The Bonehunters

'What's a pivot card?' Bottle asked, finally sitting down.

'Bastard – knew I couldn't trust you. It's the hinge, of course.

Finish that wine – you got to drink rum now. You're a sharp one, ain't you? Now Fist Keneb, well, that's a curious one. Lord of Wolves, the throne card of High House War, and aren't they looking baleful – Fist, where's Grub hiding these days?'

'On Nok's ship,' Keneb replied, bewildered and strangely frightened.

'Well, that knocks you outa the game, though you still get four more cards, since we've made a course correction and the northeast headland's rising up two pegs to starboard. In seventy heartbeats we' ll be sliding closest to that rocky coast, and Nok's ship will be even closer, and Grub will dive overboard. He's got three friends living in the caves in the cliff and here are their cards-' Three more skidded out to just beyond the centre of the table. 'Crown, Sceptre, Orb. Hmm, let's ignore those for now.'

Keneb half-rose. 'Diving overboard?'

'Relax, he'll be back. So, we get to the Adjunct's card. House of War, Guardians of the Road, or the Dead – title's uncertain so take your pick.' He threw another card and it slid up beside it. 'Opo

And what's that got to do with this one?' A skitter, ending up in the middle, opposite both Kalam and Quick Ben – 'Herald of High House Death. A distinctly inactive and out-of-date card in this field, but I see a Rusty Gauntlet-'

'A what?' demanded Kalam Mekhar.

'Right here before me. A new drink that Bottle in his inebriated state just invented. Rum and wine – half and half, soldier, fill us up – you too, that's what you get for making that face.'

Keneb rubbed at his own face. He'd taken but a single mouthful of the wine, but he felt drunk. Hot in here. He started as four cards appeared in a row in front of the one already before him.

'Spi

'Well,' muttered Bottle, 'hope I nev'win one a theez'ands.'

'No,' Fiddler said to him, 'you got it easy. She plays and she takes, and so-' A card clattered before the owl-eyed soldier. 'Deathslayer.

You can sleep now, Bottle, you're done as done for the night.'

The man's eyes promptly closed and he slid down from his chair, the piece of furniture scraping back. Keneb heard the man's head thump on the boards, once.

Yes, that'd be nice. Exent Hadar. Gods, woman, really! 'So how does Kalam get from Herald Death to Obelisk? Let's see. Ah, King of High House Shadows! That shifty slime bung, oh, doesn't he look smug! Despite the sweat on his upper lip – who's gone all chilled in here? Hands up, please.'

Reluctantly… Kalam, T'amber, then Apsalar all lifted hands.

'Well, that's ugly as ugly gets – you've got the bottles now, Apsalar, now that Bottle's corked. This one's for you, T'amber. Virgin of Death, as far as you go. You're out, so relax. Kalam's cold, but he don't get another card 'cause he don't need one and now I know who gets pushed and who gets pulled and I'll add the name to the dirge to come. Now for the hot bloods. Quick Ben gets the Consort in Chains but he's from Seven Cities and he just saved his sister's life so it's not as bad as it could've been. Anyway, that's it for you. And so, who does that leave?'

Silence for a moment. Keneb managed to lift his leaden head, frowning confusedly at the scatter of cards all over the table.

'That would be me and you, Sergeant,' the Adjunct said in a low voice.

'You cold?' Fiddler asked her, drinking down yet another cup of Rusty Gauntlet.

'No.'

'Hot?'

'No.'

Fiddler nodded, slamming his empty cup down for Apsalar to refill with wine and rum. 'Aye,' He floated a card down the length of the table.

It landed atop the first card. 'Master of the Deck. Ganoes Paran, Adjunct. Your brother. Even cold iron, Tavore Paran, needs tempering.'

He lifted up another card and set it down before him. 'Priest of Life, hah, now that's a good one. Game's done.'

'Who wins?' the Adjunct, her face pale as candlewax, asked in a whisper.

'Nobody,' Fiddler replied. 'That's Life for you.' He suddenly rose, tottered, then staggered for the door.

'Hold it!' Quick Ben demanded behind him. 'There's this face-down card in front of me! You said it closes the game!'

'It just did,' mumbled the sergeant as he struggled with the latch.

'Do I turn it over, then?'

'No.'

Fiddler stumbled out into the corridor and Keneb listened to the man's ragged footsteps receding towards the stairs leading to the deck. The Fist, shaking his head, pushed himself upright. He looked at the others.

No-one else had moved.

Then, with a snort, Apsalar rose and walked out. If she was as drunk as Keneb felt, she did not show any signs of it.

A moment later both Quick Ben and Kalam followed.

Under the table, Bottle was snoring.

The Adjunct and T'amber, Keneb slowly realized, were both looking at the unturned card. Then, with a hiss of frustration, Tavore reached out and flipped it over. After a moment, she half-rose and leaned forward on the table to read its title. 'Knight of Shadow. I have never heard of such a card. T'amber, who, what did you-'

'I didn't,' T'amber interrupted.

'You didn't what?'

She looked up at the Adjunct. 'Tavore, I have never seen that card before, and I certainly didn't paint it.'

Both women were silent again, both staring down at the strange card.

Keneb struggled to focus on its murky image. 'That's one of those Greyskins,' he said.

'Tiste Edur,' T'amber murmured.

'With a spear,' the Fist continued. 'A Greyskin, like the ones we saw on those black ships…' Keneb leaned back, his head swimming. 'I don' t feel very well.'

'Please stay for a moment, Fist. T'amber, what just happened here?'

The other woman shook her head. 'I have never seen a field laid in such a ma

'Can you make sense of it?'

'Not much. Not yet.' She hesitated, sca

'The push or the pull,' Keneb said. 'Someone's undecided about something, that's what Fiddler said. Who was it again?'

'Kalam Mekhar,' the Adjunct replied. 'But the Herald of Death intervenes-'

'Not the Herald,' cut in T'amber, 'but an inactive version, a detail I believe is crucial.'

Muted shouts from beyond a

'Adjunct, any such orders, if they reach me, will be from the Empress herself. I am to ignore those?'

'You are to misunderstand, Fist. I leave the details of that misunderstanding to your imagination.'