The Rats and the Ruling sea

20

17 Freala 941

Mr Coote had guessed correctly: within the hour the Chathrand was among the Black Shoulder Isles. They were dark and stone-shored and choked with greenery, miniature copies of their great mother to the west. Plenty of sea-room, thought Mr Elkstem: two or three leagues between one Black Shoulder and the next, and Bramian itself no closer than five. Still he took no chances.

'Topgallants and courses down, Mr Frix, if you please. We'll stand in on fore and spanker topsails, double-reefed.'

In the moonlight the watch furled sail after sail, and the bow wave sank to nothing. When the log was cast they were all but stationary, rocking forwards at a quarter knot. Shore birds, night jars and kestrels, spun hopefully above the deck, their shrill cries blending with the distant, mortal booming of the Bramian surf.

The three youths were still on the topdeck. Thasha had led the boys on a meandering march, port to starboard, bow to quarterdeck and back. She had barely spoken since Niriviel's departure, but she was glad of their company, and they seemed to understand her silence. The falcon's insinuations about Eberzam Isiq might have been pure spite, but Thasha could scarcely breathe for fear that something real lay behind them.

Eventually their random tour of the topdeck ceased to distract her, and began to make her think of animals in cages. She chose a quiet spot near the No. 3 hatch, folded her legs and sat.

'I don't want dinner tonight,' she said. 'You two had better go ahead.'

She leaned back against a coiled hawser. The boys looked at each other, and she imagined stomachs and solidarity at war. Then Neeps sat down on her left and Pazel, after a bit of awkward foot-shuffling, did the same on her right. She tried to catch his eye, but he avoided it, staring up at the gently billowing mainsail. Sailors of the third watch moved around them, chattering, while off to portside someone attempted (perhaps for the first time in his life, for the sound was painful) to tune a fiddle.

She sat between them, watching them fidget, wondering which of them would break the silence first, and with what kind, doltish attempt to ease her fears. Just when she had decided it could only be Pazel, Neeps began to talk.

'They ought to send us ashore to gather eggs,' he said. 'On the Black Shoulders, I mean. There was a Sollochi fisherman wrecked on one of 'em fifty years ago. He lived for three whole years on seabird eggs. For nine months he ate 'em raw; then he found a big clamshell and boiled his eggs inside it, but after three more months it cracked on the fire. Then the volcano came to life and there were steam vents everywhere, and he found he could cook his eggs by putting 'em in an old piece of fish-net, tying the net to a pole, and dangling it over one of the vents. And when the steam stopped coming he climbed to the lip of the volcano and fried the eggs on hot rocks, but he ended up burning his tongue so badly he couldn't taste 'em any more. But they rescued him soon after, and he lived a good long life back on Sollochstol. I guess there's a lesson in that, isn't there?'

'Sure,' said Pazel. 'Don't be a blary ass and lick hot rocks.'

Neeps leaned over and gave him a good-natured whack on the head. 'You're the ass, remember? I hate to think what you'd have done on that island. Turned your back on the volcano, for starters.'

Thasha smiled despite herself. Neeps had knocked her against Pazel's side, and she had not quite straightened up again. She did want some kind of comfort. Not an arm around her, not a voice telling her that all would be well. She'd been given those sorts of comforts her whole life, and they had usually failed. What she wanted was Pazel's hand locked in her own, fingers laced tight: a promise that he at least would not disappear. She wanted his touch, his attention, his eyes, the startled brightness of them before they'd kissed in the washroom. This is first love, she thought, slightly revolted by the banality. I love him. How absurd.

All the same she was glad of the dark. Neeps was saying something about Bramian, about Leopard People and shaggy rhinoceroses and other, stranger things said to dwell in its forests. The fiddle player attempted a song, gave up, tried again in a higher key. Thasha moved her shoulder against Pazel's arm and felt him draw a startled breath. He was shivering a little, although the night was warm. Thasha felt her own breath quicken. And then he hugged his knees to his chest and edged away.

