The Rats and the Ruling sea

8 Teala 941

'Tea is served,' said Thasha. 'Syrarys may have been a backstabbing traitor, but she did squirrel away some fine Virabalm red. Don't worry, it's not poisoned: she brewed her own cups from this tin.'

It was an odd tea party. Pazel was sequestered in the reading room, moaning softly with his head between pillows. Neeps sat on the great, tawny bearskin rug, cross-legged and furious, sewing a patch on one of the ninety-two sailors' shirts he had been ordered to repair as punishment for his interference on the topdeck. Jorl and Suzyt sprawled beside him, watching adoringly as Felthrup hobbled back and forth, shaking his head in ceaseless worry. At the table, Hercol sharpened a knife with a small black stone.

'This isn't my job,' Neeps grumbled. 'Pazel and I aren't tarboys any more.'

'You're not anything, matter of fact,' said Fiffengurt, smiling. 'Legally speaking Rose could cast you ashore without a coin or a crumb. If I were you I'd stitch those rags like my life depended on 'em.'

The quartermaster had a cut lip and a dark-purple bruise on his forehead, but somehow his face was the brightest in the room: Thasha might even have said it was aglow with happiness.

The Third Sea War had not broken out quite yet: after a few minutes of bluster and bent bows, Admiral Kuminzat had abruptly called for silence. At once his crew stopped their riotous behaviour and formed ranks along the gunwale. The Chathrand mob raged on, but the men of the Jistrolloq were oddly serene, and withstood the insults and flung garbage without blinking or uttering a sound.

Three or four minutes had passed. Then, in perfect unison, all five hundred men had raised their left hands and pointed at the Great Ship. Once again the Arqualis were startled into silence. Their enemies' faces were set, and their eyes were cold. From the deck of the Jistrolloq a drum sounded: five sharp, well-spaced beats. On the last the Mzithrinis turned and walked to their stations, and in unnerving silence the Jistrolloq wore away, on a rendezvous course with her departing squadron.

'Eerie,' said Fiffengurt. 'It was like they were marking us, if you know what I mean. I was glad to see the back of 'em.'

Indeed he seemed glad of almost everything, despite his account of the standoff. Felthrup, however, was squirming with unease. 'A bad sign, an omen,' he said. 'And the mad priest slain by devilry! We are not safe, friends. The dangers gather round us like beasts in a forest, and thus far we perceive only their eyes.'

Hercol drew his knife across his palm, testing the sharpness. 'Thasha,' he said. 'You cannot put off a decision much longer.'

Thasha's hands trembled on the samovar. 'This clerk, this Fulbreech,' she said. 'He told you he would deliver the message personally?'

'To no one but your father.'

'When did Fulbreech promise this?'

Hercol sighed. 'As I said before: after he delivered the Imperial mail. Drellarek did not let him stray five feet from the ladder, or stay longer than it took him to sign a receipt. And of course there was no question of Fulbreech taking mail off the ship. But Drellarek made one mistake. The ladder was deployed close to a porthole, looking into a cabin that has stood vacant since Ormael. I saw it and ran below, and caught Fulbreech on the descent. "If there's good in your soul, boy, find Eberzam Isiq. Tell him his Morning Star was only dimmed, not extinguished. Tell Isiq alone, and by the one we serve, do not fail me." Fulbreech was stunned, of course. But he dared not speak: Drellarek was watching him from three decks above. The lad gave me a look, and a tiny nod. He could do no more.'

Thasha stared into her tea. Her father had called her 'Morning Star' since her birth on a winter dawn sixteen years ago. He would understand the message, if he ever received it.

'I'm guessing the one we serve means that woman in the garden,' said Neeps. 'The one you slipped away to meet, but won't talk about.'

'When I am free to talk, you will understand,' said Hercol. 'But I swore not to breathe her name within a hundred leagues of Simja, and I will keep that pledge. For now I can only promise you that she is good, and that I trust her as I do all of you: with my life and the cause I live for. Indeed she is that cause, as much as anyone in Alifros.'

'And the errand boy?' asked Thasha. 'Do you trust him too?'

Hercol shook his head. 'I know nothing of Greysan Fulbreech, and that is certainly not to my liking.'

