The Rats and the Ruling sea

17

11 Freala 941

120th day from Etherhorde

Four days after the madness at Dhola's Rib the wind swung round to the south, and a white fog came with it. Denser and lower than the fog at Talturi, it soaked the men of the First Watch right through their woolens, and brought curses from the few passengers who still participated in Smoke Hour: their pipes were wet even before the midshipman handed them out.

On the fourth day Rose shortened sail, for they were approaching the eastern Ulluprids, where charts conflicted, and there was no certainty that a rock or barren islet would not loom suddenly out of the mist. The watch-men were on edge, straining their eyes for a lee shore, their ears for breaking surf. But the featureless world gave no clues. Men on the lower spars were as blind as the deckhands, while those in the crow's nests stood just above the mist, looking out over a cotton moonscape with no visible end.

Hatches were sealed against the creeping damp: a foe more stealthy than rain but just as likely to rot the wheat in the hold. That night was chilly, and men awoke with a cough. For the better part of the fifth day they held the same slow, nervous course. Mr Elkstem sailed by the binnacle, and memory.

As night fell Captain Rose asked Fiffengurt what he could smell on the wind. Startled to be asked his opinion after months of disdain, Fiffengurt drew a deep breath and held it, considering.

'Smoke, sir,' he said at last. 'No doubt about it. But not from a land fire, I think.'

Rose nodded. 'Nor from a burning ship. That's blubber and oil, cooking down over coal. There's a whaler nearby.'

Dawn proved the captain right. The fog rose with the suddenness of a dustcloth whipped from a table; and there, broad on the port beam, rode a two-masted vessel belching dark smoke from its furnace as it crept along.

Thasha had been on deck since first light: days of fog had made her hungry for the sun. She leaned on the mizzen rail, studying the whaler through her father's telescope.

'The Sanguine,' she read aloud.

'Out of Ballytween, m'lady,' offered a sailor, swinging up to the shrouds. 'See the pennant with the wee gold harp, under His Supremacy's own? That's the Opalt flag.'

'How far off is she, do you think?'

The sailor twisted for a second glance as he climbed. 'Four leagues at the outside, m'lady.'

Not far enough, Thasha knew: if she could read that whaler's name-plate, the men aboard her could read their own. Rose had ordered black paint spread over the three-foot gold letters that spelled out CHATHRAND,but that would not prevent the men of the Sanguine from recognizing the largest ship in the known world.

Good luck at last, she thought. For it was exactly what the conspirators had been afraid of. Whaling was a cruel business — Pazel had told her ghastly stories of his days on the Anju — but for the moment she looked fondly on the smoke-spewing vessel. I hope you sail straight to Opalt and tell the world we lied.

Rose emerged from his cabin, accompanied by his steward and Mr Alyash. With dire faces they stalked to the port rail. The captain's telescope snapped up and open. Rose gave a quick order to his steward, who bolted away.

'Thasha.'

She turned. Pazel had come up behind her, alone. Thasha glared a little. He had been so odd recently: one minute watching her with strange intensity, as if brooding on some great dilemma, the next downright rude. It had started before Dhola's Rib, but grown ever so much worse since their return from the island. What had happened to him there in the dark?

He had only said that he happened on Arunis, saw a chance to steal the Polylex, and took it. "Arunis never knew I was there. I got lucky, that's all." Thasha knew quite well that that was not all. The sibyl had shown something disturbing to each of them. What if Pazel's vision had been the worst? Yet what could be so much worse than watching your mother fall to her death? Besides, after several days, she had seen Pazel smiling, even laughing a bit, with Neeps and Marila. He had even wrestled with her dogs. It was only when Thasha herself drew near that he groused and snapped.

Thasha was angry, but she had made a firm decision to bear it with grace a while longer. She had told Pazel before anyone else about Ramachni's message in the onion-skin, hoping he'd see the gesture for what it was: a sign of her trust. Pazel had listened intently, hanging on every word, and gazing rather pathetically into her eyes. When she finished he shook himself, and his gaze hardened.

'You're still not reading the Polylex? What's the matter with you?'

'I don't know,' she'd answered, humbly enough. 'Something about that book makes my flesh crawl. Pazel, if you and I sat down together-'

'He didn't ask me to read it.'

'No, but I don't think he'd mind if you helped me.'

'So now you're second-guessing Ramachni, are you?'

That last remark had stung. For two days now they had barely spoken. That was the worst of it, she thought: how his sharpness always came when she tried to be open to him. And yet somehow he couldn't leave her alone.

'Well?' she demanded.

Pazel looked at her uncertainly. 'Heard you get up, that's all.'

He was a light sleeper; the slightest sound brought him wide awake. Then he would shift and toss or pace the outer stateroom for an hour or more. But lack of sleep alone could not explain his moods.

'You know,' she said, 'we're all proud of you for getting the Polylex away from Arunis. Oggosk talked about it all the way back to the ship. She said that Arunis would have found other ways to use the Nilstone, hidden in its pages, and that we'd never have found where he keeps it on the Chathrand. She says she underestimated you.'

'I'm… overjoyed,' said Pazel.

'When are you going to tell me how you really did it?'

Pazel raised a hand to his collarbone. He looked at Thasha warily. 'Never,' he said.

'What's the matter with your chest? Sore from our fighting lessons?'

He nodded.'Yes, rather.'

'That's the problem, isn't it?' she said. 'You're tired of the bruises. You want me and Hercol to quit knocking you around.'

Pazel looked surprised. 'I don't give a damn about that,' he said, 'and neither does Neeps. We've got to learn somehow.'

But Thasha knew she'd gotten close to the truth. Clearly unsettled, Pazel looked across the choppy sea. The whaling vessel had tacked in their direction, and even as Thasha watched her topgallants sheeted home. She was coming to greet them.

'Of course,' said Pazel, 'I'm not exactly a quick learner.'

Thasha hid her smile. Jealous idiot! He was comparing himself to Greysan Fulbreech. Thasha had told the older Simjan youth he must be a quick learner, just the day before, as he rattled off the medical topics he was studying under Chadfallow: salves, smelling salts, bone pins, leeches. Pazel had stood by, looking like he was being bled with leeches himself. But why should he compare himself to Fulbreech?

'Have you seen him?' asked Pazel suddenly.

'Greysan?' She shook her head. 'Not yet. Is he looking for me?'

Pazel nodded reluctantly. 'I told him I hadn't seen you anywhere, and — oh, here he comes now.'

Fulbreech was near the mainmast, a long stone's throw away, but she could already see his smile. Thasha couldn't help but smile in return — at times it seemed Fulbreech had been put on the ship just to beam in her direction. She did not feel guilty in the least for her friendliness towards him. It felt good to be smiled at, and she had some hope that Fulbreech might be recruited to their side. He had already mentioned quietly that the Sailing Code declared that men recruited through 'bald lies and distortions' were to be treated as kidnap victims, and that 'a kidnapped man cannot mutiny.' It was a brave statement, even if Fulbreech had said it mostly to impress her.

Pazel turned away. 'I'd better go wake up Neeps,' he murmered. 'You don't need me here.'

Thasha could have kicked him. As if he had a rival in Fulbreech! She had never kissed anyone but Pazel — and she had done it twice, for Rin's sake. True, that first kiss had been more to fool Arunis than to win his heart. But there had been nothing false about the second, later that night in the washroom. And both times his reaction had been to twitch and jump away, as if someone had just slapped him with a fish.

'Stay a minute,' she said. 'It won't kill you.'

Pazel sulked, but he stayed. Fulbreech waved to her, and she returned the gesture, seething inside. What do you expect me to do? Hate him?

Fulbreech had, after all, done just as Hercol had asked, and informed Eberzam Isiq that Thasha was alive. It was very nearly his last act in Simja, before Kruno Burnscove signed him onto the Chathrand. Fulbreech had told her the story in detail: how the old admiral had received him in the parlour of his new ambassadorial residence, still grateful that Fulbreech had arranged for his carriage after the ill-fated wedding ceremony. How he'd listened to Hercol's message, then begun to tremble until he spilled his tea. How he'd made Fulbreech repeat the words, tears of joy flowing down his cheeks: Your morning star has not set. Her light is hidden, not extinguished.