She was angry, aroused, confused. Yes, she thought, looking at the side of his face, you would turn your back on a volcano.

For a few minutes no one spoke. Mr Thyne and Latzlo the animal-seller sauntered by, debating the long-term value of crocodile skins. Latzlo at first appeared to have an enormous growth on one shoulder, but as they drew nearer she saw that it was only his pet sloth, the one beast in his collection that the merchant treated with warmth. Thyne nodded to them uneasily, but the animal dealer frowned, and cleared his throat as if preparing to spit.

'Same to you, dung beetle,' muttered Neeps.

Thasha gave the others an awkward look. 'So,' she said, 'I guess it's time we went over that list.'

'Right,' said Pazel glumly.

Neeps glanced inquiringly at Pazel, as though to ask why his mood was so black. The fiddle fell silent once more. Then suddenly it burst into song: a wild, bereft, racing melody, a song of flight or exile, and longing for someone or something lost beyond all hope of recovery. The three youths got to their feet to see what was happening.

The musician was none other than Dollywilliams Druffle. The wiry smuggler had taken the fiddle away from its hapless owner, a wan-faced young man who stood gaping at him, holding the empty fiddle-case. Druffle sawed like a man on fire, his spine twisted and his head sharply cocked, as if he were not playing the fiddle but impaled on it — an impression magnified by his grimace of concentration. Every sailor who could legitimately leave his station (and some who could not) pressed towards him, and a rhythmic clapping began. When fifty men or more had gathered Druffle suddenly broke off playing and sang:

Hey! Out upon the Nelluroq they took my Nell

To the tower-tall waves and the typhoons fell

Oh get along ye dark mare and bear me straight

To the bottom of the Pits or to the ivory gate

To the shades that gibber by the ghostly wall

To the river-maids that whisper from the waterfall

Oh get along ye dark mare and don't ye rest

'Till I'm once-a-more asleep upon my lady's breast!

Hey!

With the final 'Hey! ' Druffle applied himself to the fiddle anew, and the song became even faster and madder. The tune was infectious; men who had laboured at the ropes for hours were capering like children, dancing and whirling, arm in arm. Mr Frix appeared from nowhere, and added to the bedlam with a goatskin drum. The deck reverberated with the sound of stomping feet.

'I like Druffle a lot more with a fiddle in his hand than a cutlass,' said Neeps.

Thasha laughed aloud. 'He's brilliant!'

Pazel looked up at the quarterdeck. 'Uskins will put a stop to this any minute.'

Thasha turned him a look almost of loathing. But before she could find words to flay him for his dullness a voice called her name.

Dastu was on the edge of the crowd, beckoning to her. Thasha hesitated for only an instant. Then she tied back her hair and ran to him, without another glance at her friends.

The two boys watched her impressive leaps and whirls, hand in hand with a delighted Dastu. 'Hercol really did teach her more than fighting, didn't he?'

'I don't think he's that sort of dance instructor,' said Pazel. 'Dastu's trying to dance a Gold Hills ramble, but she keeps messing him up.'

'She's messing with the lot of 'em, if you ask me,' laughed Neeps.

Pazel gave him a surly look. He knew what Neeps meant: Dastu glowed with the pleasure of being close to Thasha Isiq, of having cause to touch her hand and her back. Envy shone in the eyes of the other men, combined with sheer adoration for Thasha. She was a girl (most exotic of creatures to men trapped on a ship), and a lovely one at that, and noble-born as she was, she was dancing with them. Leef the main-top-man cut in on Dastu, and moments later Coote swept her away from Leef. From man to man she went, her hair shaken loose of its hasty knot and her face flushed with joy. The crowd stomped and roared.

'Don't you want to dance?' said Neeps.

Pazel looked startled. 'With her?'

'No, you dolt, with Lady Oggosk. Hurry up, before Druffle collapses.'

Pazel shook his head. 'Why don't you dance with her yourself?'

