, for most assuredly I am counted among them. Slaves, serfs, nameless peasants and labourers, the blurred faces in the crowd—just a smear on memory, a scuffing of feet down the side passages of history. Can one stop, can one turn and force one’s eyes to pierce the gloom? And see the fallen? Can one ever see the fallen? And if so, what emotion is born in that moment?

‘Shurq Elalle. Ublala Pung survived a Drowning. He walked across the bottom of the canal. You two have a lot in common, if you think about it.’ ‘He’s also massively endowed,’ Bugg added.

‘Where’s Ublala? I need him here, so Shurq Elalle can gauge his…’ ‘Length?’

‘You’re a liar and a thief, Tehol Beddict.’ ‘It’s the company I keep,’ Bugg muttered.

‘That went well.’ ‘Rissarh had a knife,’ Bugg said, ‘tucked up along her wrist.’ ‘She did? Tucked up?’ ‘Yes, master.’ Tehol walked to the ladder. ‘I trust you had your own knives close to hand.’ ‘I don’t have any knives.’ Tehol paused, one hand on the nearest rung. ‘What? Well, where are all our weapons?’ ‘We don’t have any weapons, master.’ ‘None? Did we ever?’ ‘No. Some wooden spoons…’ ‘And are you adept with them?’ ‘Very.’ ‘Well, that’s all right, then. You coming?’ ‘In a moment, master.’ ‘Right, and be sure to clean up. This place is a dreadful mess.’ ‘If I find the time.’

Tell me, Ublala, what did you see when you walked across the bottom of the canal?’ ‘Mud.’ ‘What else?’ ‘Junk.’ ‘What else? What were you walking on?’ ‘Bodies. Bones. Crayfish, crabs. Old nets. Broken pots, furniture—’ ‘Furniture?’ Tehol asked. ‘Serviceable furniture?’ ‘Well, there was a chair. But I didn’t sit in it.’

Brys—oh, what are you doing here, by the way?’ ‘I have come seeking your advice.’ ‘Oh. Well, shall we retire to a more private section of my rooftop? Here, follow me—that far corner is ideal.’

Do not seek to find hope among your leaders. They are the repositories of poison. Their interest in you extends only so far as their ability to control you. From you, they seek duty and obedience, and they will ply you with the language of stirring faith. They seek followers, and woe to those who question, or voice challenge. ‘Civilization after civilization, it is the same. The world falls to tyranny with a whisper. The frightened are ever keen to bow to a perceived necessity, in the belief that necessity forces conformity, and conformity a certain stability. In a world shaped into conformity, dissidents stand out, are easily branded and dealt with. There is no multitude of perspectives, no dialogue. The victim assumes the face of the tyrant, self-righteous and intransigent, and wars breed like vermin. And people die.’

‘I do not trust you.’ ‘I do not care.’

‘Destiny is a lie. Destiny is justification for atrocity. It is the means by which murderers armour themselves against reprimand. It is a word intended to stand in place of ethics, denying all moral context.

You know, I am tasting something fishy. A hint, anyway. Just how dried up was this eel you found?’ The manservant probed with his ladle and lifted the mentioned object into view. Black, wrinkled and not nearly as limp as it should have been. Tehol leaned closer and studied it for a moment. ‘Bugg…’ ‘Yes, master?’ ‘That’s the sole of a sandal.’ ‘It is? Oh. I was wondering why it was flatter at one end than the other.’ Tehol settled back and took another sip. ‘Still fishy, though. One might assume the wearer, being in the fish market, stepped on an eel, before the loss of his or her sole.’ ‘I am mildly disturbed by the thought of what else he or she might have stepped in.’ ‘There are indeed complexities on the palate, suggesting a varied and lengthy history.

‘I am well guarded, brother, whilst you are not.’ ‘Nonsense! I have Bugg!’ The manservant looked up at Brys with a bland smile. ‘Tehol, this is not time for jokes—’ ‘Bugg resents that!’ ‘I do?’ ‘Well, don’t you? I would, if I were you—’ ‘It seems you just were.’ ‘My apologies for making you speak out of turn, then.’ ‘Speaking on your behalf, master, I accept.’ ‘You are filled with relief—’

I believe I am being followed by rats.’ ‘You probably are, Bugg. Maybe one of them whispered your name.’ ‘An unpleasant notion, master.’