Then Fulbreech had paused in his storytelling and looked up at Thasha. 'As all stars hide at daybreak, no? Although a few make us wish the morning would never come.'

Probably that was when Pazel had begun to hate him. But Thasha had laughed and rolled her eyes. Fulbreech was out of line, of course — but he had said it so lightly, almost self-mockingly, that she hadn't even bothered to reprimand him.

'Lady Thasha,' he called out now, reaching them at last. 'I've made a tour of the ship, seeking you out — Mr Pathkendle had the idea you might be somewhere about the forecastle.'

Thasha threw Pazel a murderous glance. 'What can I do for you?' she asked Fulbreech.

'You have done it already,' he said, gazing into her eyes.

'Mr Fullbreech,' said Thasha, regarding him with Lorg School severity, 'I must forbid you to address me in that way.'

She was embarrassed, knowing Pazel would think she had asked him to stay in order to make him suffer, listening to Fulbreech's gallantries. The Simjan, for his part, realised that he had overstepped. 'I do ask your pardon, m'lady,' he said. 'I confess I am easily carried away.'

'That's a dangerous trait,' said Pazel. 'Had it all your life, have you?'

Fulbreech kept his eyes on Thasha. 'No,' he said. 'These past weeks, only.'

Thasha's smile threatened to resurface, so she trained the telescope on the whaler again. The ship had closed more than half the distance.

'Is that all you wanted to say, Mr Fulbreech?' she asked.

'Not quite, m'lady,' he replied. 'I woke this morning and recalled something else that happened on Treaty Day — a minor matter, perhaps. I worked straight through that night, running errands for King Oshiram. I had pledged to stay in the Royal Service through the day of your wedding, for His Highness was quite overwhelmed. And of course when Pacu Lapadolma took your place, the business of the crown was doubled: receptions, gifts, letters of congratulation-'

'I don't see why you're telling me all this,' said Thasha, disturbed by the mention of Pacu.

'Lady Thasha, the carriage that took your father to his residence that day was later used by others, and it was but one of many I kept track of. These carriages worked the streets until dawn. At that point, an honest driver brought me something left behind in his coach. I was never able to determine the owner, and the truth is that I forgot I carried the thing, when Mr Burnscove invited me to join your crew.' His voice grew animated. 'Such a thrill I had at the thought of it! To see mighty Etherhorde, and to earn my passage in the service of Ignus Chadfallow! But Burnscove lied to me. We will not see Etherhorde. We will not see any familiar place again.'

'We were all lied to,' said Thasha. 'But we're going to stop them, you know, we-'

She checked herself. It was too soon to offer Fulbreech confidences of that sort. 'What was this thing you carried?' she demanded.

'See for yourself,' said Fulbreech.

Thasha and Pazel both turned to look. There in his hand lay Eberzam Isiq's little bronze flask. Thasha's breath caught in her throat.

'You recognise it,' said Fullbreech, satisfied. 'Then my guess was correct. This was the admiral's property.'

Pazel's eyes narrowed. 'Was?' he said.

Fulbreech started, as if taken aback by the question. Then he bowed slightly in Pazel's direction. 'I stand corrected, is. And now, m'lady, you can look forward to the day you return it to him personally.'

Thasha took the flask. She blinked at the handsome Simjan face before her. 'Fulbreech — Greysan — thank you ever so much. For all you've done for us.'

Fulbreech shook his head. 'You owe me no thanks.'

Pazel's mouth twitched, as if he agreed wholeheartedly. Fulbreech noted the expression with a raised eyebrow, then turned a brief, sly smile on Thasha, who had reddened, although she was not sure why.

'I must be off,' said Fulbreech. 'The doctor wants a report on the reading he assigned me last night, on the subject of brain deformities. Lady Thasha, Pathkendle.'

Another bow, and he was gone. Thasha whirled on Pazel.

'You prat. How could you make that face at him?'

Pazel managed to look sheepish and angry at once. 'I'm surprised you looked away from Greysan long enough to notice.'

'I'll look where I blary please. And you can dine on dung.'

Pazel's retort was interrupted by Uskins' deafening howl: 'All hands! Bracing stations. Watch captains forward. Topmen aloft. Stand by the fore topgallants. Handsomely, you lard-arsed layabouts!'

'Pitfire!' said Pazel, as the lieutenants' shrill pipes began to sound. 'What's he need all hands for? We're laying alongside that ship, not racing her.'

'How do you know what we're doing?'

Pazel looked at her with unconcealed scorn. Then he turned his eyes up to the tip of the mainmast. Thasha followed his gaze: a streaming pennant had been loosed there: two green stripes with a yellow between.

'"Draw Along and Confer,"' Pazel told her. 'Surprised you don't know that, given whose daughter you are.'

She could have slapped him. Wait till our next lesson, you dog.

Mr Elkstem put the helm to port, and the Chathrand 's bow swung towards the whaler. Just then they heard Neeps shouting their names. A moment later he arrived, entirely winded. 'Looking everywhere for you,' he gasped. 'Hercol's doing the same. Come on, we've got to get to the orlop — now.'

'All the way down there? What for?'

'Just come on.'

He took off running again, and they followed, mystified. 'We're going to have to use the gunner's pole,' Neeps shouted. 'Ladderways are blary jammed — everyone's coming up!'

Between the port ladderway and the capstan was a four-foot-square hatch that stood up several feet above the deck. Its cover had not yet been removed since the lifting of the fog, but Neeps knocked out the pins without hesitation and pushed the cover aside. The next moment he was over the lip of the hatch and gone.

Pazel followed, tucking his elbows close to his body and vanishing down the square black hole. Thasha did not hesitate for an instant. She had wanted to do this since the day she came aboard. Climbing onto the rim of the hatch, she looked down and saw the top of the greased iron pole just a foot beneath her, bolted firmly to the deck beams.

'Upa! Get down from there!'

It was Alyash, the new bosun with the frightening scars. 'You've no right to open that hatch! You could hurt someone! What are you playin' at, missy?'

He darted forward with startling speed. Thasha jumped feet-first through the opening, felt the man's blunt fingers graze her cheek, and then she was gone, flying down the pole with the cool slick grease flowing through her fingers and spattering her face, laughing as the decks flew by — main, upper gun, lower gun'How do I blary stop?'

Even as she cried out, she understood: the grease turned to thick tallow, her hands began to rasp, and beneath her the boys shouted Squeeze! Use your legs! and she did so, and stopped almost elegantly a foot above the berth deck.

'… see those men in the gun compartments?' Pazel was saying. 'What are they up to? What's Uskins doing with them?'

'Not a clue,' said Neeps, cleaning his hands on a rag hung for that purpose beside the gunner's pole. 'And there's no time to find out. Come on, we have to take the ladderway from here.'

There were no crowds at this level, and they descended the ladderway at a run. In the main compartment of the orlop deck, however, they met a troop of some dozen tarboys preparing to ascend. They were carrying cannonballs, plungers, and buckets of gunpowder.

'Saroo!' Pazel cried as the tarboy struggled past. 'What in Rin's privy are you doing?'

'Gun duty,' Saroo called over his shoulder. 'Just for show, mate. Rose don't like the looks of that whaler, somehow. Wants 'em to see we're armed.'

Thasha watched the tarboys lumber up the stairwell. The explanation did not satisfy her, but Neeps was tugging impatiently at her sleeve. 'I didn't mean tomorrow, Thasha.'

They ran diagonally across large and shadowy compartment and into the starboard passage. There they met Hercol, pacing nervously in the shadows. 'We are too late,' he said. 'She has gone.'

'Who's gone?' Pazel demanded.

'Diadrelu,' said Neeps in a furious whisper. 'Oh, hang it all! She warned me she couldn't stay!'