'Then he could be an enemy!' cried Felthrup. 'Perhaps he never even saw Admiral Isiq! How can we know anything for certain, trapped here three miles from shore?'

'Gently, my boy,' said Hercol. 'Not long ago you stood at death's door.'

'You've been crying out in your sleep,' said Thasha. 'You're having nightmares, aren't you?'

The rat looked startled, and abruptly shy. 'I–I don't remember my dreams, Mistress; they shatter as I wake. But you mustn't worry about me. What are we going to do about your father? What can we do?'

'Only one thing,' said Hercol. 'We can swim ashore — or rather, I can. Three miles is no difficulty; I swam twenty in my youth, in the glacier-lakes of Itholoj. But you must understand: whoever goes ashore will remain there. I can dive from these windows, or a gunport, and swim deep enough to escape the arrows that will surely rain down on me. But I cannot reboard this vessel in secret.'

'Even if we wait for nightfall?'

'Perhaps, then. But nightfall may well be too late. The moment Rose finishes his recruiting we shall weigh anchor and depart.'

'Recruiting men, is he?' asked Thasha.

'That's right, lass,' said Fiffengurt. 'The fleshancs killed twenty sailors, along with eight Turachs, the surgeon's mate — and old Swellows, the bosun.'

'Who's on this recruiting job?' Neeps asked.

For the first time that hour Mr Fiffengurt's aspect darkened. 'That would be Darius Plapp and Kruno Burnscove,' he said. 'And their thugs, of course.'

Neeps all but choked on his tea. Felthrup rubbed his face with his paws. 'Oh misery, misery,' he said.

'Should those names mean something to me?' Thasha asked.

Neeps looked at her in amazement. 'Thasha! You've lived all your life in Etherhorde, and don't know about Plapp's Pier and the Burnscove Boys?'

'Why should she?' said Fiffengurt. 'Nice girls don't muck around with that sort.'

Thasha's eyes flashed. Despite six years of thojmele battle-training with Hercol, she had lived a sheltered life; and when at last she was old enough to slip out and explore the city, her father had locked her away in the Lorg Academy. With the other nice girls. She reddened. A foreign tarboy — and a rat, apparently — knew her city better than she did.

'They're the gangs that run the waterfront,' said Neeps. 'You want your ship loaded or unloaded quickly, you've got to bribe the Plapp's Pier gang in the north end, or the Burnscove Boys in the south, where the Ool meets the sea.'

'The same goes if you're looking for hands,' said Neeps. 'You can see them hawking sailors like regular Flikkermen, in taverns all through the port district.'

'They compete for business?' she asked.

'Compete!' said Fiffengurt. 'They blary well go to war over it, every few years. It's no joke, mistress: Plapps and Burnscovers hate each other with a consuming fire, and not a few of the murders in the back-streets of Ormael have to do with that hate. I call it an absurdity that Rose brought any Plapps aboard. The Great Ship's been Burnscove territory for generations. Until this voyage, that is.' He shook his head. 'A full crew is six hundred strong, as you know — not counting Turachs, officers, passengers or tarboys. Well of those six hundred, about two hundred are Burnscovers, and nearly two hundred more are with the Plapps. That leaves a final two hundred up for grabs. Why, I should like to know? What good's a powder-keg crew like that?'

'Rose has a reason for everything — a vile reason, usually,' said Hercol. 'But I cannot decipher the game he is playing now.'

Fiffengurt was shaking his head. 'Those gang bosses will have to talk fast, and pour liquor faster, if they want men to sign with the ship that brought Thasha Isiq here to die.'

'Except that I didn't,' said Thasha.

'Yes — no — the point is, mistress, everyone believes in your death. A distinguished and a tragic death. And that makes Chathrand unlucky, don't you see? Rarer than rooster eggs are the men who can laugh off that superstition.'

'We are all Ott's fools,' said Hercol. 'Not only have we failed to nullify his sham prophecy, but we have made it easier for men to believe in the Chathrand 's sinking, when the time comes.'

'Hark!' said Fiffengurt suddenly. 'Do you hear that?'

'I hear Pazel making sick-cow noises,' said Neeps.

'No, no. Listen!'

