The Red wolf conspiracy

Old Foes

12 Vaqrin 941

"Neeps," said Pazel, "are your parents alive?"

They were dangling from the stern of the Chathrand, their seat a wooden spar bound by two ropes to the taffrail, their bare feet resting on the casements of the gallery windows. Someone had the idea that Ambassador Isiq had frowned at the windows on first sight: the boys had therefore been set to polishing the brass hinges with a mixture of turpentine, tallow and cinders, until they gleamed.

Light breeze, warm sun. And biting flies attracted by the reek of tallow. To strike at them meant letting go of something: rope, window, spar. Given the sixty-foot drop to the water, they did their best to ignore the insects.

Neeps shook his head. "They died when I was three. The talking fever, you know. We had no medicines on Sollochstal."

The Great Ship was being winched away from the docks: already the Plaza lay a quarter mile behind. Small craft skated across their wake, passengers crowding the rails nearest Chathrand, just gazing at her. The society folk of Etherhorde were bemused, and slightly affronted: it was the fastest turnaround in living memory for the Great Ship. Barely three days in port, and no tours allowed! As for the demeanor of the Treaty Bride, and her choice of clothes-the less said the better.

"Who raised you, then?" Pazel asked.

"My father's family," said Neeps. "They have a grand house. Ten feet above the lagoon, on strong stilts."

"You lived in a stilt house!"

"Best way to live. Throw a line out through the kitchen window, snag a tasty copperfish, reel him in. Straight from cove to kettle, as my uncles used to say. Great folk, my uncles. They taught me pearl-diving. Also how to smell a lie: we had to sell our pearls to merchants from Opalt and the Quezans, and they were always trying to cheat. But no one could cheat Granny Undrabust. She ran the family business, the household, half the village. Everybody knew her because she was fearless. She used to drive off crocodiles with a bargepole. They say she killed a pirate with her fish-knife. They'd sneak into the village at night, pry jewels off the temple walls, kidnap boys. That even happened to me. Upa! Careful, mate!"

The platform tilted madly. Pazel, lost in Neeps' words, had nearly lost his balance, too. When they recovered he was still gaping at his friend. "You were kidnapped? By real pirates?"

"Too blary real. Their ship stank like a chamber pot. But they didn't have us long. Two months after they took us, the fools raided an Arquali fort in the Kepperies. Warships caught up with us in days, hanged the pirates and made us all into tarboys."

"And you never saw your family again?"

Neeps scrubbed vigorously at a hinge. "Oh, I saw 'em. After the Empire grabbed Sollochstal. We landed for a day and I ran off and saw Granny and my uncles. And my little sister: she was so glad to see me she dropped a whole basket of fish. But the Arqualis fetched me back that same night. Said they would have taken pearls for my freedom if I'd asked, but they couldn't reward a runaway. Granny Undrabust would have fought them, but I made her stop. And she's dead now, too. Stepped on a cobra urchin, can you believe it? A Sollochi slave told me last year. The man heard she laughed before she died: 'At least it was one of our own who finally got me. Don't be sad!'"

"What about brothers?" Pazel asked. "Do you have any?"

When Neeps did not answer, Pazel looked up. To his great surprise he saw that Neeps was furious.

"Just don't talk to me about brothers," he said.

That's a yes, Pazel thought, but he spoke not a word.

After a moment, Neeps said, "Your turn. Family."

Pazel told him about the day of the invasion, how he had never seen his mother and sister since. "But Chadfallow, that doctor I was telling you about, says they're alive. He was very fond of my mother."

"So where is she?"

"He wouldn't say. But he said he planned to see them. And I think he meant to help me do so, too."

Neeps squinted up at the sun. "Right. This is the same chap who put something nasty in your tea. Who paid that lout of a bosun to maroon you in Sorrophran. Who galloped along a headland shouting that you should jump ship. And who never bothered to tell your family that the Arqualis were about to invade Ormael. Have I forgotten anything?"

"He bought me out of slavery," said Pazel.

Neeps gave a judicious nod. "It all adds up, then. He's madder than a boiled owl."

"Probably," said Pazel. "But he also knows something-about my family, and the treaty with the Mzithrin, and this whole journey to Simja. There are big secrets on this ship, Neeps."

"Ooooh-"

Pazel flicked a blob of brass-cleaner at him. "Undrabust means 'broken toe' in Kushali, did you know that? I'm not kidding!"