He led them on, past the starboard sail locker and the midshipmen's cabinettes. Stepping through a bulkhead door, they came suddenly into a passage strewn with crockery, much of it broken, and a number of dirty spoons.

'Teggatz sent me down here to collect the steerage dishes,' said Neeps. 'I had a perfect stack in my hands and was making for the ladderway when something pricked my foot.'

'You mean you stepped on a nail,' said Pazel.

'Hardly, mate.' Neeps glanced up and down the hallway, then knelt and began to probe the dusty boards with his fingertips. After a moment he seemed to find what he was looking for, and struck a board with the heel of his hand. There was no click, no creak of a hinge. But where the blow landed a tiny trapdoor sprang open. Within they could see only darkness.

'Pitfire, Neeps,' whispered Thasha. 'You've found an ixchel door.'

'I didn't exactly find it, to tell you the truth,' said Neeps. 'She caught my attention with the tip of her sword. Oh blast it, if only you hadn't been so hard to find! Dri had something terribly important to tell us.'

'Close the door, Neeps,' said Hercol.

'Just a minute,' said Thasha, startling them. She knelt and put her hand through the trapdoor. It led onto a narrow rectangular tunnel between the upper and lower floorboards. In one direction the way was blocked by a joist, but in the other the tunnel was open. Twisting, Thasha crammed her arm farther inside.

'Be careful!' said Pazel.

Thasha gave him an exasperated glance. 'How?'

But even as she spoke her fingers met with a tiny scrap of paper, wedged into a crack in the floor. With great care she pinched it between two fingers, plucked it free and extracted her arm from the tunnel. Between her fingers lay a sheet of parchment no larger than a postage stamp.

She raised the little sheet before her eyes. 'There's writing,' she said. 'Can you read it, Pazel?'

The writing was finer than the veins on a fern. Pazel brought her hand close to his eye. 'It's in Ix,' he said. "Destroy this note. Close door. Return at five bells exactly. D.T. ap I." Those are her initials, all right.'

Hercol peered at the note in amazement. 'Never in my life have I heard of ixchel deliberately leaving proof of their presence for a human to find,' he said.

'She must be in danger,' said Thasha.

'Or in great fear,' said Hercol. 'In any case it will be five bells in some thirty minutes. Let us scatter: the less we are seen together, the less we have to explain. But return to this spot promptly, I beg you. We must not make her wait again.'

'Right,' said Pazel. 'Let's see what's brewing with that whaler.'

He and Neeps set off for the topdeck like a pair of racing hounds, and Hercol departed forward, leaving Thasha quite alone. She swore. It had seemed the perfect moment to catch Pazel alone, drag him to some empty corner and straighten him out about Fulbreech. Blast the fool! Time was short, life slipped away. Wasn't it obvious that every hour they spent fighting was a gift to their enemies?

She sighed: if they were really to scatter she would have to walk the length of the orlop deck, to the No. 5 ladderway in the stern.

The passage led her back to the main compartment, where to her consternation Dr Chadfallow and Fulbreech himself were the first persons she saw. They were making for the surgery; Chadfallow was describing the proper placement of tourniquets above a severed limb. He barely glanced at Thasha, but Fulbreech gave her another of his dashing smiles. This time Thasha found it unsettling. Did some teasing knowledge reside in that face? Or was it simply the most handsome she had ever seen?

She stormed across the compartment, barely conscious of where her feet were taking her. Men and boys, fibs and violence, games played with ships, hearts, weapons, worlds. To the Pits with all of them. To the Pits with you, Pazel, if you think I'm some rock for you to lean on one day, and piss against the next.

'Help me!'

Thasha drew her knife in a flash. The voice seemed that of a young woman's. It had come from the passage ahead. 'Who's there?' she shouted, dashing forwards.

Two sailors in an adjoining hall came at a run, brandishing sail-cutting shears. But they had heard no voice save Thasha's, and looked at her dumbfounded when she claimed to have heard another girl crying for help. Thasha could scarcely blame them. She knew quite well that she was the only female anywhere near her age on the Great Ship.

'That's live animals, up ahead, mistress,' said one of the men, pointing with his sheers. 'Like as not you heard one of Mr Latzlo's birds. Them golden parrots chatter up a storm, come feeding time.'

Thasha believed she could tell the difference between a woman's voice and that of a bird, but rather than argue she simply hurried on her way. The passage darkened. She had no lamp, of course, and the orlop deck was submerged and windowless. The light-shafts were all but useless at this early hour; until high noon they produced little more than a twilight glow. But the ladderway ahead should have been easy enough to spot. Where had it gone?

Far off to her left a familiar voice was chattering. It was Mr Druffle, the freebooter. He was terribly excited about something, but the walls between them prevented Thasha from catching a word. Then, just ahead of her, came a soft, bovine grunt.

She had reached the live animal compartment. Thasha had visited this place before, and hated it. Groping forwards, breath held against the reek, she saw the black rumps of cows in their stalls, the gleam of padlocks on Mr Latzlo's crates of exotics. She heard the sudden beat of caged wings, the furious snorts of the Red River hog bashing tusks against its wooden cage, the whimpers and squeals of countless smaller creatures. The planks were sticky underfoot. The thirty feet or so seemed endless.

As she stepped through the raised lip of the door at the compartment's end, something very shocking happened. The ship rolled. Instinctively, Thasha reached for the wall. Of course the Chathrand was always rolling gently, but this was different: a huge slow heaving, worse by far than the stormiest moments since the voyage began. The wind had exploded too: even here in the depths of the ship she could hear it, a monstrous moaning. Tree of Heaven, shelter me, she thought, involuntarily quoting a Lorg School prayer. How could the sea change so quickly? A moment later the ship rolled again.

'Mr Druffle?' she called aloud. Her voice sounded small and weak. The enormous motions of the ship continued.

Then the girl cried out again: farther ahead, and fainter. 'Don't touch me! Stay away!'

At once Thasha broke into a run. She was certain now: whatever else was happening, that voice belonged to a girl her age, and it was sharp with terror. Someone was trying to do her harm.

But now Thasha was truly lost. The passage stirred no memory in her whatsoever. It elbowed left where she expected a right. Doors she had never noticed stood closed, some bolted, others locked. The moan of a high wind reached her ears. Strangest of all, the air grew colder with every compartment she entered. It was more than the night chill that lingered in the Chathrand 's depths: this was a biting cold, like stepping into winter darkness from the warmth of one's home.

'Vadul-lar! Corl habeth loden!'

The shouts came from her left: big men, shouting encouragement to one another. A moment later Thasha caught sight of their lamps. There were a great many of them, broad-shouldered men with stern faces, running parallel to Thasha down another corridor. But what on earth was the language they were speaking?

She sprinted ahead of them, losing her balance as the great swells heaved the Chathrand left and right, smashing heedless against the walls. Her training had taken over, her mind was awhirl. I'm in darkness, they can't see me, they have axes, they are chasing a girl.

The mass of men had dropped fifty or sixty feet behind her when suddenly the girl appeared dashing across a wide-open chamber: a round-faced, dark-skinned girl of Thasha's height, dressed in clothes four sizes too large for her, the cuffs hacked off at wrists and ankles. On her heels were two of the strange men who had somehow outdistanced their companions. Still screaming for help, the girl weaved and darted, putting crates and stanchions between her and the men. But her exhaustion was glaringly plain: in another minute they would have her.

Thasha flew at them, an attack plan crystalizing in her mind without the benefit of conscious thought. As she crossed the chamber one of the men caught a fistful of the girl's dark hair and wrenched her head back. So it was that Thasha saw her face even as she reached them, and shouted her name instead of a battle cry:

'Marila!'

The first man snapped to face her, and his own turning magnified the force of her fist. Even without such an advantage Thasha could land blows that would be the envy of many a fighting man: she felt teeth give way to her knuckles, and checked the weak jerk of his axe-hand with her elbow, and thought no more of him as he fell.