They all fell silent. Over Pazel's moans and the general hubbub of the ship, they heard a deep, rumbling roar, such as a bull elephant might make after a nap. It came from somewhere far below. Moments later a second roar blended with the first.

'They've woken the augrongs,' said Fiffengurt. 'The captain's ready to weigh anchor.' He rose and stepped to the window, nodding. 'The tide's not with us, so it may take a few hours. But make no mistake: we sail tonight.'

At once Hercol got to his feet.

'I will watch the docks,' he said. 'Thasha, the choice is yours. If it is your wish I will quit this ship in search of Eberzam, though he will be the last to thank me for abandoning you.'

He sheathed his knife, and left the cabin without another word.

'You mustn't send him away,' said the quartermaster. Felthrup squeaked his agreement.

'But she's got to,' said Neeps.

'No, mate,' said a groggy voice from across the room. 'They're right.'

It was Pazel, leaning against the doorframe. He looked like someone arising from a three-day whisky binge. Neeps rose and went to steady him.

'Back to normal?'

Pazel nodded, shakily. 'But I'd give my eyeteeth to know why I had two fits in one week. If this keeps up I'll jump over the rail myself. Listen, Neeps, they're right. I had two chances to get the truth out, and I botched 'em both. If old Isiq fails too, then we have to stop this ship ourselves.'

'And we shall need Master Hercol for that,' put in Felthrup. 'Without his wisdom we should be lost.'

'Without his sword, too,' said Fiffengurt. 'Make no mistake: we're in deadly danger. And there will be no kings or nobles to witness what is done aboard Chathrand once we leave Simja behind.'

He reached into his pocket and took out an old, well-seasoned blackjack, its leather grip worn to the shape of his hand. 'I've had to crack some skulls with this ugly thing,' he said. 'And I'll do so again if I must, by the Night Gods. But I'm not the brawler I used to be. We need some deadly, cold-blooded swordsmen beside us, and that right soon.'

'Arunis can't kill us,' said Pazel hotly. 'None of them can go around killing. Ramachni said it in front of them all: if they kill the spell-keeper, whoever he turns out to be, their precious Shaggat's dead — for ever dead, not just turned to stone.'

'You and I understand that, Pathkendle,' said Fiffengurt, 'but we've got eight hundred men on this ship. And they're in mortal terror of Arunis, and the Nilstone — to say nothing of the Ruling Sea. Terror begets desperation, and desperate men strike out blindly. That's what frightens me.'

'Besides,' said Thasha. 'Arunis may be afraid to start killing people, but that doesn't mean he won't cast a spell to turn our hands into stumps, or blind us, or something worse. And it won't stop Captain Rose from locking us up in the brig.'

'Exactly right,' said Pazel. 'He was insistent about that — he all but promised we'd fail, if we didn't recruit some allies. That's our top job, along with figuring out what in Pitfire it means to "put the Nilstone beyond the reach of evil." '

'Allies,' said Neep sombrely. 'That's a tall order on this boat. Where do we start?'

'Where indeed!' said Felthrup. 'Who can we trust with our lives — with the fate of Alifros itself?'

The silence was unnerving. After a moment Thasha rose and went to her cabin. She returned with her notebook and a pencil. 'What about it?' she said.

They debated the question for some minutes. Names were added, only to be scratched out again. 'Too bad Marila left us,' said Neeps. 'She was an odd girl, cold as a catfish. But you could trust her. Amazing diver, too.'

Thasha drew a sharp line across the page.

'Let's try again,' she said. 'Who do we hope we can trust? Who might turn into an ally, if we're careful?'

This time the names came as fast as she could write them down. 'Dastu,' said Pazel. 'And Bolutu. I've always felt he was on our side, though he's never said anything.'

Fiffengurt snapped his fingers. 'Big Skip Sunderling! A hefty son-of-an-Arquali-brown-bear, is Skip, and fists like pile drivers. He's just signed on — went up to Burnscove and volunteered, can you beat that? He had a Simjan sweetheart, but I guess that's ended. And he knows the Chathrand too; he was my midshipman a few years back. Right, who else?'

The names came even faster. 'Coote, the old bloke from the Swan.'

'Tarsel the blacksmith.'

'And that half-deaf gunner — Byrd.'

'And Mr Druffle,' said Thasha.