Behold, gentlemen, the poor.’

A truly successful leader is a reluctant leader. Not one whose every word is greeted with frenzied cheering either—after all, what happens to the mind of such a leader, after such scenes are repeated again and again? A growing certainty, a belief in one’s own infallibility, and onward goes the march into disaster. No, Bugg, I won’t have anyone kissing my feet—’ ‘I’m relieved to hear that, master, since those feet have not known soap in a long, long time.’ ‘The body eventually resumes its own natural cleansing mechanisms, Bugg.’ ‘Like shedding?’ ‘Exactly. In any case, I was speaking of leadership in a general sort of way—’ ‘Who, master?’ ‘Why, the Waiting Man, of course. Occasional priest, healer, consorter with demons…’ ‘That’s probably not such a good idea, master,’ Bugg said, rubbing his bristled jaw. ‘I am rather…busy at the moment.’ ‘A leader should be busy. Distracted. Preoccupied. Prepared to delegate.’ ‘Master, I really don’t think this is a good idea. Really.’ ‘Perfectly reluctant, perfect! And look! You’ve been noticed! See those hopeful faces—’ ‘That’s hunger, master.’ ‘For salvation! Word’s gone out, you see. They’re ready for you, Bugg. They’ve been waiting…’ ‘This is very bad, master.’ ‘Your expression is perfect, Bugg. Sickly and wan with dismay, deeply troubled and nervous, yes indeed. I couldn’t have managed better myself.’ ‘Master—’ ‘Go out among your flock, Bugg. Tell them—they’re leaving. Tomorrow night. All of them. A better place, a better life awaits ...

‘Extraordinary! Bugg, look who’s here! Why, it’s Shand and Rissarh and Hejun! Come, let us put two tables together and so make of this a festive gathering of co-conspirators!’

‘We should go. But first, arrange with the manager four bottles of fine wine, for when they’re finished beating on each other. I predict that by dawn they will all be fast friends.’ ‘I’m not sure of that—’ ‘Nonsense, Bugg, it’s the way of things. Come on, before they turn on us.’

‘All in all, a fine evening, wouldn’t you say? Now, we should see if we can scrounge some firewood—or at least something that burns—on our way home. Roast cat beckons.’

The crashing sounds from the restaurant courtyard suddenly increased. Tehol hesitated. ‘I’m tempted by the sounds of firewood production in there.’

‘This warrior stole my death. I now steal his.’

Among the dead were five youths, none of them older than fifteen years. They’d walked a short path, but as Halfpeck observed, it had been the wrong path, and that was that. Seren pitied none of them.

‘What happened to the legs of my bed?’ ‘We needed the wood, master.’ ‘Yes, but why only three of them?’ ‘I was saving the other one for later.

‘Hold on, Bugg. Now I do have some pertinent questions.’ ‘Your questions are always pertinent, master.’ ‘I know, but these are particularly pertinent.’ ‘More so than usual?’ ‘Are you suggesting that my normal pertinence is less than particular, Bugg?’

‘As I suspected,’ Tehol mused, ‘clearly, now is not the time to destroy the economy.’

‘You have always been unpalatable, it’s true,’ Tehol noted as he gingerly lowered himself onto his bed. ‘Even the fleas avoid you. Just one more of those eternal mysteries, Bugg, that so endears you to me. Or is it endears me to you?’ ‘The former, I think, master.’ ‘Oh, no. You don’t like me. I discover this after all this time?’ ‘I was only commenting on your usage of the appropriate phrase in the context of your statement and the sentiment you presumably wished to express. Of course I like you, master. How could I not?’ ‘You have a point there, Bugg. Anyway, I’m going to sleep now, so if you don’t want me for anything else…’ ‘Right, master. I’ll see you later, then.’

‘The Letherii motive was, is and shall ever be but one thing. Wealth. Conquest as opportunity. Opportunity as invitation. Invitation as righteous claim. Righteous claim as preordained, as destiny.’ Something dark glittered in his eyes. ‘Destiny as victory, victory as conquest, conquest as wealth. But nowhere in that perfect scheme will you find the notion of defeat. All failures are temporary, flawed in the particular. Correct the particular and victory will be won the next time round.’