The other man fared better. He was broad-shouldered and strong. Astonished as he was, he had the presence of mind to haul the screaming girl to his chest, a move that kept Thasha from striking him instantly. She feinted; he lurched to block her, thrusting with his axe, both of them staggering with the roll of the ship. Then Marila wrenched her head around and sank her teeth into the soft flesh of his forearm. The man howled and flung her forwards. Thasha leaped at him, twisting to let Marila fall past her. She had resolved to have his axe, nothing else mattered. The man was drawing back for a killing swipe when she closed on him.

Thasha was no master fighter — that was the attainment of decades, not years — but she knew as they connected again that her opponent was not trained at all. Her left hand rose to meet the axe. Her eyes never left it. And his eyes followed hers, unthinking, so that he never saw the knife that ripped across his belly, parting shirt and flesh in a foot-long gash. Thasha spun beneath his still-upraised arm, twisting the forgotten axe out of his hand. As the man doubled over she clubbed him down with the weapon's heel. He crumpled, beaten but still conscious, holding his gut and screaming for aid.

Now Thasha leaped to Marila's side, her mind surfacing from its trancelike concentration — but only just. Marila, aboard. The others are coming. Why is it so cold?

For it was freezing now: her breath plumed white before her eyes. And wasn't that a skin of frost upon a barrel-top?

'Thasha,' gasped Marila, looking up at her in terror. 'Am I dead?'

'What are you talking about? Get up, hurry!'

'Where will you take me? Can you help me?'

'I'm trying, Marila. Get up!'

But it was clear that Marila wanted something more than protection from the men. Whatever that something was had to wait, however. Thasha pulled her to her feet, turned, groped for the lantern the first man had dropped-and watched oil gush from its broken side as she lifted it. Oil suddenly blinding as the flame jumped from the mantle to the leak, and then spread with a terrifying whump across the racing slick on the deck.

'No! ' cried Thasha.

The oil forked and slithered, and the flame moved with it. Suddenly the whole pack of men burst into the chamber. They stopped dead at the sight before them: two girls ringed in flames, above two wounded men. Then they all began shouting the same word:

'Surl! Surl! Surl!'

Thasha didn't have to ask what surl meant. She pulled Marila away as they attacked the blaze, stumbling into the darkness of the passage behind.

'Are you bleeding?' she demanded.

'No,' said the Tholjassan girl. 'Thasha, who are they?'

'I don't know. Stowaways, thieves. The Turachs will slaughter them. Blast it, dropped my knife-'

'Thasha, you're not — I heard them shouting that you were-'

'Dead? Not quite, Marila. Hurry up, now, before they find a way around.'

'That man will bleed to death, won't he?'

Thasha's breath caught in her throat. She hauled Marila by the arm. 'No more questions. Not until we're out of this blary mess. Rin's teeth, that's ice on the deck!'

They stumbled on, feeling their way through a Chathrand both familiar and intensely strange. The very air had a different smell, and the wood itself felt smoother, less cracked and pitted with age. Thasha had a vague hope that they were still making for the stern, where they could not possibly fail to come across a ladderway. But in darkness the ship felt larger than ever, and in truth she had no idea where they were.

Suddenly she caught the scent of animals again. Impossible! But there it was, dead ahead: the dim shape of the compartment door, the screeching birds, the cattle. Somehow she had turned about completely and run back to the bow.

They dashed through the straw-littered compartment. Instantly the air warmed, and the far-off howl of the wind died away. Thasha pulled Marila to a halt. She touched a beam: the chill was gone. And now she realised that the violent rolling of the ship had ended too. Thasha cast a wild eye back over her shoulder. What in the Nine Pits is happening?

Marila gazed at her, perfectly expressionless and still. Then she threw her arms around Thasha and hugged her, shaking from head to foot. Thasha patted her back. The girl smelled rather worse than the cows.

They walked on in silence. Daylight streamed down from the tonnage hatch. As they passed the surgery Thasha heard Chadfallow lecturing Fulbreech on the miracle of blood coagulants.

'There's Thasha now,' said an approving voice, farther ahead. 'Right on time.'

It was Hercol. The Tholjassan stood with the tarboys at the spot where Neeps had opened the ixchel door. But when the boys caught sight of Marila they ran forwards, muffling shouts of astonishment.

'You mad cat!' said a delighted Neeps. 'I thought we'd seen the last of you in Ormael! Where's your little brother? What on earth are you doing here?'

'Stowing away,' said Marila, in the flat tone she used so often.

'But what on earth for?' Neeps pressed.

Marila hesitated, looking at him. 'I didn't want to go home,' she said at last.

The boys looked at her awkwardly. 'Home must be blary rotten,' said Pazel.

Marila shrugged. 'There's always work in Etherhorde.'

It was never easy to read emotion on Marila's face, but when they told her that the ship was not bound for Etherhorde the corners of her mouth drooped visibly. And when they told her they were bound for the Ruling Sea her mouth fell open and her breath caught in her throat. She looked at them each in turn.

'You're crazy,' she said. 'We're all going to die.'

No one was prepared to argue the point. Then Thasha shook herself, as if trying to cast off a sudden drowsiness. 'The fire,' she said.

'Fire, fire?' cried the others.

Only Marila looked at her with comprehension. 'The fire! The men with axes! Where did they go?'

She and Thasha struggled to make themselves understood. Everything that had happened in the darkness — the freezing cold, the violent pitching of the ship, the quick, bloody battle — had very nearly disappeared from their minds. Only when Marila had said the word die had the memory rushed back, whole, like a dream recovered by them both. Now Marila was terrified. She had crept out of the sack where she'd been hiding because of the cold, she explained. But the ship she had found herself in was almost unrecognisable.

'I didn't know the men, or their clothes, or the language they spoke. They were horrible, like pirates or Volpeks.'

'They're gone,' said Thasha, looking restlessly up and down the passage. 'Can't you tell, Marila? They're not hiding. They're… somewhere else entirely. And the fire's gone too, and the storm.'

'It wasn't a dream,' said Marila firmly. "One of them tore out my hair. It still hurts.'

Thasha winced: a man had torn Marila's hair, and Thasa had slashed his belly open. If one was real, surely so was the other? She crossed her arms over her own belly, revolted.

Pazel noticed her distress. 'What's the matter with you?'

Thasha shook her head. 'Nothing. Dropped my knife, I think.' She groped at her belt as if making sure. The others were looking at her closely. She had not mentioned what she had done with that knife, and didn't much want to. 'I think I'm going to be sick,' she said.

'I am sick,' said Marila. 'And thirsty. I drank the last of my water yesterday.'

'Thasha,' said Hercol, 'take Marila to the stateroom and see to her needs, and your own. One of you boys put your coat over her head and shoulders. Let her pass for one of you if she can.'

'Right,' said Neeps, shrugging off his coat. 'Get some rest, Marila. You're looking green.'

Thasha took Marila to the ladderway, and they climbed out of sight. Hercol watched them go, then turned with sudden vehemence to face the boys.

'Do either of you have a guess as to what just occurred?'

'Yes,' said Pazel.

Neeps turned to him in surprise. 'You do?'

Pazel nodded. 'I think Marila stumbled into a disappearing compartment. Remember the rumours, Neeps, when we first came aboard? Places that just vanish, ghosts trapped in timbers, the names of everyone who ever died on Chathrand etched on some hidden beam? What if some of those rumours are true?'

'Ignus has always contended that mages played a part in the making of this ship,' said Hercol.

'He said there were old charms on her, too,' said Pazel, 'and that some of them slept until triggered, one way or another.'

'I don't put much store in Chadfallow,' said Neeps, 'but didn't Ramachni say almost the same thing? That the Chathrand was chock-full of old magic — "spells and shreds of spells," as he put it?'

'That she is,' said a voice at their feet. 'No one who dwells in her shadows could think otherwise.'

To their great joy Diadrelu stood before them, in the now-open trapdoor. Pazel and Neeps crouched down to welcome her, but the ixchel woman silenced them with a hand.

'Why is the deck so empty, at this time of day? Are you certain you're alone?'