"Pathkendle means 'smelly tarboy who dreams about rich girls.' Did you know that?"

They flung insults, goo and rags, never happier. The spar teetered madly, but somehow they were no longer afraid. Then a sharp voice from above made them freeze.

"What's this? A playground? You lowborn rats! Wastin' time and 'spensive re-zor-ziz!"

It was Mr. Swellows, the bosun: of all the officers save Uskins, the one Pazel most disliked. His bloodshot eyes glared down at them: he was a heavy drinker, rumor held. He claimed special knowledge of Captain Rose's thoughts and intentions, grinning slyly but revealing very little. He had been in Rose's service twenty years.

"Hoist them two up 'ere!" he barked at the stern watchmen. "Pathkendle! Wash that smutch off your hands! The captain wants to see you."

Neeps shot Pazel a look of concern. The spar lurched upward. A moment later they were climbing over the rail.

"Captain Rose wants me?" Pazel asked, alarmed. "What for, Mr. Swellows?"

"The Red Beast."

"Sir?"

Swellows looked at him with crafty delight. He leaned closer, made a clawing motion in the air. "The Red Beast! That's what we call him! Just hope you're not his prey, he he he!"

"You may enter now," said Rose, cleaning his pen on a blotter.

But it was not, as he had guessed, the Imperial Mailguard. It was Uskins, and his hand gripped the arm of Pazel Pathkendle, who looked as though he had just been roughly shaken.

"Your pardon, Captain," said the first mate. "It is six bells: I report as ordered. And I found this particularly troublesome boy lingering in the passage."

"Bring him in. Close the door."

Uskins shoved Pazel into Rose's day-cabin, a large and elegant room beneath the quarterdeck, where the captain not only conducted his desk-duties but also bathed, shaved and dined, with invited favorites, from a silver service as old as the ship itself. The first mate closed the door and dragged Pazel with superfluous brutality across the room.

"Lest I forget, sir: the good veterinarian, Brother Bolutu"-Uskins' voice dripped with ridicule-"accosted me this morning. 'Mr. Uskins,' says he, 'I have a letter for the captain regarding certain peculiar qualities of the rats on this ship. I should like to inform you as well.' He then began to chatter about the rats' 'disciplined behavior,' if you will believe it, sir."

"I will not," said Rose. "But I have read his letter."

"Oppo, Captain. Stand straight, tarboy! You're in the commander's presence! Sir, may I congratulate you on your reception at the throne of our Emperor?"

"You may do nothing that distracts you from an account of this afternoon," said Rose. "As for this tarboy, he is here at my orders."

"Very good of you, sir: he is morbidly implicated in this affair. But even a tarboy deserves to hear the reason for his doom. Is it not so?"

"Give me your blary report!"

Uskins bowed his head, like a schoolboy preparing a recitation. His account was, to say the least, creative. He told the captain how the augrongs had suddenly run amok; how the long-eared one had rushed onto the ship, dragging twenty men with it; and how he, Uskins, managed to avert a catastrophe thanks to his grasp of the augrong language.

"Or play-language, rather," he added. "These brutes have no real speech as we know it. They are but little risen above the animals."

Rose sat back in his chair. One hand moved thoughtfully in his beard. "Dumb brutes, eh?" he said.

"I guarantee it, Captain. Great scaly apes, they are, with little more to their grasp of living than food, work and pain."

"And you employed which of these?"

"Why, pain, sir. I let them know that they would be killed, slowly, if they could not behave in a manner acceptable to civilized men. I very nearly had them tamed when this useless boy went mad and threw himself at the near one.

"I saw at once that he would be killed, and it moved my heart, sir, despite his wicked stupidity. I do not claim to have chosen wisely, but I chose to save this boy. I rushed to the quarterdeck rail and struck the augrong with a capstan bar. I repeated that he and his friend ashore would die. I saw into the brute's mind, and knew he believed me. He let the boy go. It was then, sir, that you reached the Plaza."

Pazel could only gape at Uskins' tale. Nor did the captain, nodding slowly, look very inclined to let Pazel speak. As he watched, Rose opened a ledger-the same in which Fiffengurt had recorded the tarboys' names as they were dragged before him by the marines-and flipped through the rough pages, scowling.

"What would you have us do with the boy, Uskins?"