'Because I'm not the one who's turning pea-green with jealousy.'

At that Pazel guffawed. 'You've lost your mind. Someone just tried to drown me, remember? People want us dead, and there's a statue on the orlop with the most deadly damned thing in Alifros in its hand. What makes you think I'd give birdsquat for this dancing rubbish?'

Closing his eyes, Neeps lifted his nose and sniffed. 'Mmm, smell that? Fresh from the oven. A big, buttery Ormael plum duff of a lie.'

Pazel jumped on him, not sure if he was furious or amused, but Neeps just laughed and said, 'Don't hit me! Have a look at Thasha now.'

The crowd had fallen back to give her room, for Thasha was at last dancing in perfect unison with a partner: Greysan Fulbreech. He wore the white shirt and close-fitting pants of his new office of surgeon's assistant: clothes so clean they might have just come from the tailor. Fulbreech danced even better than Druffle played. He took Thasha expertly by the waist and guided her through the left-back-double-right-spin of the ramble so swiftly that she never had time to make a contrary step. When they came together at the end of each cycle their faces were inches apart.

Pazel had seen enough. Without a word to Neeps he turned and marched away aft. He had a vague idea of storming into Lady Oggosk's cabin and telling her what she could do with her threats. Of course part of him realised that he could do no such thing — but how long could he keep up this charade? How long before Thasha asked him a question he couldn't lie about?

As he passed under the mizzenmast shrouds Neeps caught up with him, breathless from running.

'You're a first-class rotter,' he said. 'She's gone off somewhere with Fulbreech, and it's your fault.'

'How do you figure that?' Pazel asked without slowing his pace.

'Don't play simple,' said Neeps. 'Thasha's moody and headstrong, but you don't have to act like she's got some sort of plague. Can't you be blary decent? Nobody's asking you to marry her.'

Pazel gave a spiteful laugh. 'That's a damned good thing. She's not exactly good luck where marriage is concerned.'

Neeps leaped in front of him, stopping him dead. The smaller boy's patience was clearly exhausted. 'Are we mates, or not?' he demanded. 'When are you going to tell me what's the matter with you?'

Pazel averted his eyes, afraid of giving himself away. Oggosk had not forbidden him to talk to Neeps, but he would never forget how his friend had raged at the old witch, or her casual threat to murder him. He shuddered to think what Neeps would do if he learned what Oggosk had said after he stormed out.

But there was another reason he was keeping away from Thasha — one he could tell Neeps about, if only he could find the words to explain it.

'You… remember Klyst, don't you?' he said warily.

Neeps' jaw fell open so wide that Pazel could see his tonsils by lamplight. 'You're still thinking about that — thing. You're still under its spell.'

'Don't call her a thing, mate. She's a girl, and she's not so bad.'

'She eats people.'

'Well,' said Pazel relucantly, 'yes.'

'Why didn't you tell me the murth-spell was still affecting you? Come on, we're going to Chadfallow right this minute.'

'No!' said Pazel. 'By the Nine Pits, Neeps, the last thing I want is another "cure" from Ignus! Besides, I don't need curing. I'm not under her spell.'

'Pazel, her sister tied me up and left me to drown. And she would have done the same to you if your Gift hadn't turned the tables and made her love you. You're lucky she's thousands of miles away.'

'Maybe she's not,' said Pazel. 'She… well, she showed up on Dhola's Rib. And I heard her voice tonight on the bowsprit.'

Neeps' face contorted helplessly. 'When were you going to say something, you witless prat?'

'When I thought I could trust you not to screw things up.'

'Trust me? Oh, that's priceless, that's just-' Neeps was apoplectic. He bit his lips, clawing at the air in front of Pazel's face. 'You make me angrier than just about anyone I know.'

'Anyone but your brother, eh? Your older brother.'

For a moment he thought Neeps would hit him. The small boy's face turned dark red, and his mouth tightened to a choleric scowl. 'I told you,' he said, 'never, ever to talk to me about brothers.'