When they told her of the whaler, and that Rose had called all hands to duty stations, Dri seemed to breathe a little easier. She did not look particularly well. Her face was weary and sad, and her copper skin was paler than Pazel remembered.

'My sophister Ensyl is watching the compartment door. If she calls a warning I will be gone before you can wish me goodbye.'

'We've been worried sick about you, Dri,' he said. 'It's been over a month! Where have you been?'

'Under arrest,' she replied. 'House arrest, merely: no fear, I'm quite comfortable. But I am forbidden to leave my quarters except when accompanied by Taliktrum's personal guard.'

'Your nephew gives you orders now?'

'Lord Taliktrum rules over us all,' said Dri stiffly. 'But certain orders I find impossible to obey.'

'Hear, hear,' said Neeps approvingly.

But the ixchel woman shook her head. 'This is a grave matter for the ixchel. Our survival has always depended on strong clans, and the very bone and sinew of a clan is obedience. I have come to understand, however, that there are higher allegiances even than clan.'

'You speak the truth,' said Hercol. 'The carnage Arunis will unleash if he finds a way to use the Nilstone — through his Shaggat, or by some other means — will sweep aside the little people and the large. Does Taliktrum know of the oath we took together, then?'

'Rin forbid!' said Dri. 'If any part of him believes in me still, it will die when he learns of that oath! No, the story is far simpler. When Taliktrum discovered my use of blane and its antidote on your wedding day, he chose to call it theft. When I told him that I had killed the Shaggat's son, he thanked me for my "decades of service to the clan" and imprisoned me.'

'It was you who killed him, then,' said Hercol. 'I did wonder about that curious accident.'

'It was I,' said Diadrelu, 'though I had no joy in the act. Those two were children when the Shaggat began his crusade. They are as much the victims of his evil as anyone. First they paid with their sanity; now Pithor Ness has paid with his life!'

Dri suddenly pricked up her ears, and so did Pazel: his Gift had tuned his ears permanently to the ixchel register no normal human could hear. A young ixchel woman was announcing Thasha's return. A moment later Thasha entered the passage, breathless, her dreamy look quite gone.

'We're tied up beside the whaler,' she said, 'and their captain's aboard, talking with Rose in his day cabin.' But it's strange: Rose is keeping the whole crew on alert. They're all at their stations, waiting. Oh, Dri!'

Thasha's troubled face lit up. She bent down, and the ixchel woman reached out to touch her hand.

'It is good to be back among you! said Dri. 'But I fear the chance will not come often. Taliktrum's fanatics lurk outside my door, as if expecting some wickedness to issue from it. They do not yet know of this secret passage — my sophisters and I built it alone, some months ago — but how long before they begin to enter my quarters without knocking? Some call me a traitor already.'

'How dare they!' hissed Thasha.

Dri smiled sadly. 'They dare more every hour,' she said. 'The time may soon come when I flee this way not to return, and then you shall have yet another lodger at your inn, Thasha Isiq. Now hear me: I have come with both pleas and warnings. You know, first of all, of the accusation hurled by the Mzithrinis, back in Simja.'

'Know of it!' said Pazel. 'I translated it. They accused someone on the Chathrand of sending a murth or demon or some such creature to attack their old priest — the one they call the Father. And they say he died fighting the beast.'

Dri nodded. 'We had our spies on the topdeck that day, as every day. Some of my people found that standoff between your giant-clans amusing.' She shook her head. 'They might have felt otherwise if Taliktrum had shared the report I gave him.'

Then she told them of the night Arunis had communed with Sathek, the dead spirit with the terrifying voice; and of the arrival of the incubus out of the storm, of its rage, and how Arunis at last had commanded it to go and retrieve a sceptre of some sort from the mainland.

'Sathek's Sceptre!' cried Thasha. 'That was it! I saw a drawing of it in the Polylex months ago! That was the sceptre in the Father's hand!'

'Well this is splendid,' said Neeps. 'Add summoning demons to the list of foul things Arunis can do. Who is this Sathek? Or who was he, when he lived?'

'I hoped you could tell me,' said Diadrelu.

'I can,' said Hercol.

The others turned to him in surprise. Hercol's face was very grave. 'Sathek was the father of the Mzithrin Empire,' he said. 'Mind you, he is not a father they care to speak of today, much less embrace. Some say he was part demon himself. What is certain is that he was the first warlord to conquer all the Mzithrin lands, from the Mang-Mzn to the Nohr Plateau. He did not rule long — the Worldstorm was already raging by the time he built his palace on Mount Olisurn. And his cruelty inspired rebellion. His own people called him 'the soulless one.' Nonetheless he created them, in a sense: the five city-states that rebelled most fiercely grew into the five kingdoms of the Mzithrin Empire.'

'And the sceptre?' asked Pazel.

'He is always depicted with a sceptre,' said Hercol. 'But I know nothing of its purpose. Consult that book of yours, Thasha.'

'Arunis was not capable of summoning the incubus himself,' said Dri thoughtfully. 'If he could have, why beg for Sathek's help? In fact he seemed to fear for his life, until the creature left his cabin.'

She sighed. 'I must proceed to my other warning. Something is amiss with the insects aboard the Chathrand. The night I killed the Shaggat's son I very nearly died as well, on the stinger of a wasplike beast as large as myself. It was deadly, but also tormented and deformed. In a strange way it reminded me of a boar I saw once in the Emperor's own piggery on Mol Etheg. The creature had been bred too aggressively, and fed too much. It was as if Magad had set his heart on having the world's largest, meanest swine. What he got was a beast heaped with more muscle than its own frame could endure. It was in constant pain, and attacked even those who came to feed it, and had to be slaughtered before it was full grown. This insect was misshapen too, and for all its speed it flew somewhat drunkenly. I thought later that it would soon have died even if I had not slain it.'

'And you fear there could be more of these things?' Pazel asked.

'I do,' she said. 'The clan has not met with any — I have a few loyal aides of my own, who bring me news. But a scout in the afterhold reported a moth as large as a human dinner plate, writhing in the air as if in agony. Yesterday, moreover, I heard my earnest caretakers speaking of the biggest, ugliest horsefly ever to wing out of the Pits. And there is one more thing: the rats in the hold and lower decks are miserable with fleas, of a kind more bloodthirsty than any known to rat-kind.'

'Felthrup was complaining of fleas,' said Thasha. 'I'd forgotten all about it. He drowned them in a saltwater bath.'

'Since my arrest I have begged for the right to share this warning with you,' said Dri. 'My nephew has always refused. "When humans pay attention to insects, they pay attention to rats, and we shall all perish if Rose decides to cleanse the ship of rats." Such is Taliktrum's argument, and on this point I cannot disagree. But you have proven your good faith. And why not seek out the source of these deformed insects ourselves?' Dri sighed. 'He will not spare one ixchel for the task.'

'Fleas.' Neeps sat back on his heels, squeezing his eyes shut with the effort of memory. 'I'll be damned if someone else wasn't talking about them. Who was it? Pitfire.'

'There is another matter,' said Dri. 'Too strange for coincidence, I think. Both the Shaggat's son and Arunis mentioned something called the Swarm. The mage said that "armies would wilt before it" like flowers in winter. Can he mean that a horde of such insects is breeding somewhere? Or is it another kind of threat altogether? Whatever the truth, this Swarm has something to do with the Nilstone, and that sceptre. I know no more than this — but be on your guard, and learn all that you can.'

'Lady Dri,' said Pazel with a certain reluctance, 'there's something I have to tell you. We're not the only ones who know about your people any more.'

The ixchel woman turned to face him. A look of pure dread appeared on her face.

'What are you saying?'

Pazel told her of their summons by Oggosk, and how the witch spoke of Diadrelu and Taliktrum by name, and how she claimed Sniraga had brought Lord Talag's body to her in her jaws. He left out only her final threat, concerning Thasha and himself. Dri listened, mute as a stone. Something close to disbelief shone in her eyes.

When she spoke at last her voice was changed. 'The witch told you one of us came for my brother's body?'

Pazel nodded.

'And she gave it to him?'

