‘Love? Or obsession? Is it not your own hunger for possession that has you cov-eting a woman owned by another man?’’He does not own you. That is my point, Challice. Such notions of ownership are nothing but twisted lies disguised as love. 1 have no interest in owning you. Nor in stealing you away-if I had I would have found an excuse to duel your husband long ago, and I would have killed him without compunction. For you. To give you hack your life.’
‘With you at the grieving widow’s side? Oh, that would look odd now, wouldn’t it? Me leaning on the arm of the man who murdered my husband. And you talk to me of freedom?’ She was, she realized, shocked sober. By what this man was re-vealing to her; by the stunning depth of his depraved desire.
‘Giving you back your life, I said.’
‘I will ask you again: what do you want?’
‘To show you what it means to be free. To cut your chains. Take me to your bed if you so desire. Or don’t. Send me out of here with your boot to my backside. The choice is yours. I want you to feel your freedom, Challice. In your soul-let it burn, bright or dark as you like, but let it burn! Filling you entirely.’
Her breaths came fast, shallow. Oh, this was a most unanticipated tactic of his. Give me nothing, woman. No, give it to yourself instead. Make use of me. As proof. Of your freedom. Tonight you can make yourself free again. The way it felt when you were younger, when there was no husband weighing down your arm. Before the solemn shackles were slipped on. A most extraordinary invitation indeed. ‘Where are my servants?’
‘Away for the rest of the night, Lady Vidikas.’
‘Just like Hanut Orr. Does he sit in some tavern right now, telling everyone-’
‘I arranged nothing with that bastard. And you must realize, he will talk whether anything happens or not. To wound you. Your reputation.’
‘My husband will then hear of it, even though nothing has happened.’
‘And should you stand before Gorlas and deny the rumours, will he believe you, Challice?’
No. He wouldn’t want to. ‘He will not accept being cuckolded.’
‘He will smile because he doesn’t care. Until it serves him to challenge one of us, me or Hanut, to a duel. On a point of honour. He is a fine duellist. A cruel one at that. He disregards all rules, all propriety. Victory is all that matters and if that means flinging sand into his opponent’s eyes he will do just that. A very dangerous man, Challice. I would not want to face him with rapiers bared. But I will if I have to.’ Then he shook his head. ‘But it won’t be me.’
‘No?’
‘It will be Hanut Orr. That is the man he wants for you. He’s given you to Hanut Orr-another reason he stormed off, since he finally understood that I would not permit it.’
‘So in Gorlas’s stead this night you have defended my honour.’
‘And failed, because Hanut is skewering your reputation even as we speak. When I said you can make use of me, Challice, I meant it. Even now, here, you can tell me to seek out Hanut-yes, I can guess where he is right now-and call him out. I can kill him for you.’
‘My reputation…’’Is already ruined, Lady Vidikas, and I am truly sorry for that, Tell me what you would have me do, Please.’
She was silent. It was getting difficult to think clearly. Consequences were crashing down like an avalanche and she was buried, all air driven from her lungs, Buried, yes, in what had not even happened.
Yet.
‘I will try this freedom of yours, Shardan Lim.’ He rose, one hand settling on the grip of his rapier. ‘Milady.’ Oh, how noble. Snorting, she rose. ‘You’ve taken hold of the wrong weapon.’ His eyes widened. Was the surprise real or feigned? Was there a glimmer of triumph in those blue, blue eyes? She couldn’t find it at all. And that frightened her. ‘Shardan…’
‘Milady?’
‘Make no wishes for a future. Do you understand me?’
‘I do.’
‘I will not free my heart only to chain it anew.’
‘Of course you won’t. That would be madness.’
She studied him a moment longer, and received nothing new for that effort. ‘I am glad I am not drunk,’ she said. And he bowed.
Making, in that one gesture, this night of adultery so very… noble.
Night seeps into Darujhistan, a thick blinding fog in which people stumble or hide as they walk the alleys and streets. Some are drawn like moths to the lit areas and the welcoming eternal hiss of gas from the wrought iron poles. Others seek to move as one with the darkness, at least until some damned piece of crockery snaps underfoot, or a pebble is sent skittering. And everywhere can be seen the small glitter of rodent eyes, or heard the slither of tails.
Light glows through shutters and bubbled glass windows, but never mind the light and all peaceful slumber and discourse and all the rest such illumination might reveal! Dull and witless the expectations so quickly and predictably surrendered!
A woman in whose soul burned freedom black and blazing arches her back as only the second man in her life slides deep into her and something ignites in her mind-Gorlas ever used his fingers in this place, after all, and fingers cannot match-gods below!
But leave that now-truly, imagination suffices to wax eloquent all the clumsy shifting about and strange sounds and the fumbling for this and that, and then that-no more! Out into the true darkness, yes, to the fingerless man stalking his next victim.
To a new estate and Captain Torvald Nom of the House Guard, moments from leaving for the night with all security in the so-capable hands of Scorch and Leff (yes, he Worked hard on that), who pauses to watch a black two-person carriagetrundle into the courtyard, and whose eyes thin to verymost slits of suspicion and curiosity and a niggling feeling of… something, as a cloaked, hooded figure steps into view and slides like a bad thought up the stairs and into the main house. Who… ponder no longer, Torvald Nom! On your way, yes, back home to your loving and suitably impressed wife. Think of nothing but that and that alone and be on your way!
A guard with occasional chest pains is questioning patrons of a bar, seeking witnesses who might have seen someone set out to follow that local man into the alley in order to beat him to death and would no one step forward on behalf of that hapless victim? Might do, aye, jfn any of us liked him, y’see…
In a crypt (irrationally well lit, of course) sits a man plotting the downfall of the city, starting with a handful of Malazans, and he sits most contented in the absence of shadows or any other ambivalence imposed upon reality.
Out in Chuffs, as moles sleep in their tiny cots, Bainisk sits down beside Harllo’s bed to hear more stories about Darujhistan, for Bainisk was born in Chuffs and has never left it, you see, and his eyes glow as Harllo whispers about riches and all sorts of wonderful foods and great monuments and statues and blue fire everywhere and before long both are asleep, Harllo in his lumpy bed and Bainisk on the floor beside it, and across the way Venaz sees this and sneers to display his hatred of both Bainisk and Bainisk’s new favourite when Venaz used to be his best, but Bainisk was a betrayer, a liar and worse and someday Harllo would pay for that-
Because Harllo was right. He was a boy who drew bullies like a lodestone and this was a cruel fact and his kind were legion and it was a godly blessing how so many survived and grew up to wreak vengeance upon all those people not as smart as they were, but even that is a bitter reward and never quite as satisfying as it might be.
Back to Darujhistan, with relief, as a Great Raven launches herself skyward from the tower of Baruk’s estate, watched with evil satisfaction by a squat, over-weight demon staring out from a spark-spitting chimney mouth.
And this was a night like any other, a skein of expectations and anticipations, revelations and perturbations. Look around. Look around! On all sides, day and night, light and dark! Every step taken with the firm resolve to believe in the solid ground awaiting it. Every step, one after another, again and again, and no perilous ledge yawns ahead, oh no.