The naming stopped. Four pairs of eyes snapped to Thasha.

'What's the matter?' she demanded. 'I know he was under Arunis' spell — that's why I thought of him. Druffle hates Arunis more than anyone aboard.'

'It's not just the spell he was under,' said Pazel uncomfortably. 'Druffle is… strange.'

'So are you,' said Thasha. 'We can't rule people out just because they give you a funny feeling.'

'We can't?' said Felthrup, dismayed.

Thasha slapped the notebook down on the table. 'This is hopeless. They're going to beat us like a blary rug.'

Neeps glanced at her cautiously. 'Listen to me, that letter-'

Thasha lunged at him. Neeps smiled, but only for an instant. Thasha was on him before he could stand, and when he raised an arm to shield his face she grabbed it and threw him over her outstretched leg. Jorl and Suzyt exploded in barks. When Neeps hit the floor Thasha dropped on top of him, pinning his throat to the ground with the point of her elbow.

'Thasha! Thasha!' said Pazel, struggling not to shout. 'What in Pitfire's wrong with you?'

'Bakru's Beard, mistress!' hissed Fiffengurt. He and Pazel leaped to their feet, but the mastiffs' growls froze them where they stood. Felthrup ran under Isiq's reading chair, whimpering rabies, fever, musth.

Thasha let go of Neeps and rolled smoothly to her feet. The tarboy seemed to spring up by the force of his embarrassment. 'Come on, nutter girl, face to face!' he growled as softly as he could.

Now Pazel was struggling not to laugh. 'Don't make it worse, mate.'

'But what in the Great South Sea was that about?' said Fiffengurt.

Thasha dropped into her father's chair with a sigh. 'I wasn't about to hurt you, Neeps. But it's true what Mr Fiffengurt says. We're in danger, and we don't have many fighters on our side. Without Hercol we'd be nearly helpless.'

'I've been fighting since I could walk!' Neeps snarled. 'You bring a damn Volpek in here and I'll take him on!'

'That's the problem,' said Thasha. 'You would. And I already know how Pazel fights.'

Pazel reddened in turn: he had never quite gotten around to telling Neeps about their first encounter, when Thasha had flattened him even more quickly. 'Don't like fighting,' he muttered.

'I do!' said Neeps.

'Hush, you donkey!' said Thasha. 'Can't either of you think? If we have to fight I want you to blary win. For that you need training and practice. Swordplay, knifeplay, bare-knuckle, staves. Archery. Trickery. Everything.'

The boys looked at her, finally starting to understand. 'And if Hercol leaves now,' she went on, 'there'll be no one to teach you but me.'

'You're good enough,' said Pazel.

'Good enough!' said Fiffengurt. 'You're a right monster, you are, Thasha!'

She turned him a curious look. 'I declare, Mr Fiffengurt, no matter how bad this conversation gets, a smile keeps creeping back onto your face. Do you know something we don't?'

Fiffengurt glanced vaguely around the room — more vaguely than most people were capable of, given his wandering eye. He looked for a moment as though he might deny the charge of happiness.

'You wouldn't be the sort to talk, or think ill of me?' he said.

Never, they assured him.

With that the struggle ceased. He leaned forward and whispered: 'I'm going to be a father!'

The boys and Thasha muffled whoops of surprise. Felthrup hopped and squeaked. 'Hooray, hooray! A new litter of Fiffengurts!'

The quartermaster pulled a folded sheet from his jacket and kissed it. 'Just got the letter, dated the twenty-first of Vaqrin — that's nine days after we left! The wee thing'll be born before the new year!'

'I didn't even know you were married,' said Pazel.

'Well now,' said Fiffengurt, blushing, 'that's the "don't think ill of me" bit.'

Felthrup ceased hopping.

'Now don't jump to conclusions!' said Fiffengurt hotly. 'My Annabel and I have been pledged to each other for ten years. But her parents want no more seafarers in the family. Two of her uncles died on a frigate in the Sugar War, and her grandfather drowned hunting seals. Arrigus Rodd, Anni's father, brews beer. They're good folk but strict as schoolmarms. Old Arrigus is fond of quoting Rule Fifty-Three of the sacred Ninety.'