'That's right, Dri. I'm sorry.'

Suddenly Diadrelu began striking violently at her own head and face. The humans cried out. Thasha raised her hand — and dropped it just as quickly. There could be no graver insult than to use force, even loving force, against this tiny queen. 'Stop, stop!' they begged her. A moment later she did, and stood with moist and furious eyes, looking at nothing.

'He will have been parcelled,' she said. 'I was not told. I should have been there, done him that last service, or shared it with his son at least.'

'Parcelled?' asked Neeps quietly.

'Drained of blood, then cut into twenty-seven pieces and incinerated. There is never any delay, no time of mourning such as you have. The pieces are bound in clean cloth, with private messages from the twenty-seven closest to the dead one tucked within. If a clan is at sea, where burning is difficult, the pieces are tied with stones or bits of lead ballast, and sunk in the dead of night. It is always done thus, so that the body may not be found by your people, and our loved one's souls may depart without fear for the clan.'

She dried her eyes with a sleeve. 'You must find it a grisly custom. But it is how we say goodbye.'

'No people should have to face the choices yours have,' said Hercol. 'It is not for us to judge you, ever.'

Dri looked up at the swordsman with affection. Just a month ago he had been struggling with a deep distrust, perhaps a hatred, of ixchel, born of some long-ago tragedy of which he never spoke. Ramachni had chastised him: who among them took the greatest risk in giving trust? The mage's reprimand had shaken Hercol. Solemnly he had asked Dri's pardon, not denying the anger that dwelt in him but swearing to defeat it, and he had proved better than his word. Give me one flawed but honest man, she thought, and keep your legions of hypocrites.

She took a deep breath. 'Now for my plea,' she said, looking at the three youths. 'It is a bloody thing I ask, but you are the only ones who might accomplish it.'

'Tell us,' said Thasha.

'My nephew has made many errors in his first weeks as commander,' said Dri. 'I did not want to admit the extent of them. I told myself they were flaws of inexperience, that he would grow into wisdom as he faced the daily urgencies of leadership. I believed this despite my own arrest, despite his denial of the menace of the Nilstone, despite misgivings about his every action since the death of his father.

'Until today. With my breakfast Ensyl slipped me a note, revealing that Taliktrum has been meeting in secret with the rat-king, Master Mugstur. The same animal who has murdered twelve of our people since we boarded in Sorrophran, and left their nibbled corpses outside our dwellings. The same creature who ambushed and nearly killed his father, to say nothing of his aunt. The same Rin-obsessed lunatic who has sworn to kill Captain Rose for his "heresy", and to eat his tongue. And Taliktrum calls me a traitor!

'He has tried kept these meetings secret, of course, and Ensyl could not get close enough to hear what he and the rat discussed. But Mugstur will keep no promises, except possibly those he makes to the Angel of Rin.'

'What do you want us to do about all this?' asked Pazel.

'I want you to lure Master Mugstur into the open,' said Diadrelu, 'before some terrible harm is done to us all. Use blasphemy, use bribery — use your Gift, Pazel, if it gives you rat-speech, although Mugstur speaks a passable Arquali. Say whatever you must to coax that murderous beast out of his warren and into the cabin of your choice. And be sure he does not leave that cabin alive.'

'You're asking us to kill a woken animal?' said Thasha, frowning. 'The only woken rat on the ship besides Felthrup himself?'

'Mugstur's fate is sealed already,' said Diadrelu. 'He thinks himself the instrument of divine retribution. When he attacks Rose he will die, but what harm might he do with my nephew's help before then?'

'Incalculable harm,' said Hercol.

Dri nodded. 'Together they might even deal the Chathrand her fatal blow. Yes, I am asking you to commit a murder, if by that act you prevent many hundreds more. Have no illusions, my friends. We shall all of us be murderers before this voyage ends.'

'You sound like my father,' said Thasha, 'telling Pazel why he had to destroy Ormael before someone else did. Well, I don't believe anyone's fate is sealed.'

'Mugstur's is,' Dri insisted. 'He has sealed it himself, and tightens the screws every waking hour.'

'But that's the point, he's woken. You know what Ramachni told us, that when these creatures suddenly-' Thasha waved her hands '-erupt into consciousness, after years as simple animals, they're so frightened it's a wonder they don't all run mad. It must be horrifying! Like your mind-fits, Pazel, but with no escape.'

Pazel shuddered. 'What would you have us do?' he said to Thasha. 'Go down into the hold and reason with him? Tell him this Angel business is all in his head?'

Thasha looked wounded by his spiteful tone. 'We could trap him,' she said. 'In a box, or something.'

'We're talking about a rat,' said Neeps.

'Oh, just a rat!' said Thasha furiously. 'Just another vermin. Not worth the air he breathes. Where have I heard that before?'

'Everywhere,' said Hercol. 'It is the false, cursed verdict of our times. Somewhere in Alifros one resentful soul inflicts it on another, every minute of every day. Thasha, the moral point is yours, but the tactical goes to Diadrelu. Mugstur threatens the very survival of this ship — and intentionally so. He must therefore be stopped.'

'Mugstur's too smart to crawl into a box,' said Pazel.

'Oh, can't you blary concentrate,' snapped Thasha. But in fact she was finding it difficult to concentrate herself: the axe-man's cries of agony still rang in her mind. 'Listen, Hercol. I can kill if I have to. You've been teaching me how to do it for years. But I'm not a murderer.'

'I am,' said Diadrelu. 'And I dare say so is your tutor.'

'I will speak for myself, Lady Diadrelu,' said Hercol quietly.

Dri gave him a startled glance. 'I mean no insult. You come from a warrior people, and have lived a warrior's life. This is not a secret, I think?'

'There is more to the Tholjassan Dominion than warcraft,' said Hercol, 'and more to me as well. I must agree with Thasha in this matter: our fates are what we make of them.'

Dri shook her head. 'That is not what we ixchel believe. We say it is our slumbering hearts that choose for us, and that in them resides the will of a thousand years of ancestors who cannot be denied. And it has always seemed to me that this philosophy is borne out even more by your history than our own. How many wars might have been avoided but for ancient grievances, long-dead matters of honour and revenge? We at least admit this part of ourselves.'

'If that is so,' said Hercol, 'why not tell us what honour or ancestry requires of your clan, such that it risks annihilation by boarding the Great Ship on this voyage?'

'You go too far,' said Diadrelu. 'You know that I am not free to speak of such things.'

'We know that much,' said Hercol, 'and not a word more.'

For a moment Diadrelu was speechless. Neither she nor Hercol seemed to trust themselves to continue. At last the ixchel woman turned to look at Thasha.

'If you do not believe that fates can be sealed,' she said, 'I suggest you look to the mark all five of us carry on our skin. A wolf can mean different things to different people, but all wolves are predators.'

'We got these scars to help us save the world from the Nilstone,' Thasha countered, 'not to let us kill anyone who gets in our way.'

'Mugstur is not just anyone. He is a lethal zealot, a depraved and dangerous rat.'

'Felthrup's a rat, too,' said Thasha. 'What if he somehow threatened our safety? Would you kill him, just like that?'

'Yes,' said Dri. 'As I killed the son of the Shaggat Ness — just like that. No ixchel would be alive today if our people had not answered such questions in their hearts long ago.'

'But you spared me,' said Pazel.

The others looked at him in surprise.

'You fought your whole clan the night we met,' he went on. 'They wanted to stab me dead in my hammock, but you wouldn't let them. And come to think of it, you spared Felthrup too — didn't Talag want to kill him after he blocked your escape down that storm-pipe?'

For the first time in many days Thasha looked at him fondly. Pazel dropped his eyes. 'I think I know how the Red Wolf chose us,' he said. 'I think it wanted people like you, Dri. People who can do whatever it takes — even kill — but who hated the idea of killing so much that they'd even fight their friends to avoid it. Because we all do hate it, don't we?'

A long silence. Diadrelu would not look at Hercol. The swordsman, for his part, sat back against the wall. His eyes took on a distant look, as though he were quite alone in the passage, or in some other place altogether.

