The Bonehunters

He drew a knife and, fearful of making a louder noise, scratched against the door. At the moment the street behind him was empty, but he could hear riots beginning, the splintering of wood, the shrill cry of a dying horse, and everywhere throughout the city, dogs were now barking, as if some ancient wolf memory had been awakened. He scratched again.

The door suddenly swung open. A tall, grey-haired woman stared down at him, expressionless.

'Agayla,' Bottle said. 'My uncle married your aunt's husband's sister.

We're family!'

She stepped back. 'Get in here, unless you're of a mind to get torn to pieces!'

'I'm Bottle,' he said, following her into an apothecary thick with the scents of herbs, 'that's not my real name, but-'

'Oh, never mind all that. Your boots are filthy. Where have you come from and why did you choose this night of all nights to visit Malaz City? Tea?'

Blinking, Bottle nodded. 'I'm from the Fourteenth Army, Agayla-'

'Well, that was silly of you, wasn't it?'

'Excuse me?'

'You should be hiding in the boats with all the rest, dear boy.'

'I can't. I mean, the Adjunct sent me-'

She turned. 'To see me? Whatever for?'

'No, it's not that. It was my idea to find you. I'm looking for someone. It's important – I need your help.'

Her back to him once more, she poured the herbal brew into two cups. '

Come get your tea, Bottle.'

As he stepped forward, Agayla quickly faced him again, reached into the folds of his cloak and snatched free the doll. She studied it for a moment, then, with a scowl, shook the doll in front of Bottle's face. 'And what is this? Have you any idea what you are dabbling in, child?'

'Child? Hold on-'

'Is this the man you need to find?'

'Well, yes-'

'Then you leave me no choice, do you?'

'Sorry?'

She stuffed the doll back into the folds of his cloak and turned away once more. 'Drink your tea. Then we'll talk.'

'You can help me?'

'Save the world? Well, yes, of course.'

Save the world? Now, Adjunct, you never mentioned that part.

****
Koryk rolled his shoulders to adjust the weight of the heavy chain armour. Longsword and shield were positioned on the damp stones behind him. In his gauntleted hands he held his crossbow. Three paces to his left stood Smiles, a sharper in her right hand, her bared teeth gleaming in the dull moonlight. To his right was Cuttle, crouched down over a collection of munitions laid out on a rain-cape. Among them was a cusser.

'Hold on, Cuttle,' Koryk said upon seeing that oversized grenado. '

Pass that cusser right back down, will you? Unless you're planning on blowing up everyone here, not to mention the Silanda and the Froth Wolf.'

The sapper squinted up at him. 'If it takes a hundred of 'em with us, I'm happy, Koryk. Don't mind that one – it's for the last thing left – you'll probably be all down by then, anyway'

'But maybe still alive-'

'Try and avoid that, soldier. Unless you're happy with the mob having fun with what's left of you.'

Scowling, Koryk returned his attention to the massing crowd opposite.

Twenty paces away, milling, shouting threats and ugly promises. Plenty of serious weapons among them. The City Guard had vanished, and all that seemed to be holding the fools back for the moment was the solid line of shield-locked soldiers facing them. Tarr, Corabb Bhilan Thenu' alas, Uru Hela, Mayfly, Shortnose and Flashwit. A few rocks and brick fragments had been thrown across the killing ground, and those that came close were met by shields lifting almost languidly to fend them off.

Burning arrows were being readied along the flanks of the mob.

They'll try to fire the ships here first, and that is not good. He didn't think the Silanda would burn, not after what Gesler had told them. But the Froth Wolf was another matter. He glanced over to see Corporal Deadsmell cross the gangplank back to the jetty, and behind him was Fist Keneb, who then spoke.

'Sergeant Balm.'

'Aye, Fist?'

Keneb looked around. 'Where're Gesler and Fiddler?'

'Scouting, sir.'

'Scouting. I see. So, you're it, are you?'

'Those arrows, sir-'

'Destriant Run'thurvian assures me our moored craft will be safe. The transports, alas, are another matter. We have signalled the nearest ones, with the command that they withdraw until out of range. What this means, Sergeant, is that you and your soldiers are on your own.