The Red wolf conspiracy

Good Intentions

4 Modoli 941

52nd day from Etherhorde

Hercуl lay still as death. Thasha stood in the cabin doorway, watching Dr. Rain poke and prod her tutor for the hundredth time. He looked terrible: gray blotchy skin, new wrinkles about the eyes, streaks of dark blood that had run from his leg to his chin while he dangled upside down in the chains. He had not moved since the attack four nights before.

Thasha had insisted that they bring him here, to her own chamber: it was warmer than sickbay, and the bed was a real bed, not a padded board dangling from ropes. But Rain was still the ship's only doctor. Thasha's anxiety grew the more she watched him shuffling about. He seemed a little mad. Talking to his instruments. Wiping his chin with a corner of her bedspread.

"There now, dear." Syrarys glided breezily to her side and touched her arm. "Let the doctor do his work. And lend me your necklace a moment. Your brave Mr. Ket has given me some exquisite silver polish."

Without a glance at the consort, Thasha removed her necklace and handed it over. They were making fast to Uturphe, supposedly. But when Thasha and her father pored over his old nautical chart (with its penciled ghosts of old war fleets, battle maneuvers, lines of attack) he showed her how far out of the way Rose had taken them. Whole days wasted, or so it seemed. Why didn't he speak to Rose about the detour? Thasha wanted to know. The old admiral's reply was stern: "Because he is the captain."

Yet her father also declared that the winds were less favorable by the hour, and that they would be lucky to reach the city by tomorrow sunrise. Would Hercуl live that long? Thasha couldn't bear to consider the question. Instead, she turned her mind to revenge.

Taking her diary and fountain pen from her room, she dropped into a grand leather chair by the fengas lamp, crossed her legs and wrote:

What I Know:

1. Someone tried to kill my best friend in the world.

2. A soap merchant named Ket prevented it.

3. The enemy is still on this ship-at least, until we land.

She paused, chewing the end of her fountain pen. Then she scribbled quickly:

1. Hercуl knew there were enemies around us.

2. Hercуl was afraid when Pazel Pathkendle mentioned a language-Nileskchet.

3. Everyone is talking about peace, but Prahba is afraid of war.

That meant he and Hercуl were on the same side-for even though Hercуl was a great warrior and served in an admiral's home, he loathed wars. So did Ramachni, of course. Once, when certain her father was not in earshot, the old mage had said: As sure as disease grows where filth lies unburied, so every war in history sprang from someone's carelessness or neglect."

Ramachni would know what to do. But there was no chance of speaking to him with that dolt doctor running in and out of her cabin. She was on her own.

She slid down in her chair.

What I Want to Know:

1. Who did it.

2. Why.

3. What's going to happen to that stupid boy, Pazel Pathkendle.

4. Where Syrarys goes after dinner-it is NOT to the first-class powder room.

5. How Hercуl and Ramachni planned to get me out of this wedding.

6. Whether P. P. hates all of us or just Prahba.

7. If P. P. has ever been-

"Polished!" said Syrarys, draping the necklace around Thasha's neck. "Doesn't it shine!"

Thasha grunted.

"Is that your Mzithrini lesson, dear?" asked the consort, peering over her shoulder.

"Why, yes."

Puzzled, Syrarys drifted back to her needlepoint. Despite all her fears and worries, Thasha felt a moment's pride. She was writing in code: her own mad code, invented to outwit the Lorg Sisters. Odd words she spelled backward. Every third, fifth and seventeenth letter was a decoy, as were all the spaces and half the vowels; and of course the whole thing was read from the bottom of the page to the top. It was not the code itself she was proud of, exactly: rather it was that she could both read and write it at almost normal speed. That was the skill that had taken years.

Were codes a kind of language, too? Would Pazel be able to read her diary as plainly as she could?

And why on earth did she keep thinking of him? Hercуl's attacker was the one to concentrate on. She would find him, she promised herself. And the first person to speak to was Ket. Thasha slipped into her cabin, locked her diary away in her desk, glanced once more at Hercуl (he had not moved an eyelash) and left the stateroom.

The ship was chilly and dark. Sailors tipped their hats as she passed. Mr. Ket was not in the dining room, and the lounge was empty but for Latzlo the animal-seller and the veterinarian, Bolutu. They were locked in an argument about walrus-hunting. Bolutu seemed to think one could run out of walruses; Latzlo said the seas could never be emptied. The very notion appeared to irritate him.

"I know animals," he said, stroking his pet sloth with such force that its fur shed in a cloud. "Animals are my business. Do you think I would put myself out of business?"