'And I told you I'm not under any spell.'

'Really? What's this, then?' Neeps flicked away Pazel's hand, which he had raised unconsciously to his collarbone, found Klyst's shell beneath the skin — and pinched it, hard.

A searing pain flooded Pazel's chest. He cried out, as somewhere inside him a girl's voice wailed in anguish. He shoved Neeps with all his might; the smaller boy crashed against the block and tackle at the mizzenmast, and struck his head on the rail.

Pazel doubled over, hands on his collarbone. Neeps had not broken the shell, but the pain throbbed on. Klyst is terrified, he thought. She thinks I'm getting ready to cut out her heart. The sound of her voice was so real he found himself looking about for its source, though he knew the murth-girl would never appear on the Chathrand. Her words in the temple came back to him: Not allowed. I'd be trapped there, forever.

Neeps got shakily to his feet, rubbing his head. When Pazel reached out to steady him he knocked his hand away.

'I'm finished here,' he said. 'Your cannibal girl's welcome to you.'

He stalked off, and Pazel heard his feet clattering down the ladderway.

The pain took a long time to ebb. Pazel leaned against the mizzenmast, wondering who was more revolted at his behaviour, Neeps or Klyst herself. He had not been at it long when a shadow crossed his face.

It was Druffle. The pale spike of a man was drenched in sweat and smiling. His breath smelled distinctly of rum. 'Pathkendle!' he barked. 'What's this? You've been in a fight, haven't you?'

Pazel looked away; he had talked enough for one night. 'Not… a fight, Mr Druffle. Not exactly.'

'If it tastes like a duck, it's a duck, lad.'

Pazel could think of no fitting rejoinder, so he said, 'That sure was some music you played.'

'Somebody had to make that Burnscove halfwit stop torturing his fiddle. And a Plapp's Pier boy was baiting him, calling him a tuneless hack. Of course he was a tuneless hack, but many's the brawl that began when one man stabbed another with a painful truth. We're not built to put up with much truth, my Chereste heart.'

'Oppo, sir.'

'The girl's not worth it, you know.'

'I beg your pardon?'

'I saw you and Undrabust watchin' Miss Thasha. No girl's worth losin' a friend over — not even a sweet puff-pastry like her. Take it from an old lady's man: play the game calm and collected. Let Undrabust make a fool of himself. He's got a knack for it, and when he does you'll look all the better in her eyes.'

'Mr Druffle,' Pazel broke in. 'I appreciate your — guidance, really. But you're digging for clams in an oyster bed.'

Druffle laughed. 'By the sweet Tree, you make me miss Ormael! Haven't heard that one in years.' Then he looked sharply at Pazel, and a twinkle came to his eye. '"Digging for clams in an oyster bed." D'ye know who used to say that? Captain Gregory Pathkendle, that's who.'

Pazel jumped upright. 'You did know my father! You weren't just spinning yarns back on the Prince Rupin! Mr Druffle, tell me about him, please! When did you see him last?'

Druffle's face darkened. 'On the Haunted Coast, lad. When he and Mr Hercol led the charge against the Volpeks. 'Course I wasn't free to speak with him — that adder-tongued mage had me in thrall. But I saw Gregory fight his way onto that Volpek cruiser, side-by-side with Mr Hercol. A truly fearless man, Gregory. He took down the Hemeddrin's captain with one thrust.'

'He seems to be afraid of me,' said Pazel.

Druffle looked at him quizzically. 'Afraid? That's not what I'd call it.'

Before Pazel could ask what Druffle would call it, a hand fell heavily on his shoulder. Ignus Chadfallow was there, frowning.

'Pazel,' he said, 'come with me. I need to speak with you right now.'

Pazel shrugged off his hand and stepped away. 'What do you want? Mr Druffle and I-'

'You can trade stories with this rum-runner on your own time.'

'This is my own time.'

'Rum-runner, is it?' Druffle assumed an air of dignity. 'As a man of business, I'll have you know I take abjectness to that remark.'

