Deadhouse Gates

He was silent for a long moment.



'Nonetheless,' Coltaine finally continued, 'I would have you know, they meant to honour you.'



Ah, Coltaine, even you do not understand these soldiers well enough. Those scowls you see arrayed before you certainly look like disapproval, disgust even, but then, when have you ever seen them smile?



'So, I am left with the traditions of the Malazan Empire. There were enough witnesses at the Crossing to weave in detail the tapestry of your deeds, and among all of you, including your fallen comrades, the natural leadership of one was noted again and again. Without it, the day would have been truly lost.'



The sappers did not move, their scowls if anything deeper, more fierce.



Coltaine moved to stand before one man. Duiker recalled him well – a squat, hairless, immeasurably ugly sapper, his eyes thin slashes, his nose a flattened spread of angles and crooks. Audaciously, he wore fragments of armour that Duiker recognized as taken from a commander of the Apocalypse, though the helm tied to his belt was something that could have adorned an antique shop in Darujhistan. Another object that hung from his belt was difficult to identify, and it was a moment before the historian realized he was looking at the battered remnant of a shield: two reinforced grips behind a mangled plate-sized flap of bronze. A large, blackened crossbow hung from one shoulder, so covered and entwined with twigs, branches and other camouflage as to make it seem the man carried a bush.



'I believe the time has come,' Coltaine said, 'for a promotion. You are now a sergeant, soldier.'



The man said nothing, his eyes narrowing to the thinnest of slits.



'I think a salute would be appropriate,' Bult growled.



One of the other sappers cleared his throat and nervously yanked at his moustache.



Captain Lull rounded on the man. 'Got something to say about this, soldier?'



'Not much,' the man muttered.



'Out with it.'



The soldier shrugged. 'Well, only ... he was a captain not two minutes ago, sir. The Fist's just demoted him. That's Captain Mincer, sir. Commands the Engineers. Or did.'



Mincer finally spoke. 'And since I'm now a sergeant, I suggest the captaincy go to this soldier.' He reached out and grabbed the woman beside him by the ear to drag her close. 'What used to be my sergeant. Name's Bungle.'



Coltaine stared a moment longer, then swung around and met Duiker's eyes with such comic pleasure that the historian's exhaustion was simply swept away, flashburned into oblivion. The Fist struggled to keep a straight face, and Duiker bit his lip in his own effort. His gaze caught on Lull, whose face showed the same struggle, even as the captain winked and mouthed three silent words.



Sleight of hand.



The question remained how Coltaine would now play it. Composing his face into stern regard, the Fist turned about again. He eyed Mincer, then the woman named Bungle. 'That will be fine, Sergeant,' he said. 'Captain Bungle, I would advise you to listen to your sergeant in all matters. Understood?'



The woman shook her head.



Mincer grimaced and said, 'She's no experience with that, Fist. I never asked her advice, I'm afraid.'



'From what I have gathered, you never asked anyone's advice when you were captain.'



'Aye, that's a fact.'



'Nor did you attend any staff briefings.'



'No, sir.'



'And why was that?'



Mincer shrugged.



Captain Bungle spoke. 'Beauty sleep, sir. That's what he always said.'



'Hood knows the man needs it,' Bult muttered.



Coltaine raised an eyebrow. 'And did he sleep, Captain? During those times?'



'Oh yes, sir. He sleeps when we march, too, sir. Sleeps while walking – I've never seen the like. Snoring away, sir, one foot in front of the other, a bag full of rocks on his back—'



'Rocks?'



'For when he breaks his sword, sir. He throws them, and there ain't a damned thing he can't hit.'



'Wrong,' Mincer growled. 'That lapdog ...'



Bult seemed to choke, then spat in sympathy.



Coltaine had drawn his hands behind him, and Duiker saw them clench in a white-knuckled grip. As if sensing that attention, the Fist called out without turning, 'Historian!'



'I am here, Fist.'



'You will record this?'



'Oh, aye, sir. Every blessed word.'



'Excellent. Engineers, you are dismissed.'



The group wandered off, muttering. One man clapped Mincer on the shoulder and received a blistering glare in return.



Coltaine watched them leave, then strode to Duiker, Bult and Lull following.