‘When the frenzy’s on them,’ said Precious Thimble, ‘they’ll eat anything that moves.’

‘That’s why the locals bolted, then, right. Fine, Witch, go collect Mappo-and this ime, tell him he needs to arm himself. This could get messy.’

Precious Thimble looked over at the last body the Trell was now dragging out-side. ‘Right,’ she said.

Flanked by the Boles, Tula on his right, Amby on his left, Gruntle walked back down to the main street, boots squelching in the mud. The last spits of rain cooled his brow. Oh, he’d wanted a nastier fight. The problem with mindless attackers was their mindlessness, which made them pathetically predictable. And only three of the damned things-

‘I was going first,’ said Amby.

‘No, I was,’ said Tula.

Gruntle scowled. ‘Going where? What are you two talking about?’

‘That window back there,’ said Tula, ’at the tavern. If’n the girlies got in through the door, I was goin’ out through the window-only we couldn’t get the shutters pulled back-’

‘That was your fault,’ said Amby. ‘I kept lifting the latch and you kept pushing it back down.’

‘The latch goes down to let go, Amby, you idiot.’

‘No it goes up-it went up, I saw it-’

‘And then back down-’

‘Up.’

‘Then down.’

Gruntle’s sudden growl silenced them both. They were now following the hoof prints and various furrows of things being dragged in the wake of the animals. In the squat houses to either side, muted lights flickered through thick-glassed win-dows. The sound of draining water surrounded them, along with the occasional distant rumble of thunder. The air mocked with the freshness that came after a storm.

‘There they are,’ said Amby, pointing. ‘Just past that low wall. You see them, Gruntle? You see them?’

A corral. The wreckage of the carriage high bench was scattered along the base of the stone wall.

Reaching it, they paused, squinted at the field of churned-up mud, the horses huddled at the far end-eyeing them suspiciously-and there, something sprawled near the middle. A body. Far off to the left was one of the carriage wheels.

Gruntle leading the way, they climbed the wall and set out for Glanno Tarp.

As they drew closer, they could hear him talking.

‘… and so she wasn’t so bad, compared to Nivvy, but it was years before I surre-alized not all women talked that way, and if I’d a known, well, I probably would never have agreed to it. I mean, I have some decency in me, I’m sure of it. It was the way she carried on pretending she was nine years old, eyes so wide, all those cute things she did which, when you think about, was maybe cute some time, long ago, but now-I mean, her hair was going grey, for Hood’s sake-oh, you found me. Good. No, don’t move me just yet, my leg is broke and maybe a shoulder too, and an arm, wrist, oh, and this finger here, it’s sprained. Get Quell-don’t go moving mc without Quell, all right? Thanks. Now, where was I? Nivvy? No, that stall keeper, Luft, now she didn’t last, for the reasons I experplained before. It was months before I found me a new woman-well, before Coutre found me, would be more reaccurate. She’d just lost all her hair…’

The carriage wheel had moved slightly. Gruntle had caught the motion out of the corner of his eye and, leaving Glanno babbling on to the Boles, who stood looking down with mouths hanging open, he set out for it.

He sheathed his cutlasses and heaved at the wheel. It resisted until, with a thick slurping sound, it lifted clear of the mud and Gruntle pushed it entirely upright.

Cartographer was a figure seemingly composed entirely of clay, still bound by the wrists and ankle to the spokes. The face worked for a time, pushing out lumps of mud from its mouth, and then the corpse said, ‘It’s the jam-smeared bread thing, isn’t it?’

‘Look at that,’Quell said.

Precious Thimble made a warding gesture and then spat thrice, up, down, straight ahead. ‘Blackdog Swamp,’ she said. ‘Mott Wood. This was why I left, dammit! That’s the problem with Jaghut, they show up everywhere.’

Behind them, Mappo grunted but otherwise offered no comment.

The tower was something between square and round, the corners either weath-ered down by centuries and centuries of wind or deliberately softened to ease that same buffeting, howling wind. The entranceway was a narrow gloomy recess be-neath a mossy lintel stone, the moss hanging in beards that dripped in a curtain of rainwater, each drop popping into eroded hollows on the slab of the landing.

‘So,’ said Quell with brittle confidence, ‘the village Provost went and moved into a Jaghut tower. That was brave-’

‘Stupid.’

‘Stupidly brave, yes.’

‘Unless,’ she said, sniffing the air. ‘That’s the other problem with Jaghut. When they build towers, they live in them. For ever.’

Quell groaned. ‘I was pretending not to think that, Witch.’

‘As if that would help.’

‘It helped me!’

‘There’s two things we can do,’ Precious Thimble announced. ‘We can turn right round and ignore the curse and all that and get out of this town as fast as possible.’

‘Or?’

‘We can go up to that door and knock.’

Quell rubbed at his chin, glanced back at a silent Mappo, and then once more eyed the tower. ‘This witchery-this curse here, Precious, that strikes when a woman comes of age.’

‘What about it? It’s a damned old one, a nasty one.’

‘Can you break it?’

‘Not likely. All we can hope to do is make the witch or warlock change her or his mind about it. The caster can surrender it a whole lot more easily than someone else can break it.’

‘And if we kill the caster?’

She shrugged. ‘Could go either way, Wizard. Poof! Gone. Or… not. Anyway, you’re stepping sideways, Quell. We were talking about this… this Provost.’

‘Not sideways, Witch. I was thinking, well, about you and Sweetest Sufferance and Faint, that’s all.’

All at once she felt as if she’d just swallowed a fistful of icy knuckles. Her throat ached, her stomach curdled. ‘Oh, shit.’

‘And since,’ Quell went on remorselessly, ‘it’s going to be a day or two before we can effect repairs-at best – well…’

‘I think we’d better knock,’ she said.

‘All right. Just let me, er, empty my bladder first.’

He walked off to the stone-lined gutter to his left. Mappo went off a few paces in the other direction, to rummage in his sack.

Precious Thimble squinted up at the tower. ‘Well,’ she whispered, ‘if you’re a Jaghut-and I think you are-you know we’re standing right here. And you can smell the magic on our breaths. Now, we’re not looking for trouble, but there’s no chance you don’t know nothing about that curse-we need to find that witch or warlock, you see, that nasty villager who made up this nasty curse, because we’re stuck here for a few days. Understand? There’s three women stuck here. And I’m one of them.’

‘You say something?’ Quell asked, returning.

‘Let’s go,’ she said as Mappo arrived, holding an enormous mace.

They walked to the door.

Halfway there, it swung open.

‘My mate,’ said the Provost, ’is buried in the yard below.’ He was standing at the window, looking out over the tumultuous seas warring with the shoals.

Quell grunted. ‘What yard?’ He leaned forward and peered down. ‘What yard?’

The Provost sighed. ‘It was there two days ago.’ He turned from the window and eyed the wizard.

Who did his best not to quail.

Bedusk Pall Kovuss Agape, who called himself a Jaghut Anap, was simply gi-gantic, possibly weighing more than Mappo and at least a head and a half taller than the Trell. His skin was blue, a deeper hue than any Malazan Napan Quell could recall seeing. The blue even seemed to stain the silver-tipped tusks jutting from his lower jaw.

Quell cleared his throat. He needed to pee again, but that would have to wait.” ‘You lost her long ago?’