The boys glanced at Thasha expectantly. The Sisters of the Lorg School had made her recite the Ninety Rules every morning before breakfast.

'"Love must sometimes bow to elder wisdom, patron and keeper of her honour," ' said Thasha.

'Aye, m'lady, but Arrigus leaves out the sometimes. He'll not consent to our marriage without my pledge to sail no more for ever. He's fond of me, though. I've apprenticed myself to that old man at every shore leave, learning his trade. This past spring I was set to give that pledge, and take over as Master Brewer. Want to know why I didn't? Thugs from the Mangel Beerworks came in the night, that's why, and torched his little brewery.'

'Oh no,' said Thasha.

'Anni and her folks barely got out alive,' said the quartermaster, staring fixedly at nothing. 'Her mother spent the winter in bandages. Those Mangels already sell nine of every ten pints of ale in the city, you know, but it seems that wasn't, wasn't-'

He got to his feet, shaking all over, and raised both fists in the air. 'The bastards! The bastards!'

They implored him to lower his voice, but it was some time before he could continue.

'Well, then,' he huffed. 'No family business to join, and no money for me and Annabel to set up a household with. And so it's back to sea for Fiffengurt. But what now? A little baby? How could I do this, how could I get her with child?'

'Same way as anybody else,' said Neeps.

'That's enough out of you, Undrabust!' Fiffengurt snapped. Then he dropped back into the chair with a moan.

'Sounds like you're the one who should abandon ship,' said Thasha.

'Can't swim half that far,' said Fiffengurt, with a glance towards Simja. 'They'd find me washed up on the jetty. No, there's only one thing to do — and I'm going to do it, by damn, I've made up my mind.'

Looking rather proud of himself, Fiffengurt took out another letter, fresh and unwrinkled, and waved it significantly.

'I'm telling her to marry my brother, Gellin. He's a bachelor and plannin' to stay that way — never could settle on just one girl, he said. But he worships the ground I walk on, and he has a snug little watch-mending business. And here's the best part.'

He leaned closer, eyes twinkling again. 'My first name's Graff. And we both sign our names G. Fiffengurt, see?'

Pazel glanced at the others. 'Uh — not quite, sir.'

'Well now, the neighbours don't much know what those G 's stand for. And you can be sure the monk who marries 'em won't. So Gellin will just sign my name to the marriage deed, in place of his! On the sly! When I get back I'll be Anni's husband already, and that babe's legal father!'

He could scarcely contain himself. 'Gellin won't refuse, I know it! He loves Anni, calls her sister already! Hey now, what's the matter?'

All of them, even Felthrup, were looking at him with pity. But no one met his eye.

'They won't let you send the letter,' said Pazel at last.

The quartermaster's face froze. He had been so obsessed with matters in Etherhorde that he had completely forgotten his inability to affect them. Now the plain truth crashed down all at once. His chest heaved, the muscles in his throat constricted. Suddenly he leaped up again and tore the letter once, twice, thrice before their eyes. Then he ran for the stateroom door.

'Wait, wait!' they cried, as Thasha dashed for cover.

But it was too late. Fiffengurt threw the door wide. And there at the cross-passage, some twenty feet away, stood Dr Chadfallow.

The surgeon's jaw dropped. Realizing what he had done, Fiffengurt slammed the door anew. Then he beat his head against it until it shook.

'Fool, fool, fool!'

'Stop that!' hissed Thasha. 'Pazel, Chadfallow knows — he looked me right in the face. Go after him! Hurry!'

'I don't trust him,' said Pazel bitterly.

Thasha dragged him to the door. 'We have to tell him something — he's supposed to be embalming me! Oh, catch him, Pazel, quickly, before he talks! And get back in here as fast as you can.'

She opened the door just wide enough to shove him out. Chadfallow had not moved from his spot at the intersection of the passages. His face was bewildered, and he seemed unable to catch his breath.

'What have you been doing, boy? ' he stammered.

'It was the only way to save her,' Pazel said. 'We had to make Arunis believe she was dead.'

'You fooled someone far more difficult than that sorcerer. You fooled me. How did you do it?'

Pazel shook his head. They had made a promise to Diadrelu: no other humans would learn that ixchel were aboard without permission from the clan.

Chadfallow stared at him fixedly. 'What would Ramachni make of this showing off?' he demanded.

