The Crippled God
‘Meaning,’ Tarr resumed, ‘no one can find us out here. Right?’
Bottle blinked, and then scratched at the stubble on his jaw. His nails came away flecked with burnt skin and something that looked like salt crystals. He frowned. ‘Well, I suppose so. Unless, of course, they’ve got eyes. Or wings,’ and he nodded upward.
Breath gusted from Tarr’s nostrils, making a faint whistling sound. ‘For that, they’d have to be out here, doing what we’re doing. But this desert’s supposed to be impassable. No one in their right minds would ever try and cross it. That’s the view, isn’t it?’
The view? It ain’t opinion, Tarr. It’s a fact. No one in their right minds would try and cross it . ‘Is there someone in particular, Sergeant, who might be trying to find us?’
Tarr shook his head. ‘Captain’s the one with the Deck, not me.’
‘But they’ll be cold here, those cards. Lifeless. So, what we’re talking about is a reading he did before we crossed over. Was someone closing in, Sergeant?’
‘No point in asking me that, Bottle.’
‘Listen, this is ridiculous. If Fiddler wants to ask me stuff, he can just hump down here and do it. That way, I can ask stuff back.’
‘Are they blind, Bottle, is what Fid wanted to know. Not us. Them.’
Them . ‘Aye. Wide-Eyed Blind.’
Tarr grunted. ‘Good.’
‘Sergeant … can you remember who came up with our name? Bonehunters?’
‘Might have been the Adjunct herself. The first time I heard it was from her. I think.’
But this is impossible. Aren. She couldn’t have known. Not then .
‘Why, Bottle?’
‘No reason, just wondering. Is that it? Can me and the corporal switch round again?’
‘One more question. Is Quick Ben alive?’
‘I already told Fid—’
‘This question ain’t his, Bottle. It’s mine.’
‘Listen, I don’t know – and I told Fid the same thing. I got no sense with those people—’
‘Which people?’
‘Bridgeburners. Those people. Dead Hedge, Quick Ben – even Fiddler himself. They aren’t the same as us. As you and me, Sergeant, or Corabb back there. Don’t ask me to explain what I mean. The point is, I can’t read them, can’t scry for them. Sometimes, it’s like they’re … I don’t know … ghosts. You poke and you go right through. Other times, they’re like a solid mountain, so big the sun itself can’t climb over them. So I don’t know, is my answer.’
Tarr was squinting across at him. ‘You say all that to the captain?’
‘I don’t know if Quick Ben’s dead or alive, Sergeant, but if I was to wager on it, well, I can think of a few hundred Bonehunters happy to go against me, more than a few hundred, in fact. But if I was to take that bet to Hedge, or Fiddler …’ Bottle shook his head, slapped at something biting his neck.
‘You’re wagering that he’s dead?’
‘No, I’m betting he’s alive. And I’m betting more than that. I’m betting he’s still in this game.’
The sergeant suddenly grinned. ‘Great to have you back, Mage.’
‘Not so fast, Tarr – Sergeant, I mean. Don’t forget, I didn’t see him at the end there. And from what I’ve heard, it was ugly.’
‘The ugliest.’
‘So … that’s why I’m not making any wagers.’
‘Hood knows what Fid ever saw in you, soldier. Go on, get out of my sight.’
When he’d exchanged places in the line with Corabb, Cuttle fell in on his left. ‘Listen—’
‘Who in Hood’s name am I these days, Fisher himself?’
‘What? No. It’s something Koryk said—’
‘Which thing? The thing about the Piss Drinker? Fid doesn’t make his own cards, Cuttle. He’s not that kind of Deck monger. So—’
‘About booty, soldier. That thing about booty.’
‘I think that was sarcasm.’
On his right, Smiles grunted, but offered nothing more.
‘That’s just it,’ Cuttle said. ‘Now, it was Dassem Ultor who really came down on the whole pillaging stuff—’
‘We were conquering, not raiding. When you occupy a city, it’s bad practice to loot and rape the citizens. Riles them, and before you know it your occupying garrison soldiers start getting murdered on night patrol.’