"A grocer may run out of cabbages and not close his store," said Bolutu.

"I have no interest in vegetables!"

When Thasha finally got their attention, they told her Ket was enjoying Smoke Hour on the forecastle. Thasha set off at once, climbing to the topdeck and running in the open air. The waves were taller now, and the wind had a bite. Away to starboard the gray mountains of Uturphe looked no closer than at noon.

Smoke Hour was an arrangement for the third-class passengers, who were never permitted in the smoking salon. At dusk these poorest travelers were allowed to rent the use of a pipe on the forecastle. The fee was outrageous and the tobacco stale, but there is little an addict trapped in a cold, crowded ship will not agree to. This evening thirty men were busily puffing away: Smoke Hour in fact lasted forty minutes.

How odd to find Mr. Ket among them: he was certainly no third-class traveler. He wore a sea-cloak with blue silk at cuff and collar, and a gemstone on his finger flashed red in the setting sun. Instead of a blackened rental pipe he had his own, fine water pipe of burnished brass. He stood by a starboard carronade, as far from everyone else on the forecastle as he could get.

"Lady Thasha!" he said, bowing at her approach. "A very good evening to you!"

"I'm afraid it isn't," said Thasha. "My tutor's dying, and no one seems able to help."

"Poor man!" said the soap merchant, lowering his voice. "And what an ill omen for us all! Has he not woken yet?"

"No," said Thasha. "But I'm grateful to you for saving him. You're very brave, Mr. Ket."

"I had no time to be brave," he said, dropping his eyes. "I merely found myself acting."

There was, Thasha saw now, one flaw in Mr. Ket's wealthy profile: a careworn white scarf, knotted tight about his neck. Something held on to from childhood, Thasha supposed: rich men had their quirks.

"Can you tell me what happened?" she asked.

Ket shook his head. "I beg your pardon, I cannot. Mr. Fiffengurt demanded my promise not to tell anyone of this ugly event."

"I promised, too," said Thasha. "But surely he meant for us not to spread the story? Since we both know it occurred, there's no harm if we talk, is there?"

The merchant hesitated, fussing with his pipe, but it was clear Thasha would accept no refusal. After some furtive glances around the deck he spoke again, very softly.

"I honor your concern for your friend, m'lady. But I fear you would put yourself in danger for his sake. The assassin is still aboard. Any one of these men behind me could be him."

"Hercуl is more than a friend," said Thasha. "He's as dear to me as an older brother. Whatever becomes of him, I must know what happened."

"Very well," Ket sighed, "but it will do you no good. For in the end, what did I see? A man I took for a sailor, crouching by an open hatch, swinging a hammer at something within. The next moment-it was very dark, you understand-I saw that man leap down onto the steps himself and return with something large and dark over his shoulder. It was Mr. Hercуl, of course, but I guessed no such evil thing. The man passed out of my sight for a moment, behind the barge davit, and then I heard him cry out. I rushed forward in time to see him stumble and drop his burden-now obviously a man! — half over the rail."

"Was his voice high or low?" asked Thasha.

"Neither, especially," said Ket. "But I scarce had time to notice, for the cretin was rolling your friend over the side. Hercуl was waking up from the hammer blow, but not fast enough-and it was the greatest luck that he struck the mizzen-chains. The man drew his knife, leaned over and cut your friend savagely. And then Mr. Hercуl made that… extraordinary kick."

"Where did Hercуl kick him-in the arm, or the hand?"

"The wrist," said Ket. "Why do you ask, m'lady?"

"Go on, please!" said Thasha. "What happened next?"

"The next instant-well, I seized that capstan bar and had at him."

"What made him stumble?" asked Thasha.

Ket's eyes widened. "I wish I knew," he said. "Another piece of good luck, is all I can fathom. The deck was clear enough. But without that stumble, Mr. Hercуl would certainly have died."

"And he fought you, this man?"

"Indeed he did."

"Was he a trained fighter?"

Ket looked startled. "What unexpected questions," he said. "He fought well enough, I suppose. But this was the first real fight of my life-may it also be the last! — and so I am a poor judge."

"But you have answered me, you know," said Thasha. "You've told me you're not a fighter yourself, and yet you beat him."

"My dear girl, I had the capstan bar."

"But don't you see," said Thasha, struggling for patience. "A trained fighter would have run circles around you, trying to swing that heavy bar. Or just taken it away from you and broken it over your head. So he wasn't a soldier, or one of my father's guards."

"Skies above, no! Just someone crazy enough to want to kill."

"Or ordered to," said Thasha softly.

"Ordered, m'lady?"