The Betrayer stands in the shadow of the Empty Throne. That is why it is empty.

As if true honesty belonged to solitude, since to be witnessed was to perform, and performance was inherently false since it invited expectation.

Tyrants and emperors rise and fall. Civilizations burgeon then die, but there are always casters of nets. And tillers of the soil, and herders in the pastures. We are where civilization begins, and when it ends, we are there to begin it again.’

An old man emerged from the ditch, a creature Of mud and wild autumn winds capering Like a hare across a bouldered field, across And through the stillness of time unhinged That sprawls patient and unexpectant in the Place where battle lies spent, unmoving and Never again moving bodies strewn and Death-twisted like lost languages tracking Contorted glyphs on a barrow door, and he Read well the aftermath, the disarticulated script Rent and dissolute the pillars of self toppled Like termite towers all spilled out round his Dancing feet, and he shouted in gleeful Revelation the truth he’d found, in these Red-fleshed pronouncements—‘There is peace!’ He shrieked. ‘There is peace!’ and it was No difficult thing, where I sat in the saddle Above salt-rimed horseflesh to lift my crossbow Aim and loose the quarrel, skewering the madman To his proclamation. ‘Now,’ said I, in the Silence that followed, ‘Now, there is peace.’

When the gods of dust were young They swam in blood.

‘If I’d known this was going to be a day for killing gods, I might have paced myself better.’

‘You, I am sending home…not your home. My home.’ A gesture, and the Tiste Edur vanished. Into Bugg’s warren, away, then down, down, ever down. Into depthless darkness, where the portal opened once more, flinging Theradas Buhn into icy, black water. Where the pressure, immense and undeniable, embraced him. Fatally.

‘But this changes everything.’ ‘It does? How?’ ‘Well, you’re supposed to be my manservant. How can I continue the conceit of being in charge?’

‘So,’ Shurq said, ‘have you resumed plotting the end of civilization, Tehol?’ ‘I have, and a delicious end it will be.’

‘You know, Bugg, I am glad you didn’t do it.’ ‘Do what?’ ‘Make me forget.’ ‘I figured you could handle it.’ ‘You’re right. I can. At least, this way, I can grieve.’ ‘In your own way.’ ‘In my own way, yes. The only way I know how.’ ‘I know, master.’ A short while later, Bugg turned about and walked towards the hatch. ‘I’ll be back shortly.’ ‘Right. And when you do, clean up down there.’ The manservant paused at the hatch, considered, then said, ‘I think I will find the time to do just that, master.’ ‘Excellent. Now I’m going to bed.’ ‘Good idea, master.’ ‘Well, of course it is, Bugg. It’s mine, isn’t it?’

‘How far down do you think it goes, brother?’ ‘I suspect, brother,’ the other replied, ‘if we were to vacate our bladders into this abyss the streams would fray into mist long before they reached bottom.’ ‘I suspect you are right. And that Forkrul Assail went down there, didn’t he?’ ‘He did. Head first.’ ‘You shouldn’t have thrown him, then.’ ‘You are wrong, brother. I simply threw him in the wrong direction.’ ‘That, or the world suddenly turned.’ ‘Unlikely. This place doesn’t do things like that.’ ‘You’re right. It is proving exceedingly dull, isn’t it?’

Withal stood on the beach, feeling the faint wisps of wind that managed to reach through the sorcerous barrier surrounding the island, brushing against his face like a woman’s breath. A sweet woman, to be more precise. Unlike the one standing beside him. This tall, iron-eyed, foul-mouthed, humourless apparition who followed him around and never seemed to sleep and certainly would not let him sleep, not a single damned night the whole night through, not once. Always asking, asking and asking. What are you going to do? Besides praying? Well, what else could he do?

‘Aye, Withal of Meckros, you pray hard enough…’ ‘I knew it.’ ‘Now, get going. You’ll find a way of calm through.’ ‘And you, Mael?’ ‘I’ll drop in later. I’ve things for you to do, Withal. But for now,’ he faced inland, ‘I am going to beat a god senseless.’