Free Dust of Dreams by Steven Erikson Page B

few times behind Bent, where it lay stunned, small chest heaving, pink tongue lolling.
    The gazes of Kindly and the cattle-dog had remained locked through all of this.
    ‘Oh, never mind the damned leash,’ said the captain after a moment. ‘Never mind Grub and Sinn. Let’s make this as simple as possible. I am going to draw my sword and chop you to pieces, dog.’
    ‘Don’t do that!’ said a voice behind him.
    Kindly turned to see Grub and, behind the boy, Sinn. Both stood just inside the stable entrance, wearing innocent expressions. ‘Convenient,’ he said. ‘The Adjunct wants you both.’
    ‘The reading?’ Grub asked. ‘No, we can’t do that.’
    ‘But you will.’
    ‘We thought we could hide in the old Azath,’ said Grub, ‘but that won’t work—’
    ‘Why?’ Kindly demanded.
    Grub shook his head. ‘We don’t want to go. It’d be . . . bad.’
    The captain held up the leash with its noose. ‘One way or the other, maggots.’
    ‘Sinn will burn you to a crisp!’
    Kindly snorted. ‘Her? Probably just wet herself, from the look on her face. Now, will this be nice or will it be
my
way? Aye, you can guess which way I’m leaning, can’t you?’
    ‘It’s the Azath—’ began Grub.
    ‘Not my problem,’ cut in Kindly. ‘You want to whine, save it for the Adjunct.’
    They set out.
    ‘Everyone hates you, you know,’ Grub said.
    ‘Seems fair,’ Kindly replied.
     
    She rose from her chair, wincing at the ache in her lower back, and then waddled towards the door. She had few acquaintances, barring a titchy midwife who stumbled in every now and then, inside a cloud of eye-watering d’bayang fumes, and the old woman down the lane who’d baked her something virtually every day since she started showing. And it was late, which made the heavy knock at her door somewhat unusual.
    Seren Pedac, who had once been an Acquitor, opened the door.
    ‘Oh,’ she said, ‘hello.’
    The old man bowed. ‘Lady, are you well?’
    ‘Well, I’ve no need for any masonry work, sir—’
    ‘Acquitor—’
    ‘I am no longer—’
    ‘Your title remains on the kingdom’s tolls,’ he said, ‘and you continue to receive your stipend.’
    ‘And twice I have requested that both be terminated.’ And then she paused and cocked her head. ‘I’m sorry, but how do you know about that?’
    ‘My apologies, Acquitor. I am named Bugg, and my present responsibilities include those of Chancellor of the Realm, among, uh, other things. Your requests were noted and filed and subsequently rejected by me.’ He held up a hand. ‘Be at ease, you will not be dragged from your home to resume work. You are essentially retired, and will receive your full pension for the rest of your life, Acquitor. In any case,’ he added, ‘I am not visiting this night in that capacity.’
    ‘Oh? Then, sir, what is it you want?’
    ‘May I enter?’
    She stepped back, and once he’d come inside she shut the door, edged past him in the narrow corridor, and led him into the sparsely furnished main room. ‘Please sit, Chancellor. Having never seen you, I’m afraid I made no connection with the kind gentleman who helped me move a few stones.’ She paused, and then said, ‘If rumours are correct, you were once the King’s manservant, yes?’
    ‘Indeed I was.’ He waited until she’d settled into her chair before seating himself in the only other chair. ‘Acquitor, you are in your sixth month?’
    She started. ‘Yes. And which file did you read to discover that?’
    ‘Forgive me,’ he said, ‘I am feeling unusually clumsy tonight. In, uh, your company, I mean.’
    ‘It has been some time since I last intimidated anyone, Chancellor.’
    ‘Yes, well, perhaps . . . well, it’s not quite you, Acquitor.’
    ‘Should I be relieved that you have retracted your compliment?’
    ‘Now you play with me.’
    ‘I do. Chancellor, please, what is all this about?’
    ‘I think it best you think of me in a different capacity, Acquitor.