'Showing off?' said Pazel. 'Ignus, what are you talking about? Anyway, Ramachni's gone.'

The doctor looked as though he'd been struck in the face. 'Gone, now? He leaves us now?'

'He had to,' said Pazel. 'He was so worn out he could barely walk. Look, if you won't come in-'

'I am no mage,' Chadfallow interrupted, 'but I know more about these arts than you ever shall, boy. I know their dangers, their limits. Above all I know what they do to those who dabble in them untrained.'

'So naturally,' snapped Pazel before he could stop himself, 'you helped Mother experiment on me and Neda.'

Chadfallow was furious. 'Helped? You wretch, I opposed it with all my heart!'

'After providing everything she needed,' said Pazel. 'The books, the strange little jars and potions — the custard apples.'

Chadfallow appeared to bite back a retort, and Pazel nodded, satisfied. It had been a guess, but a safe one. The night before his mother tried her hand at spellcraft, the doctor had come to their house in Ormael with a bundle wrapped in heavy cloth. Long after the children were in bed he had argued bitterly with Pazel's mother, and finally left in a rage. The next morning she had greeted Pazel and Neda with frothing mugs of custard-apple juice.

'I had no idea what use she had in mind for those apples,' said Chadfallow. 'I was thrown out that night, if you care to know. Such apparently is the fate of those who would befriend your family — to stand like fools on the threshold.'

He reached into his vest and withdrew a pale white cylinder. It was a parchment case, made of some fine wood. 'Is Ramachni truly gone?' he asked.

Pazel nodded again. 'I haven't been lying,' he said pointedly.

It was the last straw for Chadfallow. Grimacing, he tore open the case and pulled out a sheet of parchment. He held it up to Pazel, displaying an elegant, formal script. Then (much in the same manner as Fiffengurt) he tore the sheet to pieces, flinging the bits in the air as he did so. When the deed was done he turned on his heel and left.

All this Pazel watched with folded arms. He barely noticed when the door behind him opened and Neeps stepped close.

'I guess he didn't care to come in, eh mate?'

'I guess not.'

Neeps went forward and picked up a few bits of parchment. He turned them this way and that, fitting them together. Then he grew still.

'Pazel,' he said. 'Come here.'

Pazel didn't much care what the parchment said. Anything from Chadfallow's hand was a lie. But there was something odd in Neeps' voice. He moved behind Neeps and read over his shoulder.

— ay, 26 Halar 941

— der the auspices of His Royal Highness King Oshiram of Simja:

Negotiant:

Dr Espl. Ignus CHADFALLOW

Envoy Extraordinaire to His Supremacy Magad V,

Emperor of Arqual

and

The Honourable Acheleg EHRAL

Vocal, Court of His Celestial Highness King Somolar of the Holy

Mzithrin

LET THESE BE THE NAMES PUT FORWARD BY ARQUAL: LORD FALSTAM II OF ETHERHORDE, COMMODORE GILES JASBREA OF ETHERHORDE [HIS LIVING PERSON OR UNDESECRATED REMAINS], TARTISHEN OF OPALT [SON OF LADY TARTISHEN], SUTHINIA PATHKENDLE OF ORMAEL (NON-NEGOT.), NEDA PATHKENDLE OF ORMAEL (NON-NEGOT.), AREN MORDALE OF SORHN

Pazel snatched at the bits of parchment. Suddenly nothing else mattered. 'This was written in Halar — last spring.' Pazel's mind was racing. 'That was two months before we sailed. He's been carrying this blary thing all along!'

Neeps picked up the last of the pieces. 'There's another list here,' he said, 'with Mzithrini names, or I'm a dog! Pazel, do you realise what this is?'

Pazel looked at him blankly. Then all at once he went sprinting after Chadfallow.

'Ignus! Ignus!'

He raced across the upper gun deck, past a group of Turachs betting excitedly on an arm-wrestling match. They'd watched the doctor march through the compartment 'steaming like a fumerole,' they said. But when Pazel left by the forward door he was nowhere to be seen.

He tried the surgery, the sickbay, and the doctor's own cabin. He climbed back to the topdeck and walked the length of the ship. No one had seen Chadfallow. Defeated, Pazel started back to the stateroom.