The first mate cleared his throat. "A broken cleat must be replaced, sir, and it is no different with a tarboy. The Ormali are notoriously low and treacherous, moreover: I beg leave to remind the captain that I objected to his inclusion from the first. As it is we are lucky to have discovered his true colors in port-and in port he should remain. I suggest he be dismissed as a rioter."

"He'll never sail again."

"Nor should he, Captain. A fit of lunacy on the high seas could bring disaster."

Rose looked down at the ledger. He dipped the pen in the still-open inkwell, scratched entries by several names. After a long pause, he said, "I have your report, Uskins. You may go. Send in the clerk to deal with this lad."

Uskins could not quite suppress his smile. He bowed low. As he turned to leave, a thought seemed to strike him. "His clothes were burned, sir. Verminous. Of course, we shall wish to repossess his uniform, barely used as it is, but I'm sure some rag or other can be-"

In one violent motion Rose pushed to his feet. "We will not repossess his uniform, but supplement it with a cap and greatcoat. The boy will not be put ashore. I did not witness what occurred on deck, Uskins, but Ambassador Isiq had a clear view, and saw his actions not as madness but exceptional courage. He wishes to congratulate the boy in person, and to pay for the cap and coat himself. His Excellency's opinion of your conduct we will discuss another time. You are dismissed."

Abashed and fuming, Uskins left. Rose stood looking fixedly at Pazel, and Pazel stared back, wide-eyed and disbelieving. He was to meet the ambassador? What should he say? What would Rose expect of him?

The captain's steward brought in a plate of kulberries and almonds, and set it on the desk with a bow. "No tea," said Rose before the man could speak, and waved him out. Then Rose took a key from his pocket and sat down again behind his desk. Without once taking his eyes from Pazel, he unlocked a deep drawer on the right-hand side and lifted out something so horrible Pazel had to stifle a cry.

It was a cage. Very much like a birdcage, but stronger, with a small, solid padlock. Inside the cage lay what appeared to be a wound-up knot of rags, hair and dead skin. But then it moved, and groaned. Pazel felt suddenly ill. The thing was an ixchel-old, starved and indescribably dirty. His eyes were vacant, his white beard matted with grease; the arms wrapped protectively about his head were raw with open sores. A scrap of cloth at his waist, half rotted, was all he had for clothing. As Rose set the cage on his desk, the old ixchel uncurled his shaking body, groaned again most terribly and cursed them both to the Nine Pits.

Rose, of course, heard nothing. He chose a kulberry and two almonds and slid them through the bars of the cage.

"Pathkendle," he said musingly. "You're the right age, the right color. Are ye Captain Gregory's boy, then?"

Pazel nodded, still in shock. On hands and knees, the ixchel dragged himself through the filth at the bottom of his cage and fell ravenously upon the kulberry.

"Well, well," said Rose. "The traitor's son. A fine sailor, Gregory-and bold at that. Faced down Simja pirates, slipped away from warships through the Talturi reefs. Few cleverer on the quarterdeck than Gregory Pathkendle. Clever with the friends he made, too. Wasn't he tight with old Chadfallow?"

Despite himself, Pazel gave a start. Rose nodded, satisfied.

"You see? Your father was ahead of his time-playing one empire off the other. But even he made mistakes. He thought the Mzithrin would strike before we did, and so he joined them. Who knows? If he'd guessed right he might be a citizen of Arqual today. But never a sailor. His Supremacy doesn't allow traitors to sail under his flag."

"My father's no traitor, sir," said Pazel, clenching his fists behind his back.

"Lad, he's the blary definition. You're just lucky he had no one better than Ormael to betray. If Gregory had been an officer in the Imperial fleet his every son, daughter, nephew and cousin would have been crucified."

"He was taken prisoner," said Pazel, trying not to glare.

"'Course he was. And then sailed back with his captors to make war on his own countrymen."

"The Mzithrin didn't make war on my country, sir. Arqual did."

"Wrong," said Rose. "The Empire never did make war on Ormael. It devoured her at one sitting, like a lamb chop."

Pazel said nothing. At that moment he hated Rose more than Uskins, more than Swellows or Jervik or even the soldiers who had stormed his house. The old ixchel was listening intently, now, although he did not stop eating the kulberry.

"You've done well for yourself, eh?" said Rose. "Most Ormali boys are dead in the Chereste silver mines, or cutting cane in Simja, or sold to Urnsfich privateers. And you're to be received by old Isiq himself."