Chadfallow turned Druffle a withering look. 'When I have need of your areas of expertise, such as the best means of passing off muskrat pelts as mink, I shall send for you. Come along, Pazel.'

Suddenly Druffle reached out and seized Chadfallow by the arm. 'You can't talk to me that way no more, Doctor sir,' he snarled. 'We're outside the Empire, and from what I hear you're no more right with the law than Dollywilliams Druffle, maybe less so.'

'This ship is the Empire, you fool,' said Chadfallow, 'and its laws apply here as they would in Etherhorde. Now unhand me before I have you caged like a beast.'

Druffle released him, but his eyes sparked with malice. 'Such good stock, the Chadfallows. Judges and ministers, doctors and dukes. Such a noble pedicure. But you're not above nicking another man's pastry now and then, are you?'

Chadfallow froze. Druffle eyed him with wicked delight. He turned back to Pazel.

'Aye, lad. Here's a question what's preyed on your mind: why did Gregory run off and leave you? Was he afraid of the Arqualis, afraid to fight for his country? No sir, not a bit of it. Fear never got the better of good Captain G. Why, he didn't even know the invasion was coming, because his dear friend Chadfallow didn't tell him.'

'What are you talking about?' said Pazel, as Chadfallow tried once more to draw him away.

'I heard it from his own mouth,' said Druffle, 'late one night, by a fire in the Fens. Your dad left Ormael when he learned that his beloved wife had taken up with his fine Arquali friend. That they'd been lovers for years. Because Gregory knew that if he didn't get away for a while he'd put a knife through the doctor's treacherous heart — or hers. You want to know why you grew up without a father, Pathkendle? The answer's standing right next to you.'

Pazel turned slowly to face Chadfallow.

'He's… lying, right? Tell me he's lying.'

Chadfallow managed a laugh. 'When is he not? If lies were wine, they'd name vineyards after this man.'

At that Druffle's face turned red as a tuna steak, and his hands clenched in fists. 'I was brought up to respect men of letters,' he growled, 'but you're no gentleman. You're a dressed-up Bilsburra ape, and you'd die of shame if you had any.'

Pazel stared at the freebooter, then looked at Chadfallow again.

'I used to compare my father to you,' he said slowly. 'I used to wish he was as fine and cultured as you.'

Chadfallow seemed to grope for a reply. 'This cur makes it sound-'

'You were already aboard, after the battle with the Volpeks. That was why he didn't wait to talk to me, isn't it? Because he couldn't stand being near you.'

'Pazel-'

'I'd started to hate him,' said Pazel, cutting him off. 'To hate him, for not caring more about us. But he left because he cared, didn't he?'

'Let me explain.'

'I don't want you to explain any more, Ignus. I want you to say it isn't true.'

Chadfallow stood still, gazing at him, and a terrible struggle raged in his eyes. He looked like an animal caught in a trap, waiting for the hunter to return and take his life. But he made no denial. Instead he took two steps towards Druffle, struck the man across the face, and fled the deck.

Later that evening Neeps sat across the table from Hercol and Marila, fuming, while Jorl and Suzyt watched the stateroom door with melancholy eyes and Felthrup ran worriedly around the tabletop, urging them to eat. Neeps picked at his food. He could not bring himself to tell the others what had happened between him and his friends. He had called Pazel a pig, but he was the one plagued by an embarrassing, swinish sort of question: what if Thasha did not come back tonight?

He felt rotten to the core, even to be visited by the thought. And when Thasha did at last appear, just as the watch-captain struck two bells past midnight, he exploded from his chair.

'There you are! Rin's blood, Thasha, you can't just storm off at night! I say, have you had anything to-'

Her cabin door slammed behind her. They heard her kicked-off boots strike the wall.

'I don't think she's hungry,' said Marila, expressionless as ever.

