Steven Erikson - Dust of Dreams

Smiles looked back down at the print. ‘Really? Not a chance. How can you tell?’

Flashwit wiped at her nose-which had been dripping ever since they arrived on this continent. ‘It ain’t none of ours. See that heel? That’s a marine heel, them iron studs in a half ring like that.’

Smiles snorted. ‘You idiots. Half the army wears those!’ She looked round. ‘Gods below, you’re all wearing those!’

‘Exactly,’ said Flashwit.

And everyone nodded.

‘So, let’s just follow the tracks and get a real good look at him, then.’

‘We thought of that,’ said Shortnose. ‘Only there’s only the one, see?’

‘What do you mean? One print? Just one? But that’s ridiculous! You must’ve scuffed up the others-’

‘No,’ said Lookback, thick fingers twisting greasy hair beside a cabbage ear. ‘I was the first to come on it, right, and it was all alone. Just like that. All alone. Who else coulda done something like that, but him ?’

‘You’re all idiots. I don’t think Nefarias Bredd even exists.’

‘That’s because you’re stupid!’ shouted Vastly Blank. ‘You’re a stupid, a stupid, uh, a stupid, you’re just stupid. And I don’t like you. Drawfirst, that’s right, isn’t it? I don’t like her, do I? Do I?’

‘Do you know her, Vastly? Know who she is?’

‘No, Drawfirst. I don’t. Not even that.’

‘Well, then it’s got to be you don’t like her, then. It’s got to be. You’re right, Vastly.’

‘I knew it.’

‘Listen,’ said Smiles, ‘who wants to play bones?’

‘With what?’ Mayfly asked.

‘With bones, of course!’

‘We ain’t got none.’

‘But I do.’

‘You do what?’

Smiles gave everyone a bright, happy smile, and even that made her face hurt. She drew out a small leather pouch. ‘Lay your bets down, soldiers, and let’s have us a game. Now listen carefully while I explain the rules-’

‘We know the rules,’ said Shortnose.

‘Not my rules you don’t. Mine are different.’ She scanned the suddenly interested faces and all those tiny eyes fixed on her. ‘Listen now, and listen carefully, because they’re kind of complicated. Vastly, you come stand beside me, right here, the way best friends do, right?’

Vastly Blank nodded. ‘Right!’ And, chest swelling, he pushed through the others.

‘A word with you, Lieutenant.’

Pores snapped to his feet. ‘Aye, sir!’

‘Follow me.’ Captain Kindly walked sharply out from the headquarters, and soldiers busy packing equipment ducked desperately out of the man’s path, furtive as cats underfoot. There was a certain carelessness when it came to getting out of Lieutenant Pores’s way, however, forcing him to kick a few shins as he hastened after the captain.

They emerged into the parade square and halted before a ragged row of what looked like civilians with nowhere to go but up, an even dozen in all. Seeing the two at the far end, Pores’s spirits sank.

‘I am promoting you sideways,’ Kindly said to him. ‘Master Sergeant.’

‘Thank you, sir.’

‘I do this out of recognition of your true talents, Master Sergeant Pores, in the area of recruiting from the local population.’

‘Ah, sir, I assure you again that I had nothing to do with those two whores’-and he gestured at the pair of immensely obese women at the end of the row- ‘showing up unannounced in your office.’

‘Your modesty impresses me, Master Sergeant. As you can see now, however, what we have before us here are Letherii recruits. Indebted, mostly, and, as you observed, two now retired from a most noble and altruistic profession.’ His tone hardened. ‘And as every Malazan soldier knows, a life before joining the ranks has no bearing once the vows are sworn and the kit is issued. There exist no barriers to advancement beyond competence-’

‘And sometimes not even that, sir.’

‘Even confessions are insufficient cause to interrupt me, Master Sergeant. Now, these venerable recruits belong to you. Kit them out and then take them for a long hike-they clearly need to be worked into fighting trim. We march in two days, Master Sergeant.’

‘Fighting trim in just two days, sir?’

‘Your recruits rely upon your competence, as do I,’ said Kindly, looking nauseatingly satisfied. ‘Might I suggest that your first task lies in sobering them up. Now, I leave you to it, Master Sergeant.’

‘Thank you, sir.’ And he saluted.

Captain Kindly marched back into the headquarters.

Pores stared after him. ‘This,’ he whispered, ‘is war.’

The nearest recruit, a scrawny man of forty or so with a huge stained moustache, suddenly brightened. ‘Can’t wait, sir!’

Pores wheeled on him. ‘I’m no “sir”, dung beetle! I am Master Sergeant!’

‘Sorry, Master Sergeant!’

‘You don’t think, I trust, that my sideways promotion is not a bold announcement of Captain Kindly’s confidence in me?’

‘Absolutely not, Master Sergeant!’

Pores strode down to the far end of the row and glared at the two whores. ‘Gods below, what are you two doing here?’

The blonde one, her face glowing in the manner of overweight people the world over, when made to stand for any length of time, belched and said, ‘Master Sergeant, look at us!’

‘I am looking.’

‘We ain’t had no luck cuttin’ the lard, y’see. But in a army, well, we got no choice, do we?’

‘You’re both drunk.’

‘We give up that, too,’ said the black-haired one.

‘And the whoring?’

‘Aw, Master Sergeant, leave us a little fun!’

‘You’re both standing here out of breath-kitting you out and running you will kill you both.’

‘We don’t mind, Master Sergeant. Whatever works!’

‘Tell me the name of the soldier who hired you to visit the captain.’

The women exchanged sly looks, and then the blonde said, ‘Never gave it to us.’

‘Man or woman?’

‘Never said either way, Master Sergeant.’

‘It was dark that day,’ added the black-haired woman. ‘Anyway, Big Kindly said-’

‘I’m sorry, what did you say?’

‘Oh, uhm. Captain Kindly is what I meant, now that he’s back in uniform, I mean-’

‘And it’s a nice uniform,’ chimed in the blonde.

‘And he said that you was the best and the hardest working, most fit, like, and healthy soldier in the whole Miserable Army-’

‘That’s Malazan Army.’

‘Right. Sorry, Master Sergeant, it’s all the foreign names done us in.’

‘And the jug of rum, I’d wager.’

She nodded. ‘And the jugs of rum.’

At the plural Pores’s two eyes found a pernicious will of their own, and fell slightly down from the woman’s face. He coughed and turned to study all the other recruits. ‘Running from debt I understand,’ he said. ‘Same for armies the world over. Indebted, criminal, misfit, pervert, patriot and insane, and that list’s from my very own military application. And look at me, promoted up to Lieutenant and sideways to Master Sergeant. So, dear recruits,’ and Pores slapped on a broad smile, which was answered by everyone in the line, ‘nobody knows better where you’re coming from, and nobody knows better where you’re going to end up, which is probably in either the infirmary or the stockade. And I mean to get you there in no time flat!’

‘Yes, Master Sergeant!’ shouted the moustached idiot.

Pores stamped up to the man, whose grin suddenly wavered. ‘In the Malazan Army,’ he said, ‘old names are tossed. They were bad names anyway, every one of them. You, you are now Twit, and you’re my first squad leader.’

‘Yes, Master Sergeant! Thank you, Master Sergeant!’