Midnight Tides
Everything was breaking inside him. Trull stepped away from Hannan Mosag, and sank slowly to his knees. I need Fear. I need to find him. Talk .
‘Please, Trull… I never meant, I never meant…’
Trull stared down at his hands. He’d dropped his spear – he did not even know where it was. There were six Letherii guards – he looked up – no, they were gone. Where had they gone? The old man standing beside the body of the First Eunuch – where was he? The woman? Where had everybody gone?
Tehol Beddict opened his eyes. One of them, he noticed, did not work very well. He squinted. A low ceiling. Dripping.
A hand stroked his brow and he turned his head. Oh, now that hurts . Bugg leaned forward, nodded. Tehol tried to nod back, almost managed. ‘Where are we?’
‘In a crypt. Under the river.’
‘Did we… get wet?’
‘Only a little.’
‘Oh.’ He thought about that for a time. Then said. ‘I should be dead.’
‘Yes, you should. But you were holding on. Enough, anyway, which is more than can be said for poor Chalas.’
‘Chalas?’
‘He tried to protect you, and they killed him for it. I am sorry, Tehol. I was too late in arriving.’
He thought about that, too. ‘The Tiste Edur.’
‘Yes. I killed them.’
‘You did?’
‘Ah.’
The manservant looked back. ‘You don’t sound surprised.’
‘I’m not. I’ve seen you step on cockroaches. You are ruthless.’
‘Anything for a meal.’
‘Yes, and what about that, anyway? We’ve never eaten enough – not to have stayed as healthy as we did.’
‘That’s true.’
Tehol tried to sit up, groaned and lay back down. ‘I smell mud.’
‘Mud, yes. Salty mud at that. There’s footprints here, were here when we arrived. Footprints, passing through.’
‘Arrived. How long ago?’
‘Not long. A few moments…’
‘During which you mended all my bones.’
‘And a new eye, most of your organs, this and that.’
‘The eye doesn’t work well.’
‘Give it time. Babies can’t focus past a nipple, you know.’
They were silent for a time.
Then Tehol sighed and said, ‘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?’
‘Just the same as you always have.’
‘Hah hah.’
‘I could make you forget.’
‘Forget what?’
‘Very funny.’
‘No,’ Tehol said, ‘I mean specifically.’
‘Well,’ Bugg rubbed his jaw, ‘the events of this day, I suppose.’
‘So, you killed all those Tiste Edur.’
‘Yes, I am afraid so.’
‘Then carried me under the river.’
‘But your clothes are dry.’
‘That’s right.’
‘And your name’s not really Bugg.’
‘No, I guess not.’
‘But I like that name.’
‘Me too.’
‘And your real one?’
‘Mael.’
Tehol frowned, studied his manservant’s face, then shook his head. ‘It doesn’t fit. Bugg is better.’
‘I agree.’
‘So, if you could kill all those warriors. Heal me. Walk under a river. Answer me this, then. Why didn’t you kill all of them? Halt this invasion in its tracks?’.
‘I have my reasons.’
‘To see Lether conquered? Don’t you like us?’
‘Lether? Not much. You take your natural vices and call them virtues. Of which greed is the most despicable. That and betrayal of commonality. After all, whoever decided that competition is always and without exception a healthy attribute? Why that particular path to self-esteem? Your heel on the hand of the one below. This is worth something? Let me tell you, it’s worth nothing. Nothing lasting. Every monument that exists beyond the moment – no matter which king, emperor or warrior lays claim to it – is actually a testament to the common, to co-operation, to the plural rather than the singular.’