All around him the ship was in a frenzy. The anchors were rising, and yard by yard the green, slippery, thirty-inch thick cables attached to them were spooling in through the hawse holes, where teams of sailors wrestled them into coils that rose like battlements above their heads.

The agitation in Pazel's own heart was even greater, however. Chadfallow had been at work on a prisoner exchange with the Mzithrinis — and his mother and Neda were on the list. Clearly the doctor still loved Pazel's mother. And for the first time since the invasion of Ormael Pazel felt he undestood the man. In one respect at least they shared the same loss.

Neeps, to Pazel's great surprise, was still standing at the centre of the crossed passageways, twenty feet from Thasha's door. He turned to face Pazel, wide-eyed.

'You're not going to believe this, mate.'

He raised both fists over his head and brought them down, hard. At the precise centre of the passage they stopped dead, and soundlessly. He spread and tensed his fingers, as though trying to push a heavy crate. He looked for all the world like a mime.

'It's Arunis,' he whispered. 'He's found a way to pay us back already.'

Pazel felt his breath grow short. He drew up beside Neeps and cautiously put out his hand.

Nothing. His fingers met no resistance at all. He stepped forwards, then looked back accusingly at Neeps. 'Will you stop mucking around?' he snapped.

'Mucking around, is it?' Neeps leaned again — but this time at an impossibly steep angle. He pressed his face forwards and squashed a cheek against thin air. It was true: they stood on opposite sides of an invisible wall.

'It runs the whole length of the passage,' said Neeps. 'Port to starboard, hull to hull. The whole stateroom's closed off behind it. So is Pacu's old cabin, and that cupboard where she stuffed the wedding gifts, and two more cabins at the end of the hall.'

'No wonder Ignus was so angry,' said Pazel. 'But why can I pass through?'

Behind Pazel the stateroom door opened a crack, and Thasha peeped out. 'What's wrong with you two clowns?' she hissed. 'Get in here!'

The instant she spoke Neeps fell to the deck with a crash and a florid Sollochi curse. But when he rose and stretched out a hand there could be no doubt: the wall had disappeared for him as well.

They locked the stateroom door behind them (though to do so suddenly felt unnecessary). Fiffengurt was gone; Felthrup was reading the bits of his letter on the dining table. When the boys told them about the invisible wall, Thasha paled. After a long silence, she said, 'I made it possible for you to come in, didn't I? Just by telling you to.'

'It sure looks that way,' grumbled Neeps, rubbing his kneecaps.

'I felt it,' said Thasha. 'I mean, I didn't know the wall existed. But just as I said Get in here, I felt something on my palm, right here-,' she pointed at the wolf-scar '-like the scratch of a little nail. I also felt it when you left, both of you.'

'Why didn't the wall stop me, though?' asked Pazel. 'You hadn't said anything when I stepped back through it.'

'But she had,' said Felthrup, sitting up on his haunches. 'Don't you remember, Pazel? Before you ran after the doctor, Lady Thasha said, "Get back in here as fast as you can." '

Pazel looked at the rat, amazed. 'I'll be blowed, you're right.' He stood thinking for a moment, then turned back to Thasha excitedly. 'What if it's not a curse? What if something's protecting you, by letting you decide who can enter the stateroom?'

Thasha sank slowly into a chair. 'Ramachni,' she said. 'Who else could it be? But he was so tired, so drained. Where did he find the strength for this sort of magic? And why me?'

'That last bit's an easy one,' said Neeps. 'These are your rooms, Thasha. And only yours, now that the admiral-'

'Neeps!' said Pazel.

Thasha looked at them vacantly. 'Now that he's gone. And Syrarys too. At least we'll have plenty of space. We can move the furniture and have your fighting-classes right here.'

'There's still time for him to get here,' said Pazel.

Her face made Pazel wish he hadn't spoken. Thasha wanted to believe her father was coming back: she must have thought of little else since waking from the blane-sleep. But Pazel knew she didn't believe it. His letter was on the table, his intentions plain. And even if Fulbreech spoke to him in time, did they really know that Eberzam Isiq would discard all those grand duties and manoeuvres for her?

'Maybe it's for the best,' he heard himself say. 'He's an important man. People will listen to him, and we have to get the truth out somehow. Maybe he's right to stay.'