Hercol rose and walked swiftly to her cabin. When his knock received no answer, he sighed. 'I am glad she is back,' he said. 'Remember what Arunis told Pazel, concerning Rose's desire to be rid of her. It may well be a lie, but we must take no chances. Try to keep her in the stateroom; if she insists on venturing out, say I order her to carry a sword. I have my own appointment to keep with Diadrelu. Afterwards I think I shall try to learn who else may be awake and busy on the Chathrand in the dead of night. Besides, of course, Mr Pathkendle.'

'He'll be along,' grunted Neeps.

But an hour later there was still no sign of Pazel, and a newly irritated Neeps set off in search of him. By this time Marila was asleep on the bearskin rug, and the dogs were snoring in a call-and-refrain. Felthrup stood on the edge of the dining table, gazing at the strip of lamplight shining under Thasha's door, and leaning out in such a way that he would lose his balance if he began to doze. It was a cheerless game: each time he began to drift off, the near-fall would wake him. Then he would drag himself once around the table and return to his spot. He had done this for two nights already, unnoticed by anyone. He was terrified of sleep.

A time came when his trick failed: he was so exhausted that he slept through the vertigo, experienced an instant of weightless bliss, and landed with a thump and a whimper upon the floor. Suzyt yipped without quite waking; Marila sighed and turned over on the rug. A moment later Thasha opened her door an inch.

She was still in her deck clothes. Her face wore a distracted look. He was not sure her eyes really saw him.

'What's the matter with you?' she said.

'Not sleepy,' mumbled Felthrup.

Thasha paused, staring at him like a ghost. 'What did you do back in Noonfirth, when you couldn't sleep?' she asked.

Felthrup's ears pricked up instantly. 'In the good times, when I wasn't starving? Read, m'lady, always. Learning to read was the first task I set myself after the miracle of tears — after my waking, you understand. I lived above a bakery, a choice spot for a scavenger, and the baker's daughter was learning to read, and I would listen from the top of the stair. And one day the girl read aloud to her mother from a storybook. It was a profound tale, about a jackal captured on the Samopol Veld. The hunters planned to skin him — he was just the right size to make four jackal-fur hats — but he talked his way to freedom. He told the hunters that he was a murth in disguise, and would plague them with four years of warts and spots and piles and shingles if they harmed him. A year for each hat, you see? And they didn't dare! It was a brilliant story, m'lady. And when the girl finished I told myself that by reading I might learn almost anything, and even answer the riddle of my own existence. I've failed in that last endeavour, so far. Still I became an addict, and read everything I could. Old books, newsbills stuffed in crates, soap wrappers, lists for the greengrocer, orders of execution, ledgers forgotten in city warehouses — anything.'

'You'd read.'

'In a word, yes.'

Slowly Thasha's eyes found him, and focused. 'Why don't you come in?' she said. 'I think you can help me.'

Glad to be wanted, Felthrup went to her. But in the doorway, by long and almost involuntary habit, he stopped and sniffed. Her cabin smelled of dust, sweat, a dozen kinds of food crumbs, and very slightly of blood. He looked at her with concern. 'Are you wounded, m'lady?'

Thasha did not answer him. She shut and locked her cabin door, bent down and gently raised the lame rat onto her desk. There was something in her expression that Felthrup had never seen before. One could almost mistake it for fear; but no, she was not afraid, at least not for herself. Thasha moved around her bed to a spot by the wall, reached high, and ran her fingers along a plank. After eight or ten inches her fingers stopped. The rat found nothing special about the spot, but he could tell her fingers had. Thasha pushed, and Felthrup gave a chirp of surprise, for he could suddenly see the outline of a small door, less than two feet square. Thasha clawed it open; old hinges squeaked.

'Mr Fiffengurt showed this to me,' she said. 'The stateroom used to be the fleet admiral's cabin, when Chathrand was a navy flagship. The admiral hid the code-books in here, and his secret orders.'

In the hidden cabinet lay a book bound in fine leather. 'That's Fiffengurt's new journal; I'm hiding it for him,' Thasha explained. 'And have a look at this.'

