Assail (Malazan Empire, #6)(120)

‘Why?’

‘Cartheron wants both ships ready to cast off.’

‘Oh.’ She pointed to two men. ‘You two, go with him. Cartheron wants you guarded.’

Jute felt his legs weaken. Gods! Was that good or bad? Am I under unofficial arrest? Maybe I’m not being fair to the commander. But he’s of the old guard – infamous for their treachery.

He raised a hand to wave off Letita. Either Giana missed the gesture, or, more likely, she chose not to notice it, and did not react. One of the Malazans headed down the gangway first, and Jute followed. The second trailed him.

Scruffy would-be stevedores and touts came shuffling up. They made offers for work, or offered women, d’bayang dust, rustleaf, durhang, khall leaf. The guards brushed them aside. Jute did not think himself in any danger; the poor wretches obviously hadn’t had a decent meal in some time. They did, however, seem to have access to a lot of drugs.

Reaching the side of the vessel, he shouted: ‘Ho! Ragstopper! Permission to come on board?’ He waited, but no one answered. ‘Ahoy! Ragstopper?’

He eyed the peeling and barked-up timbers of the galley’s side. A single rope hung over the rail – the only means in and out? ‘Stay here,’ he told his guards, and took hold of the rope to haul himself up. It was a trick he imagined only a fellow sailor could manage.

He pulled himself over the side. The open galley benches were mostly empty. A few ragged sailors lay sound asleep. Jute carefully picked his way between them and up on to the centre walk. A familiar figure lay slumped and snoring amid jumbled rope here: Cartheron’s putative first mate with his thin mane of frizzy white hair. The sight of the fellow asleep – probably on watch – inflamed the lifelong sailor in Jute. He picked up a coil of rope nearby and heaved it on to the man, shouting, ‘Wake up, you useless whore’s son!’

The man sprang to his feet with a yell; he peered wildly about while squeezing some small object in both hands: ‘We’ll die together!’ he howled.

Jute flinched away; the man’s wild rolling eyes latched on to him and he blinked. ‘Oh, it’s you.’ He wiped his gleaming brow. ‘By all that’s holy – don’t you ever do that again.’

‘What’s that you’ve got there, then?’

The man whipped the round fruit-sized object behind his back. ‘Nothing. Nothing ’tall.’

Jute had a hard time believing the man would’ve been crazy enough to fall asleep while holding a munition. Still, the Ragstopper seemed a floating asylum.

Now the first mate was frowning suspiciously. ‘What’re you doing here, anyway?’ he growled.

‘Orders from Cartheron – he wants you ready to cast off some time this night.’

The first mate gaped, then his lower lip began to tremble. ‘But he just got here …’ He gazed about in a panic. ‘We can’t … Do you have any idea …’

‘I’m sorry. I’m just relaying—’

The man threw himself at Jute and hung on to his shirt. ‘But we have to sell our cargo!’ he blubbered. Alarmed, Jute saw that indeed the man held a munition in one hand; he gently eased it from his grip. The fellow was weeping uncontrollably now. ‘You have no idea what we’ve been through! No harbour would allow us to drop anchor! We’ve been turned away from every city, every port. We’ve been at sea for years. It’s like a curse!’ He tried to shake Jute by his shirt but was too weak. ‘You have to talk some sense into him! Please … for the love of all the gods. Have mercy on us!’

Jute took hold of the man’s hands and gently eased his grip free. ‘Yes,’ he soothed, ‘I’ll talk to him. I promise. We aren’t going far – just the next town. I promise.’

The first mate was nodding with him, his eyes swimming. ‘You promise …’

‘Yes. Absolutely. On my word.’

The fellow slumped back down into his nest of rope, hunched, head hanging. ‘Doomed …’ he was murmuring. ‘Retirement, the man said … golden years …’ He covered his face. Jute gently set the munition down nearby and slowly backed away.

Back on the dock, he blew out a long breath and shook his head. Poor fellow! Clearly addled. Strain of the passage, no doubt. He returned to the Dawn flanked by his two new guards. On board, he went to the bow to watch the darkened slope of the tent city. Torches burned here and there, as did fire pits. A few of the tents were lit from within, though most were dark. The noise of the countless tent-bars, taverns, and inns came and went with the wind – as did the stink – though already he was getting used to it. He waited; for what he had no idea. Considering Cartheron’s reputation, however, he suspected it would be dramatic. Whatever it might be.

He glanced over and flinched, surprised: next to him stood the skinny pinch-faced khall-head guide, also leaning against the side. ‘How did you—’ he began angrily, then, remembering Cartheron’s warning, cleared his throat and repeated neutrally: ‘How did you get on board?’

The man merely gave his dreamy smile, more vague than secretive. ‘Same as you,’ he said.

Jute rolled his eyes. ‘What do you want? A stake?’

The man’s smile widened as if the thought amused him. He swung his head in a tilted negative. ‘Oh, no. Just here to keep an eye on things.’