Assail (Malazan Empire, #6)(118)

The khall-head led them to three more tent-bars and three more times Cartheron repeated his performance. By this time, Jute noticed among the crowds of men and women coming and going about them a number of the ex-soldiers here and there, surrounding them, keeping pace. Like some sort of guard. At last, Cartheron turned to their guide. ‘Anna’s Alehouse now, I think.’

It was long past twilight when they ducked under the raised sides of the large canvas tent that was Anna’s Alehouse. Their guide had waved them on, absently and vaguely, as if he could hardly make the effort, then wandered off.

The alehouse was jammed with fortune-hunters. Jute recognized many of the ex-Malazan soldiery. Cartheron headed to a table towards the centre that, as he approached, somehow became empty in a scuffle of spilled drinks and upset chairs. When Cartheron sat he pulled Jute with him and suddenly the table was crowded with the most hardened, scarred and battered veterans Jute had ever sat down with. It was like the old days, before Ieleen, before he swore off pirating for her.

She’d be so mad if she saw him here in this company.

A man in an apron approached and Cartheron ordered ale all round. The man held out a hand and Cartheron set a coin in his palm: a Malazan gold crown. Jute saw it and sent a bloody glare to the old captain. He raised a hand, murmured, ‘Just getting some attention.’

A moment later the crowd parted for a woman – a very large woman. Her face was garishly painted and her very ample bosom was spilling out of a barely laced top. She planted both meaty hands on the table before Cartheron and leaned forward, purring, ‘What can Anna do for you, sailor?’

The old captain twisted his bearded lips into something resembling a smile. He pulled a leather pouch from under his shirt and felt about within it then drew out two fingers pinched together and held them out. Anna pursed her fat painted lips in a silent ohhhhh and raised a hand.

Cartheron dropped something into her palm. It was tiny, frosted, and faceted.

Jute leaned forward to study it: a raw diamond. Or a wondrous fake.

Anna snapped her hand closed. She leaned even further forward. ‘Anything catch your fancy, sailor?’

He offered her a wink. ‘Like to have a private party, Anna. If I may. Invitation only.’

‘Certainly.’ She gave a husky laugh and wiggled. Though, to Jute, it was more like a wobble. ‘I love private parties.’ She straightened, opened her arms. ‘The place is yours.’

‘Clear the house,’ Cartheron said.

Men and women all about jumped to their feet. They took others by their shirts and necks, marched them to the sides of the tent, and threw them out into the mud. Anna watched with growing horror. One thick hand gathered together her shirt while the other went to her neck.

‘Lower the sides,’ Cartheron ordered.

The hanging leather strips were pulled and the sailcloth sides of the tent fell. In the muted light of the front flap, open still, Anna turned on Cartheron. ‘Those were paying customers!’

‘I’ve paid for the premises,’ he growled. ‘I suggest you take the night off.’

The big woman peered about at the gathered men and women, rough-looking ex-soldiers all, and a growing unease replaced her outrage. Her chin wobbled as she slowly nodded her head. ‘Lentz! Kora!’ she called, ‘Take the night off! These gentlemen have private business to attend to. Business,’ she added, ‘that we know nothing about.’

Cartheron glanced to the front and the woman took the hint; she marched stiffly out. His men now held the doorway. Some patrons they turned away, others they allowed in. Lamps of cheap fat were lit. Cartheron scanned the gathered crowd while nodding to himself.

‘How many men does this Lying Gell have?’

‘’Bout three hundred,’ someone supplied.

‘Quality?’

‘Thugs, strongarms, bandits. Nothin’ more.’

Jute was listening to all this and nodding his head and now he exclaimed, ‘I see it now! You’re taking over!’

Cartheron eyed him frostily. ‘No, I’m not doin’ that. This place is an indefensible swamp.’ He peered round once more. ‘There was supposed to be a regular town up here.’

‘There was,’ someone said. ‘All these waves of invaders ran ’em off. Took some fighting, I tell you.’

‘Where’d they go?’

‘Mantle.’

‘That’s some kinda fortress, right? What’s the situation there?’

‘Some Lether captain and a few other principals have the place surrounded. But they don’t know siegework worth crap.’

‘Does this keep, or whatever it is, have a harbour?’

‘Yeah. That’s blockaded right now.’

‘We’ll see about that,’ Cartheron muttered.

‘You’re going to take the fortress?’ Jute asked.

The old captain ignored him. ‘Okay,’ he barked. ‘Here’s the drill. I want a head-count. I want you lot to shake out into squads. Then I want sergeants and up to come present themselves. Is that clear? Okay, let’s go. Don’t have all night.’

It seemed to Jute that everyone started talking at once. Cartheron turned to him. ‘I’m gonna send you off with an escort back to the ships. Have them ready to cast off at a moment’s notice, right?’

Jute waved to indicate everything around him. ‘What’s going on? What is all this? You’ve just collected your own army.’