"Yes, sir."

"Do you see what my crawly's doing? Do you know why I keep him?"

("Your crawly's name is Steldak, you fat pustule," muttered the ixchel man.)

Pazel struggled not to look at the cage. "No, sir, I don't."

"Poison," said Rose. "Oh, I have enemies, boy, many enemies. The crawly tastes my food. A crawly's heart beats six times as fast as a man's, so his blood moves six times as fast about his body. And so does any poison, you see? What would kill me in twelve minutes will kill him in two."

("Your heart stopped beating long ago," said the ixchel.)

"Now, I don't have a crawly to spare for His Excellency," Rose went on, "but I do have tarboys. The old man's taken a shine to you. That's earned you new orders from me.

"Usually he will dine at the head of the first-class table, or here in my quarters, with me. But some meals he will take in privacy, in his rooms. You will take him those meals, Pathkendle. And you will taste every dish before you do so. In the galley, in the presence of our cook. Is that clear?"

"Yes, sir."

"Someone will be sent for you on every occasion. If his daughter or consort asks for food you will do exactly the same. It will not do for him to be killed, Pathkendle. But you: I suppose we can agree that you have been living on borrowed time?"

He glared suddenly at the cage. "Taste that almond, damn your eyes! I'm hungry!"

The ixchel looked up and drew his lips back in what looked like a grimace of pain. But then a strange, low voice came out of him-a voice any normal man could hear, and Pazel guessed this was what Diadrelu had called bending.

"Captain," the old man said, "I beg to tell you that my teeth have grown weak. I cannot bite into this nut, sir. If you could but crack it with a hammer…"

The captain snarled, but he climbed to his feet and lurched across the room. For the second time that day, Pazel knew that he had come to a moment when he must instantly do something dangerous, or else regret it for the rest of his life-and once again, he did it. Leaning close to the cage, he whispered: "I'll help you, Steldak."

Instantly, Rose stiffened.

Pazel just had time to raise his head before the captain swiveled about. His eyes were wild with suspicion as he thumped back across the room. He grabbed Pazel's hand and squeezed with agonizing force. He leaned close to Pazel's face. His breath stank of garlic and tobacco.

"You hear spirits."

"N-n-no, sir!"

"I know that you do. I saw your face. There's not many of us can hear 'em, boy. One passed through this room just now, spoke to my crawly in its own tongue. You heard it, didn't you? Tell the truth!"

"Captain, I don't-Ahh!"

Rose's hand tightened again. His furious eyes roamed the cabin walls.

"Watch out," he hissed, very low. "The world's changed 'neath our feet, when brutes like me get the hearing, pick up voices dissolved in the wind. Animals always could, then mages, spell weavers, freaks. Today, here and there, a natural man like Nilus Rose. This old unsinkable hulk, now-it's clogged with spirits. In storms they snag on the topgallants, slither down to deck, crawl in our ears. You hear 'em, too! Deny it!"

Rose was mad-but mad or not, his astonishing grip threatened to break Pazel's hand. What to say? If he gave Rose the answer he wanted, the captain would never leave Pazel alone, would expect reports on the "spirits" Pazel overheard. And what would the stowaway ixchel do to him then, when half their number already thought him a spy?

"Captain!"

The voice came from the ixchel man, bowing so low that his last remaining strands of hair dragged the floor.

"Allow me to inform Your Honor that he is but half correct. I heard a voice wish me well-a spirit-voice, certainly! — but this boy heard it not. If he looked startled it is only because I jumped suddenly to my feet."

Rose looked from the prisoner to Pazel and back again. His eyes narrowed, but slowly the pressure on Pazel's hand decreased, and he let it go. Pazel stepped backward, cradling his hand, and for just an instant his eyes met those of the ixchel prisoner. The man who had lied with such skill an instant before now gave Pazel a look full of wonder, and even-dreadful in that ruined face-hope.

Another knock. The ship's clerk was at the door, with Pazel's new coat and hat. Rose shoved the cage back into his desk, suddenly business-like. He made Pazel try on the coat, corrected his posture, even drilled him on how to address the noble family.

"Your Excellency is all you need say to Ambassador Isiq. For his consort, my lady or Lady Syrarys will do. And the girl is to be called Young Mistress-or if she should insist, Lady Thasha. When he compliments you for what he believes you did today, thank him. Do not chatter on. If I learn that you have been familiar or clever with His Excellency I'll make you wish I'd left you in Uskins' hands."