She removed the book, and the rat saw a thick metal plate mounted on the wall, and within the plate the outline of a drawer. The latter was about five inches tall and ten wide, with a small handle at the centre. 'Solid iron, and locked fast,' said Thasha. 'And there's no proper keyhole, just a tiny round hole behind the handle. Fiffengurt has no idea what might be in there. He couldn't remember there being any inner drawer. But that's not what I wanted to show you.'

There were, Felthrup saw now, two books in her hand. The second book was much older and heftier than the quartermaster's journal. Thasha looked at him. 'I think you know what this one is.'

'Of course,' said Felthrup. 'Your special Polylex.'

'I haven't been able to make myself open it for weeks,' she said, laying the book beside him on the desk. 'It's not that the book's cursed or poisoned or anything vile like that. But ever since the Nilstone came aboard something's been happening when I sit down to read.'

'What happens?'

Thasha paused. 'Ramachni didn't want me to talk about it. But he also told me I'd have to decide when to give my trust. And I'd trust you with my life, Felthrup dear.'

The black rat looked suddenly nervous. 'If Ramachni told you to keep it secret, then you must,' he said.

But Thasha went on. 'I don't understand it myself. Sometimes I barely notice it happening; at other times it feels as if I'll never be the same, as if I'm burning inside, or dying.'

At once Felthrup leaped onto the book and raised his paws. 'Then read it no more!' he cried. 'Ramachni cannot see down every path. Surely he was wrong in this case — or perhaps Arunis has flung a curse on the book after all. Let it be, Thasha!'

'I don't understand what happens,' Thasha said again, 'but I have felt it before — or something like it. Just after my mother died, it was. Her family took care of my father, since his own family lived far off in the Westfirth. One day my father and uncle sat smoking for hours in the garden, and I got curious and crept through the bushes to listen. "No," I heard Daddy say, "we didn't have the heart to go through it again. She lost two children before Thasha, you know." They were talking about my mother, Felthrup. My uncle said, " Thasha's was an easy birth, wasn't it?" And my father answered, "It was when the time came. But we almost lost her too, Carlan — early on, just like the others. It was the damndest thing. Clorisuela began to bleed, and weep, and I thought the worst had come again. And then — nothing. The blood stopped, her pain vanished. And she never suffered any but the expected pains from that moment on."

'You see? I almost died before I was born. And when I understood what I'd heard — that's when I felt it. The ache. Like being tied with ropes that are shrinking, cutting me. I never felt it again until I started reading that book.'

'No more,' said Felthrup. 'We have seen enough black magic, and some of the worst has been hurled at you.'

Thasha went to her porthole window and freed the latch. The lamplight flickered as a cool wind passed through the room. She looked out over the now-moonless sea, and the haunted expression stole over her again.

'I let Fulbreech kiss me tonight,' she said. 'He wanted to do more than that. And I was tempted to let him. What if I die on this ship?'

'Lady Thasha,' said Felthrup, 'I hope you will not soon mate with anyone. It would complicate matters indescribably. And it is most, most unpleasant.'

For a long time she gazed from the window in silence. Then at last she said, 'It's not evil, what happens when I read that book. Maybe it's even good, or at least necessary, unavoidable.' She looked at Felthrup again, and added with a note of pleading, 'I just don't want it to happen yet.'

'You frighten me,' said Felthrup, beginning to quake. 'You have been so kind, Thasha, so generous, and I have nothing to offer in return. I wish I knew what threatened you, but despite my habit of reading I'm a fool. A failure as a rat, of course; and what I know of human life feels like something snatched from a dream. I wish I were learned. I'm not. My knowledge is paltry, puny, slight, a negligible froth of wisdom, a detritus.'

His earnestness brought her back to the room. She laughed, a small frightened sound, then bent and kissed the rat on the forehead. 'Do you know something, Felthrup? I think we were meant for each other. Will you help me face this thing that's coming, whatever it is? Will you read to me from the Polylex?'