Steven Erikson - The healthy dead

Though there’s one chasing us. But Emancipor kept that addendum to himself.

Imid Factallo and Elas Sil exchanged looks, then the former ducked his head and leaned slightly forward. “It’s not the traders’ season, but word travels anyway. Fishing boats and such.” He tapped his misshapen nose. “I got a friend with a good sight on this road, starting at the top of Hurba’s Hill, so word came in plenty of time.”

“You’re the ones,” Elas Sil said in a low voice, her eyes still fixed on Emancipor as he stirred the wine. A flicker towards Bauchelain. “Two, but three in all. Half of the last city you visited is nothing but ashes-”

“A misunderstanding, I assure you,” Bauchelain murmured.

Imid Factallo snorted. “That ain’t what we heard-”

Bauchelain cleared his throat, his warning frown silencing the saint. “One must presume, therefore, that even as you anticipated our salubrious arrival, so too has your king. Accordingly, it is unlikely he would welcome our presence.”

“Macrotus cares little for tales from neighbouring cities-they’re all cesspits of depravity, after all.”

“And his advisors and military commanders are equally ignorant? What of his court mages?”

“They’re all gone, the mages. Banished. As for the rest,” Imid shrugged, “such interest would be direly viewed by Macrotus, hinting as it would of unpleasant appetites, or at least dangerous curiosity.”

“The wine is ready,” Emancipor announced.

The heads of the two saints snapped round with avid, hungry stares.

Elas Sil whispered, “We are forbidden all such… vices.”

The manservant’s brows rose. “Absolute abstinence?”

“Weren’t you listening?” Imid growled. “All illegal in Quaint. No alcohol, no rustleaf, no durhang, no dream-powders. Not for saints, not for anyone.”

Elas Sil added, “No meat, only vegetables and fruit and three-finned fish. Butchery is cruel and red meat is unhealthy besides.”

“No whoring, no gambling,” Imid said. “All such pleasures are suspect.”

Emancipor grunted in reply to all of that. He tapped his pipe against his heel and spat a throatful of phlegm onto the fire.

“Curious,” Bauchelain said. “What is it you wish us to do for you?”

“Usurp the king,” Imid Factallo said.

“Usurp, as in depose.”

“Right.”

“Depose, as in remove.”

“Yes.”

“Remove, as in kill.”

The saints looked at one another again. But neither replied.

Bauchelain turned to study the distant city. “I am inclined,” he said, “to preface my acceptance of your offer with a warning-a last opportunity, if you will, to say not another word, to simply collect your coins and return home-and I and my entourage will blithely move on to some other city. This warning, then. In this world, there are worse things than a considerate king.”

“That’s what you think,” said Elas Sil.

Bauchelain offered her a benign smile.

“That’s it?” Imid Factallo demanded. “No more questions?”

“Oh, many more questions, my good sir,” Bauchelain replied. “Alas, you are not the ones to whom I would ask them. You may go.”

Well Knight Invett Loath stood above the basket with the wailing baby and glared at the half-dozen women talking near the well. “Whose child is this?”

One woman separated herself from the group and hurried over. “It’s colic, Oh Gloriously Pure One. Nothing to be done for it, alas.”

The Well Knight’s face reddened. “Absurd,” he snapped. “There must be some sort of treatment to silence this whelp. Have you not heard the most recent Prohibition? Loud babies are to be confiscated for disturbing the well-being of citizens. They are to be delivered to the Temple of the Lady, where they will be taught the Ways of Beneficence, said ways including vows of silence.”

The hapless mother had gone pale at Invett’s words. The other women at the well were quickly collecting their children and hastening away. “But,” she stammered, “the medicines we used to use are now illegal-”

“Medicines made illegal? Are you mad?”

“They contained forbidden substances. Alcohol. Durhang-”

“You mothers were in the habit of befouling the blood and spirit of your children?” The notion made Invett apoplectic. “Is it any wonder such gross abuse was forbidden? And you dare call yourself a loving mother?”

She picked up the basket. “I didn’t know! I’ll take her home-”

“Too late for that.” He gestured and the three worthies standing behind him rushed forward. They struggled with the woman for control of the basket, until one of the worthies poked the mother in the eye. She yelped and staggered back, releasing her grip on the basket, and the worthies hurried off with it down the street. The woman wailed beseechingly.

“Silence!” Invett bellowed. “Public displays of emotion are forbidden! You risk arrest!”

She fell to her knees and began pleading in a most unseemly manner.

“Clean yourself up, woman,” Invett said, lip curling, “and be glad for my mercy.”

He marched off, in the wake of his worthies with their shrieking charge.

Before long they arrived at the Grand Temple of the Lady. The formal front entrance with its raised platform and the blockish altar sitting atop it-from which the Lady’s voice periodically emerged to deliver her pronouncements-had been deemed too public for the delivery of wailing babes. Accordingly, Invett and his worthies approached a side postern where one worthy knocked in elaborate rhythm. A moment’s wait, then the door creaked open.

“Give me that,” Invett said, taking the basket with its blubbering, red-faced infant. He stepped into the corridor beyond and closed the door behind him.

The priestess facing him, veiled and robed but not so disguised as to hide her near obesity, was staring down at the babe with hungry eyes. “Most excellent,” she whispered. “The third today. The Lady is delighted with this new Prohibition.”

“I’m surprised,” Invett growled. “Soon you will have a thousand screaming babes in here, and how will the Lady know peace?”

The priestess reached out and pinched the soft part of the baby’s nearest arm. “Plump,” she murmured. “Good, yes. The Temple’s peace will not suffer for long.”

Invett Loath frowned, wondering what it was in her words that made him slightly uneasy, then with a grunt he dismissed it. Not for the Well Knight to question other servants to the Lady. He handed her the basket.

The baby, that had been screaming all this time, all at once fell silent.

Knight and priestess leaned forward, studied its suddenly wide eyes.

“Like a newborn sparrow,” the priestess murmured, “when a jay is near.”

“I know nothing of birds,” Invett Loath said. “I am leaving now.”

“Yes, you are.”

A crow perched on the buckboard of the wagon, feathers ruffling in the breeze that had sprung up as the sun’s light faded. Emancipor noted its arrival with a scowl. “Is he hungry, do you think?”

Bauchelain, who was seated on a folding camp stool opposite his manservant, gave a single shake of his head. “He has fed.”

“Why are you looking at me like that, Master?”

“I have been thinking, Mister Reese.”

Oh no. “About deposing this kindly king?”

“Kindly? Do you not realise, Mister Reese, how perfectly diabolical is this king’s genius? Every tyranny imaginable is possible when prefaced by the notion that it is for the well-being of the populace. Patronising? Of course, but when delivered with wide-eyed innocence and earnestness, what is a citizen to do? Complain about the benefits? Hardly, not when guilt is the benign torturer’s first weapon of choice. No,” Bauchelain rose to his feet and turned to face the dark city. He used both hands to sweep his hair back, his eyes glittering in the gloom, “we are witness to genius, plain and simple. And now, we are about to match wits with this clever king. I admit, the blood rushes about my being at the challenge.”