Toll the Hounds

‘That’s not bad,’ Picker muttered, eyeing the work.



Antsy grunted, not one to ponder too much on artwork beyond identifying whatever scene it happened to be recording. Personally, he could not imagine a more useless talent, and thanked the gods he’d never been cursed with such cre-ative misery. Most of his own memories of great events he had witnessed em-ployed stick figures, and that was good enough for him. It did not occur to him that this was at all unusual.



Raest gestured to the two chairs. ‘Sit down,’ he said, the tone only vaguely re-lated to an invitation. When they had done so, both angling their chairs to face the Jaghut, he said, ‘Explain to me, if you will, how precisely you intend to send Ganoes Paran a message.’



‘We have no idea,’ Picker said, with a queasy smile. ‘We were hoping you might have some suggestions.’



‘I have many suggestions,’ Raest replied, ‘none of which are relevant to your request.’



Antsy slowly narrowed his eyes, but said nothing.



Picker opened her mouth a few times, breaking off a succession of possible re-sponses, the repeated gaping reminding Antsy of netted fish on the deck of his da’s fisher boat. Unless I just made that up. All a lie, maybe. Maybe I seen a fish on some other deck. How can I be sure? How can-



‘One possibility occurs to me,’ Raest said. ‘It would, I suspect, require that one of you be an adept with the Deck of Dragons. Or possessing the potential thereof.’



‘I see,’ said Picker. ‘Well, I’ve had a few brushes with the Deck.’



‘You are an illustrator of Decks?’



‘What? Oh, not that kind of brush. I mean, I’ve had my hands on ’em a few times.’



‘Did such contact leave you damaged, Sergeant Picker?’



‘Damaged how?’



‘Arc you, perhaps, now insane?’



She sat upright. ‘Hang on, how in Hood’s name would I even know if I was in-sane or not?’



‘Precisely,’ said Raest, and waited.



Antsy’s gaze fixed once more on the Jaghut. ‘Pick,’ he finally growled.



She twisted to face him in exasperation. ‘What is it now, Antsy?’



‘This bastard’s having us on.’



Her eyes bulged momentarily, and then she looked once more at the Jaghut.



Who shrugged. ‘One needs to amuse oneself on occasion. Company is so very rare these days.’



‘So when it arrives,’ Antsy snapped, ‘you treat it like dirt? Do you think maybe there’s a connection atwixt the two, you hoary lich?’



‘Like dirt? I think not. More like… with amiable contempt.’



‘You got a few things to learn about people, Jaghut.’



‘Undoubtedly, Sergeant Antsy. Alas, I find myself disinclined to make any ef-fort in that direction.’



‘Oh? And what direction do you make your efforts in?’



‘When I discover one I will let you know, if it proves of any interest-to either me or, of course, you. In the meantime, I have no idea if communication is pos-sible with Ganoes Paran. Perhaps if you informed me of your present crisis, I might be able to assist you in some way that does not involve precipitous, desperate acts that might ultimately inconvenience me.’



‘Hood forbid we do that,’ snarled Antsy.



‘Hood is not one to forbid much of anything,’ Raest observed.



‘Can’t think he much likes these Azath Houses,’ Picker said, having recovered from her shock and irritation and, perhaps, indignation. ‘All this trapping of souls and things like you, Raest.’



‘I doubt I rate highly on Hood’s wish list,’ the undead Jaghut replied.



Antsy grunted a laugh. ‘All right, I’m finally working out your sense of hu-mour. And I thought Malazan marines were dry, Abyss below! Fine, Raest, let’s play this game for real. If you can help us with our problem, we’ll do something for you in return. If it’s within our abilities, that is, so nothing like “get me outa here” or anything like that. But, you know, other stuff.’



‘I do have a modest request. Very well, I accept the reciprocal engagement.’



Antsy grinned across at Picker, and then said to Raest, ‘It’s this. Someone’s taken out a contract on us. We don’t know why. We’re thinking maybe Paran can work out who and what’s got ’em so aggravated.’



The Jaghut stared.



Picker cleared her throat. ‘Possible causes. One, we’re Malazans. Veterans. We’ve made more than a few enemies on this continent. Two, we own K’rul’s Bar, which used to be K’rul’s Belfry, which used to be K’rul’s Temple. In the cel-