'Shall I tell you how I broke with Sandor Ott?' he said suddenly. 'It is a dark story, and too long to tell in full, but at the heart of it was my refusal to kill a mother and her sons. They were the lever that has moved my life: had I not faced that choice, to murder innocents or join them in exile, I would today perhaps be serving Ott rather than fighting him. I do not know if you are right about the Red Wolf and its choices, Pazel, but you are surely right about us.'

'What happened?' asked Thasha in a whisper. In all her life Hercol had never spoken so openly of his past.

'We fled together,' said Hercol simply, 'from the Mindrei Vale in Tholjassa over cold Lake Ikren, and thence by the Pilgrims' Road into the icewalled maze of the central Tsordons. And Ott's men pursued us, village by village, peak by peak. For eleven years I gave myself to their protection, and used all I knew of the spymaster's methods against him. It was not enough to save the children. Ott tracked them down and killed them, and took their bodies back to Etherhorde on slabs of ice.'

'And the mother?' asked Diadrelu.

'The mother survives. And with her survives the hope of a better world. She is old, now, but her hand is steady, and her mind is tempered steel. Have you not guessed, Pazel? She was the woman you saw in the garden, and we are far enough from that garden now for me to speak without breaking my oath. Her name is Maisa, Empress Maisa, Daughter of Magad the Third, aunt and stepmother to the current usurper, and sole rightful ruler of Arqual.'

The agitation his words caused can barely be described. Pazel alone knew of Maisa from his school days — Neeps' village had had no history teacher, and Thasha's own had never breathed a single word about such a woman — but they all understood that Hercol was denouncing the Emperor, and even speaking of his overthrow.

'Hercol,' whispered Neeps, 'you sly old dog!'

'My mother used to talk about her,' said Pazel. 'As if she knew her, almost.

'Just a minute,' said Thasha. 'If Maisa's the daughter of Magad the Third, who's that woman they call the Queen Mother? The one who hardly ever leaves Castle Maag?'

'That one?' said Hercol. 'A blameless impostor. An old royal cousin, who somehow survived the Twelve Days' Massacre in Jenetra, and who Magad the Third brought to court as a widow. She has lived there ever since, half-mad but peaceful. I believe she really thinks herself a queen. His Supremacy has made good use of her. When foreign princes call on Etherhorde, that woman's mere presence casts doubt on the rumour that someone named Maisa once existed.'

'What about Maisa herself?' said Pazel. 'What in the nine nasty Pits was she doing on Simja — on Treaty Day? She couldn't have found a more dangerous place if she tried.'

'That is true,' said Hercol, 'and I said as much to her myself. She replied that the world and its assembled rulers had begun to doubt that she still drew breath. "They will doubt no longer," she said. "Neither will the Secret Fist," I countered, but Her Highness told me that Ott would not catch her unprepared, and would risk no open assault on her in Simja, eager as he was to robe Magad in the garb of peacemaker. I can only pray that she was right.'

He smiled. 'At last I am free to speak her name aloud — and my listeners do not know of whom I speak! Listen; I will tell you of her briefly.

'Maisa was the daughter of Magad the Third — a vain and violent prince in his youth, but one who found wisdom in his declining years. She was his second child. Maisa's older brother was Magad the Fourth, also known as Magad the Rake. This youth had all his father's defects of character, and none of his strengths. His worst fault was to see the world's ills and conflicts with brute simplicity. Enemies were to be crushed. Arqual was to be loved. Arquali customs, poetry, history, gods — they were the best under the sun, obviously. This he knew, without bothering to learn a poem, study a history, or meditate upon the teachings of the faith he claimed as his own. He did not, for instance, obey the Twenty-Second of the Ninety Rules.'

Thasha thought for a moment, then recited: ' To lie with a woman is to pledge oneself to her wellbeing, and that of the child that may follow. I shall seek no pleasure there but in the knowledge that part of my life shall be the payment. Nor shall I… " Blast it, I'm forgetting-'

'"Nor shall I deny the wages of love, which are the soul,"' finished Diadrelu.

Hercol looked at her, startled, and appeared to lose his train of thought for a moment. Then he nodded and went on. 'Magad the Rake did just that,' he said. 'At twenty-six, the prince seduced a blacksmith's daughter and got her with child. When she could no longer hide her pregnancy, he paid the Burnscove Boys to whisk her offshore and drown her. But his father caught wind of the scheme in time and brought the girl back unharmed. The old Emperor was livid: word had leaked of the attempted murder, and across Etherhorde thousands were taking portraits of the royal family from their walls and tossing them in shame upon the streets.

'The Emperor hobbled out into the Plaza of the Palmeries and swore that his son would raise the child as his own — or else forfeit the crown of Arqual. But the young prince rode up on a charger, leaped to the ground with a snarl, and spat at his father's feet. What other son could replace him? he asked. And the old man struck his son across the mouth.

'Magad the Rake was driven from Arqual. He fled east, to the Isle of Bodendel, under the flag of the Noonfirth Kings. His father disowned him, and the Abbot of Etherhorde cast him from the Rinfaith. In Castle Maag some months later, the blacksmith's daughter bore a son: Magad the Fifth.'

'His Supremacy,' said Thasha.

'A title invented by his father the Rake,' said Hercol. 'Alas, the blacksmith's girl was still in love with her foul seducer, and blamed herself for tearing the royal household apart. It seems the royal servants blamed her too. One day, for spite, they told her how the Rake had kept other women scattered about the city, and had often declared that the mother of his son meant less to him than the hunting-bitches in the kennels. The girl left Castle Maag, went straight to her father's smithy and drank hot lead.'

Diadrelu closed her eyes.

'The Emperor had no other son, it is true. But he did have his beloved daughter, Maisa. She took the orphaned princeling, Magad the Fifth, as her own child, and vowed to care for him always. And her father, in the finest deed of his life, named Maisa his heir.

'The old man lived another six years, and in that time Maisa wed a baronet, and bore two sons of her own. They were never jealous of their cousin, who would rule when Maisa's time on earth was over; they did not hunger for more blessings than those life had already showered upon them. But jealousy there was: somewhere in East Arqual, Magad the Rake was plotting his return. And the Secret Fist took his side, for Sandor Ott feared to serve under a woman. He knew also that Empress Maisa would not let him run the occult affairs of Arqual as he saw fit — a practice he had grown used to under her father. This was, after all, when Ott first began dreaming of the use he might make of a certain heretic king in the Mzithrin lands.'

'The Shaggat,' said Pazel.

Hercol nodded. 'Ott's agents provoked the skirmishes that grew into the Second Sea War, and the old Emperor, weakened by tales of the ghastly bloodshed engulfing the west, died halfway through the campaign. Maisa was crowned Empress, and at once sent emissaries of peace to the Mzithrin capital. Among them was a young genius of a surgeon by the name of Chadfallow.'

'Ignus?' said Pazel in disbelief. 'But that was forty years ago! He can't be that old.'

'He does not look it,' Hercol agreed, 'but he is past sixty without a doubt. Years ago I asked his age. "Old enough to be your father," he told me shortly, "and to be spared such idle questions." In any case, he went to Babqri as Maisa's standard-bearer. It is to the Empress that Chadfallow owes his career as special envoy, although at times I think he forgets this.

'The war was by now quite out of control, raging throughout Ipulia and the Crownless Lands. Still the last, worst years of it might have been prevented, but for what happened next. In great secrecy Ott brought Magad the Rake back to Etherhorde, and with the aid of certain generals who had always loathed taking orders from a woman, drove Maisa from the city. Her baronet was killed, her birth-sons driven into exile beside her. Magad the Fifth, the Rake's child, was torn from her arms and taken to the father who had tried to drown him before his birth.

'To make the people accept such treachery, Ott spread rumours about Maisa: rumours of corruption and graft, and uglier sins. A pack of lies, of course; but by the time the people saw through them it was far too late.