Thasha rose and walked into her cabin. Felthrup watched her go, then looked back at the tarboys and shook his head.

Pazel felt vile. He thought of his own father, Captain Gregory, sailing away when he was six, with never a word or letter sent back to Ormael. Nothing at all, until the previous week. Then Gregory and his freebooter friends had suddenly joined the battle against Arunis: for the sorcerer had raided their territory on the Haunted Coast. Pazel had nearly drowned in that battle; his mind-fit had struck at its peak. Thasha had met his father, spoken to him. But she had failed to convince him to scribble so much as a note to Pazel, let alone wait for him to recover. Urgent smuggling duties, no doubt.

Get used to it, girl, he thought with sudden bitterness. Fathers don't give us time to grow up and leave. They leave us. Some of them can hardly wait.

The main anchors weighed eighteen tons apiece. Legend held that Chathrand 's first launch, six centuries ago, was delayed because no horses could be found strong enough to haul the iron monsters from the foundry to the docks. Tonight, after a four-hour struggle, one was lashed up on the cathead. The second was rising like a black leviathan from the bay.

Mr Uskins felt he was making it happen. Every two seconds precisely, standing before the mighty capstan, he bellowed, 'Heave! ' Fifty men answered, 'On!' and threw their bodies at the capstan bars, making the device turn a reluctant few inches. One deck below another thirty men heaved in synchrony, and with them laboured the augrongs, Refeg and Rer. They were survivors of an ancient race: hunched-over giants with yellowish hide, enormous chipped fangs, eyes like bloodshot goose eggs, and limbs heaped with muscle almost to deformity. They mumbled words in their own strange tongue, a noise like grinding stones.

The new recruits had almost wept with fear when Uskins placed them beside the creatures (the first mate himself kept a safe distance). But long before the miserable work ended they were thanking the gods for Refeg and Rer. Tarboys mopped the sweat from their faces and threw sawdust at their feet, but the augrongs did the work of a hundred men. By the time Uskins at last yelled 'Stand down!' they loved the beasts like brothers, dropped beside them on the deck, gasping, moaning, dizzy, united in exhaustion.

The Chathrand floated free. It was nearing midnight: a cool, cloudless night of many stars: the great Tree looming west, the Wild Dogs chasing Paldreth the Nomad, and in the distant south the Lost Mariner shining blue and forlorn. Beneath the stars another net of light was spread: the farewell lamps on the docks and temples and towers of Simjalla, and the red and green running-lamps of the departing ships.

A stiff west wind, nearly perfect for getting under way. Mr Elkstem, the Chathrand 's austere sailmaster, pulled hard on the wheel, and beneath his feet great chains and counterweights rattled in their shafts. Lieutenants shouted, watch-captains roared, men swarmed like ants up the rigging. The vast ship turned; the huge triangular staysails filled; the prayer to Bakru the Wind-God flowed through the decks in hundreds of earnest whispers. Rose watched the winking lighthouse on Nautilus Point and moved the carving of the woman's head back and forth in his mouth.

'Fore and aft topsails, Mr Frix,' he said softly.

The second mate howled out the order, and the lieutenants flung it forwards like a ball. When the cry reached Hercol it snapped him out of his fixation on the shore. Thasha had told him to remain aboard, and he thought her decision wise. Still the urge to leap was powerful: Eberzam Isiq was dear to him, although the old man served an Emperor Hercol was sworn to depose. For hours he had stared at the wharf, hoping more than believing that Isiq might yet appear. Now at last that hope was gone.

Behind him a man cleared his throat. He turned. There by the hatch combing stood Arunis, his little white dog beside him. The sorcerer grinned and made a mocking bow, spreading his arms as if to say, Look, we depart, the wheels are turning and you cannot stop them.

He brushed past the mage and descended. In the stateroom he found no lamps burning: Thasha had asked the boys to blow them out. She was seated by the gallery windows with Felthrup beside her on the bench. Hercol touched her chin; she glanced up, eyes bright, but said not a word. They sat a long time in the dark, listening to the wind grow into the first true squall of autumn and thinking of her father, his imperious moods and strange choices, until the lights of Simja could no longer be seen.