Pazel was barely listening. Thasha, he thought. Her name is Thasha.

Rose put the cap on his head. "These clothes are Ambassador Isiq's gift. Wear them at all times. Go and scrub your face, boy, and then report to his stateroom."

Pazel made to leave, but at the door Rose's voice stopped him cold. "A strange turn, isn't it, Pathkendle? — that of all the lords and nobles of this Empire, the one who favors you should be the conqueror of Ormael."

On the main deck, Elkstem called for topgallants. The winching was done, the miles of kedging-line were hauled slithering back into the Chathrand. Somewhere out on the bay a warship saluted with a cannon-shot, and all the Great Ship's poultry began to squawk. Pazel had to find Neeps. If he didn't tell someone about his morning he would simply explode. But did he dare mention Steldak? Would Diadrelu see even that as a betrayal?

He had heard Swellows order Neeps to the tailor's nook, to help with mending the reserve sails. But Neeps was not there. Pazel bent down beside Reyast, the shy tarboy with the stutter, and asked after his friend. Reyast looked up from his lapful of sailcloth and blinked.

"P-P-P-Paz-zel. You have a n-n-n-ew c-c-"

"I'll tell you about the coat later, Reyast. Where's Neeps gone off to?"

"S-s-s-s-sickbay."

"Sickbay! Why? What's wrong with him?"

Some minutes later, Reyast had succeeded in telling Pazel that Neeps was badly bruised. He had been pushed down a hatch by a new tarboy, brought aboard just yesterday. The newcomer was "a b-b-b-baddy," Reyast declared: older and stronger than any of them, except Peytr and Dastu perhaps, and he acted as though he were in charge of the smaller tarboys. He was enraged with Fiffengurt, who had given him no special rank, and was taking it out on the younger boys. When Neeps passed through the berth deck to retrieve his turban, the new boy had ordered him to trade shipboxes-his own had a lid that fastened poorly. Neeps laughed in his face. There were too many sailors about for a fight (which Reyast considered lucky for Neeps), but when the bigger tarboy saw the chance he had shoved Neeps from behind, sending him crashing through a hatch into the steerage compartment below-where Neeps had almost landed on a baby.

Pazel, who had seen enough cruelty for one day, found himself livid. "What's this pig's name?" he asked.

Reyast screwed up his face with effort. "D-f-dj-d-Jervik!" "Jervik!" cried Pazel, aghast. "A big lout with a hole in his ear?" Reyast nodded. Pazel questioned him no more, but ran straight for the sickbay. Jervik aboard! Had Captain Nestef finally caught him at his cruelty and sent him packing? No matter how it had occurred it was terrible news, and he hoped that somehow Reyast was mistaken. Pazel flew across the lower gun deck to the sickbay. Over the clinic's door he saw a curious sign:

SICKBAY

DR. CLAUDIUS RAIN

The first name was neatly painted in red. The second, like the line through Chadfallow's name, was a messy blue scrawl. Pazel had to steady himself on the doorjamb. Chadfallow had meant to serve on the Chathrand. But why had he changed his mind, and told Pazel to jump ship? I intend to see them, he had said of Pazel's mother and sister. Was that the reason he had planned to be aboard-or the reason he wasn't?

In the sickbay he found Neeps, slung in a hammock, with a split lip and an oilskin bag of cool water over one eye. The small boy was furious, grinding his teeth, swearing he'd teach Jervik to keep his distance.

Pazel hushed him: the new doctor, Rain, was bustling by, white eyebrows knitted. As he passed they heard him muttering to himself: "Undrabust, Neeps Undrabust, ha ha, almost broke his neck, you boys shouldn't fool about the hatches…"

"Let him come near me again," said Neeps when the doctor was out of earshot. "Jervik, I mean-the cowardly rat."

"But how did he end up on Chathrand?" said Pazel miserably.

"Said he'd just gotten rid of some tarboy he hated on his old ship," growled Neeps. "Boasted how he 'smacked 'im round fer a year, and the blary fool never hit back.' And then he helped some fat bosun strand the tarboy in Sorrophran. His captain overheard and threw a fit such as nobody'd ever seen, and chucked Jervik ashore with his own hands."