'Having seized the throne, the Rake set out to seize his son's heart by equally brutal tactics. Magad the Fifth was a boy of nine, and loved his stepmother dearly, but his father and a thousand sycophants filled his head with tales of Maisa's wickedness, and kept at them so relentlessly that the boy at last started to believe the lies. They called her embezzler, deathsmoker, torturer of children, unnatural lover of animals and Flikkermen, practicer of dark Western rites. By the time young Magad's half-brothers were found and slain in the Tsordons, the boy was denouncing Maisa himself. And to this day our Emperor repeats these lies, whenever he forgets that his stepmother does not officially exist.'

'But can he truly believe them,' Pazel asked, 'after Maisa raised him as one of her own?'

'A fine question,' said Hercol. 'All I can say with certainty is that when it mattered most he permitted Ott to go on hunting Maisa and her children. I do not know if he has ever repented. Still, there was a rumour in the Secret Fist that the death of Magad the Rake was no hunting accident, as the world was told: that he was not tossed from his horse but pulled from it, by his son. The man who is now our Emperor then took a stone and crushed his father's skull — and the word on his lips as he did so was, "Mother!" '

'And yet he sits upon her stolen throne,' said Dri, 'and pretends that she never existed.'

Hercol nodded. 'Worse, he has never pardoned her. If a foreign king or bounty hunter laid hands on Maisa, he could claim to be holding an enemy of the crown. Ott, after all, only let Maisa and her sons flee Etherhorde to save appearances. He always meant to kill them, at a prudent distance from the capital. And as I have already told you, he succeeded with her sons.'

'How has the mother survived so long?' asked Diadrelu.

'Good luck, in part,' said Hercol. 'Even a spymaster has but so many men at his command, and for decades now they have been occupied with their Shaggat deception. And the Mzithrinis have certain brilliant agents of their own, both within the territories of Arqual and in the Crownless Lands, and much of the Secret Fist's efforts go to fighting them. But Ott scorns the very notion of luck. His edict was always Leave nothing to chance. And so I think it was with Maisa. He must have decided that an ex-Empress living out her declining years among poor mountain folk was better than a slain Empress who could become a martyr.'

'But she's not in decline, is she?' said Pazel. 'I mean, I saw her, and-'

Hercol looked at him, and a bright ferocity shone in his face, and the memories seemed to dance once more before his eyes. 'They slew her children,' he said. 'And they took her hopes for peace, and her faith in goodwill and honour among nations, and dragged them through sewers of treachery. No, she is not in decline. There is an avenging fire in her that could yet change the fate of this world, and sweep away the lesser men who bleed and abuse it.'

Dri was watching him intently. 'Is that your dream as well?' she asked.

'Yes,' said Hercol. 'And I am far from alone, although I have sometimes felt so. And with the approach of Treaty Day I feared I would lose her at last. I wrote letter upon letter, begging her not to gamble with her life on a visit to Simja. No answering letters came. Only once — days before boarding the Chathrand — did I receive a scrap of paper, slipped into my pocket by a stranger in a crowd. The words were in Maisa's hand: Have you forgotten our toast, Asprodel? I assure you, I have not.'

'What's that name she called you?' asked Pazel.

Hercol smiled again. 'In her service we all bear false names. Her Majesty chose mine.'

'Asprodel,' said Dri, looking up at Hercol. 'The mountain-apple, whose flowers open before all others, even in the melting snow. I would not call that name a false one.'

'But what did she mean?' pressed Thasha. 'What toast?'

Hercol remained silent for a moment, as if struggling to fit words to memory. 'Before Simja,' he said at last, 'I had not laid eyes on Empress Maisa in ten years. Not since the day we learned for certain that her sons were dead. On that day she called me to her cold chambers, in that forgotten colony of timber men, and sent her one servant from the room, and poured us each a cup of steaming wine. "Today I turn, Asprodel," she told me. "Henceforth I shall face the wind, and cease to live as a hunted thing. My own hunt begins, and by the souls of my children, I swear it shall only end with my death."

' "What do you hunt, Your Majesty?" I asked her.

' "Why, my throne," she said, as if surprised by the question. And yet anyone would have forgiven me if I had laughed. She had been a stateless monarch for thirty years. I had been with her for the last twelve, and had watched her entourage dwindle from seven hundred to sixty, half of them old, less than a dozen true warriors. Nine-tenths of her gold was spent, and her sons were in ice-coffins sailing back to Magad the Fifth. How could she even begin?

'I learned soon enough. "Open that chest by the window, Asprodel, and bring me what lies therein," she said. I obeyed her, and this what I found.'

Hercol seized the hilt of his sword, and in a swift, quiet motion pulled the weapon from its sheath. In the dim light the blade was little more than a shadow, and yet somehow they could all sense its nearness, as though it were radiating heat, though they felt none.

'"That is Ildraquin," Maisa told me. "Earthblood, in the tongue of the Selk, who made it from the steel of the Gates of Idharin, when that city was no more. Six miles beneath the earth they forged it, under Wrath Mountain. It was their gift to Bectur, last of the Amber Kings." '

' "I have heard of that sword," I told her, "but under a different name: Curse-Cleaver, men call it, do they not?" '

'"They do," she said, "for in the deep heart of Alifros all curses die, and something of that heart's molten power was caught, they say, in the tempering of the blade. And Ildraquin did break the curse that had wrapped the Amber Kings in misery and sloth, they say, for Bectur's reign was like a last ray of sun beneath the thunderheads, before a long night of storm. It was far too late to prevent the storm. Let us hope we are not too late again."

'With that she sheathed the sword and passed it to me. I began to object, but she silenced me with an impatient gesture. "Whom do you imagine I am guarding it for? A son?" I found no words to answer, so she continued: "Gather your things, Asprodel. You ride today upon the river, with the timber-men to Itholoj, and thence to the coast, and by the first ship bound for Etherhorde. A great ally awaits us there: probably the greatest we shall have in this campaign, although he shall never wield a sword. He is a mage, Ramachni Fremken, and he has stepped already into the life of the daughter of my admiral, Eberzam Isiq."

'Ha!' cried Pazel, turning to Thasha. 'And you thought Ramachni had befriended you just so that he could find me, and teach me those Master-Words. But he's always been part of something larger.'

'Well I knew that much,' said Thasha. 'In fact I always thought he was part of something enormous — bigger than who rules Arqual, or whether it fights another war with the Mzithrin. I suppose that something was the Nilstone. But to this day I feel like there's more to the story than he's telling me.'

Hercol was studiously avoiding her eye. 'Ott had chosen you already to play a part in the Shaggat's return,' he said stiffly. 'The prophecy with which he had infected the Nessarim required a military daughter. Ramachni knew of his interest in you almost from the moment of your birth, and bid me watch over you, and befriend your father. Alas, I never came close to guessing the nature of that interest.'

'So the admiral's on Maisa's side as well!' said Neeps excitedly. 'Right, Hercol?'

The Tholjassan shook his head. 'Eberzam suspects that Maisa lives, and even that I am pledged to her cause. But he has always had the tact not to pose the question to me directly, lest he force me into an admission that would inconvenience us both. The admiral long ago swore an oath to Magad the Fifth, and it has cost him terribly to break it. Only knowledge of the Shaggat conspiracy proved strong enough.'

'The loyalties of a lifetime are hard to part with, even for the finest reasons,' said Dri, still gazing at Hercol.

'I wish he were aboard,' whispered Thasha.

Pazel heard the stifled misery in her voice. He had to fight the urge to take her hand, right there before them all.

Suddenly the shell embedded in his skin began to burn. Pazel clenched his teeth. Klyst knew, Klyst always knew, when his heart went out to Thasha. And if the murth-girl — wherever she was, whatever she had become — could read his feelings so plainly, couldn't Oggosk do the same?

Where Thasha is concerned I shall not be in the least forgiving.

He looked at Diadrelu. He could kill this woman and all her people, just by caring too much for the girl at his side.

Sealed fates, he thought. All of us murderers before the end. He could almost have laughed at the absurdity of it all.

And then the cannon fire began.