"That was me!" Pazel cried. "The one who got stranded!"

Neeps' unbruised eye fixed on Pazel. "I'll smash 'im," he said. "I'll knock that gold tooth down his throat. I'll wring him out like my turban."

"Neeps!" said Pazel, gripping his shoulder. "Don't fight him! Rose'll throw you to the sharks! Besides, Jervik's huge, and a dirty fighter! He'll flatten you, mate!"

"Let him try it!"

It came out twy it, because of Neeps' swollen lip. His tiny fists clenched at his sides.

Pazel rose slowly and set his forehead to the wall. "Everyone on this ship is insane," he said.

"Hello!" said Neeps. "Where'd you get that coat?"

And then, like a plunge into the sea, it happened. Two sailors passed the sickbay door, chatting lightly about a woman, and suddenly their voices changed-mutated, ballooned-and became a monstrous squawking.

"No!" cried Pazel, leaping up.

"Pazaaaaaaak?" said Neeps.

Dr. Rain, turning, cried, "Squa-qua-quaaaak?"

There it was: the pressure on his skull. And filling the air, the smell of custard apple, worst odor in the world. His mind-fit had begun.

Leaving Neeps wide-eyed, Pazel ran from the sickbay into a horror of a ship filled with deafening, predatory bird-noises. He couldn't think where to hide-hide for four hours or more! — but hide he must, immediately. If they thought him mad he'd be tossed out with the bilgewater, or worse.

The lower gun deck was filled with newcomers, soldiers of some sort, busy, laughing, squawking. They gestured at him, wanting something. He ran. The hold, he thought. Get to the hold. Maybe the ambassador wasn't really expecting him just yet. Maybe no one would miss him.

He reached the No. i ladderway and began racing down the stairs. But at the berth deck Fiffengurt suddenly appeared, blocking his path. He smiled up at Pazel: "Bachafuagaaaak!"

Pazel made a helpless face and began climbing again, which made Fiffengurt squawk the louder. Pazel leaped out at the next deck, the upper gun deck, and fled down the long row of cannon. Men were all around him, malicious and terribly loud. It's never been so bad, he thought. And then he saw Jervik, dead ahead.

Both boys froze. Jervik's eyes grew wide; he squeezed the deck-mop in his hands like something that might fly away. Pazel had the sudden idea of trying to be friendly-they'd had to work together sometimes on the Eniel, after all-but how exactly was he to do that? He couldn't speak, so he tried a smile and a little wave.

Jervik threw the mop at him like a spear.

So much for friendliness. Pazel dodged the mop and tried to do the same with Jervik, but the big tarboy caught him by the shoulder.

"Gwamothpathkuandlemof!"

Jervik tore at Pazel's new coat; brass buttons popped. Hit me, you imbecile! thought Pazel. Fiffengurt would surely evict him if he did. But Jervik merely gushed with noise, his grip tightening. And Pazel realized that in another moment Fiffengurt would appear and catch them both. That can't happen. They'll lock me up.

He turned and faced Jervik. "Let go!" he cried, gesticulating madly. "I'm Muketch, the mud-crab sorcerer of Ormael, and I'll turn your bones to pudding if you don't!"

Of course nothing but bird-babble came from his mouth. Usually talking during a mind-fit was the worst tactic imaginable, but today it saved him. Jervik was terribly superstitious. He froze, wide-eyed. Pazel pointed at his disfigured ear and cackled. "When I'm done that'll be the handsomest part of you left! Now GO!"

Terrified, Jervik released him, stumbling backward, and slipped on one of Pazel's lost buttons. Pazel ran for his life.

Screeches, hoots, a wet stretch of floor. He smashed into one crewman after another. Grown men leaped away as if he might bite them. This is ending badly, he thought.

Then a hand much stronger than Jervik's seized his arm, and Pazel felt himself whirled around. For an instant he saw a man's face-gray temples, bright eyes that tapered to points-and then he was shoved bodily through a doorway, into warm smells of coffee and perfume and talc.

Little of what followed was clear to him afterward. The ambassador's face appeared in a dressing-mirror, half shaven, mouth agape. A beautiful woman swept into the room with arms outstretched, shrieking, her voice demonic. And from somewhere the golden-haired girl from the carriage appeared and looked at him with astonishment but no fear.

Then a flask was pressed to his lips, and his head forced back, and he knew no more.