"Never mind, Mr. Ket. Thank you again for your courage. By the way, what were you doing out on deck so late at night?"

Ket looked away, then drew a hand across his forehead. After a deep breath he said, "Confinement disturbs me. Small rooms, tight spaces… these trouble my soul. I cannot breathe."

"That's nothing to be ashamed of, Mr. Ket," said Thasha, for once almost liking him. "I felt the same way at school."

Dinner that evening was hosted by Mr. Uskins, whom Thasha detested, so she told her father she had no appetite, and when he and Syrarys had dressed and departed she promptly rang the bell for room service.

She frowned. Ket was something of a fool. Nothing about the attacker had made an impression: not even the amazing fact that he, Ket, a baby-faced merchant with gray hair and a paunch, had trounced the man without a scratch. Thasha, however, had learned several things. She added these to her list:

What I Know (Cont.)

1. If I should ever marry, it will not be to a soap merchant.

2. Hercуl's attacker was no trained fighter.

3. That man's wrist is in agony, or broken.

Thasha knew well the force of Hercуl's kicks, even on the practice floor. A kick to save his life would be simply explosive. She ought to explain this to the officers searching Chathrand. But how could she, without letting them know how much more than a servant Hercуl was?

The tarboy who came from the galley was very short. Like most of the men aboard, he stared at her as if she were some odd and fascinating monster. "Dinner for one!" she snapped, grabbing her dogs before they could leap on him. "And no shrimp heads, please. Yesterday my dinner was like a little congregation, watching itself being eaten."

"I'm very sorry, m'lady."

"It's not your fault, idiot. Close the door. No, no-" She waved a hand. "Without leaving, yet. What's your name, anyway?"

"N-Neeps," said the small boy, shaking with relief as the dogs collapsed on the bearskin.

She cocked her head at him. "Well, N-Neeps, how many sailors are there aboard the Chathrand?"

"About six hundred, common and rated, Lady. And twenty midshipmen."

"And how many passengers?"

"Four hundred steerage, Mistress-and a score first-class, plus servants. And your noble family, of course."

"Half of them male… and a hundred marines… that's over nine hundred men! Well, that's simple!" She laughed aloud. "All I have to do is check nine hundred wrists before tomorrow morning! Don't ask, I won't explain! Just tell me: what have they done with Pazel Pathkendle?"

The boy jumped, but said nothing. He looked disturbed in an entirely new way.

"You know who I mean," said Thasha. "The Ormali. The one who got flogged for being rude to my father. Who flogged him, anyway-that big baboon they call Jervik? I'll bet he volunteered."

Neeps fidgeted, glanced at the door.

"Are they going to throw him off the ship at Uturphe?"

"I can't tell you, m'lady," he said.

"Why not?" Thasha pressed. "I'm his friend, you know. Maybe his only friend."

Now anger sparked in Neeps' glance. "We tarboys take care of our own," he said.

"Splendid! Tell me, then: what's the punishment for insulting an ambassador?"

"Whatever the captain wants."

"What does Rose usually do?"

"Sometimes one thing, sometimes another."

"Can you"-she took a careful breath-"at least tell me where they're keeping him?"

"No."

They stood there, eye to eye. Jorl wheezed and flopped on his chin. Then Thasha put her hands to the back of her neck, beneath her golden hair. After a moment she frowned.

"Help me," she said curtly, turning her back and lifting the hair aside.

"M-m'lady?"

"The clasp on my necklace. It's stuck."

Neeps stared at her. She looked back steadily over her shoulder, daring him to say another word. Neeps wiped his hands on his pants, then reached into the golden hair as one might a nest of spiders. He made a face. She sighed and crossed her arms. He struggled with the clasp.

"Really, N-Neeps, it's not that-Ouch!"

"Augh!" screamed Neeps, as they both flinched. The necklace dropped to the floor.

"What did you do, imbecile?" cried Thasha, holding her neck.

Neeps scooped up the chain. "It wasn't me, Lady Thasha! It was a spark-a ferrous spark. Got me, too! Must be iron in this necklace somewhere."

"Don't be daft, it's pure silver! Let me see if it's harmed."

Neeps held out the necklace, but she made no move to take it from him. The tiny sea-creatures gleamed in the lamplight.

"Well, it's fine, anyway," she declared. "And pretty, no?"

"It's beautiful, m'lady."

"Too bad you tried to steal it."

"What?"

Neeps dropped the necklace again. Thasha caught it and draped it over a chair. "I'd taken it off to bathe, see? You slipped it into your pocket, but I noticed the bulge as you were turning to go. How do you suppose the captain punishes stealing from an ambassador's cabin?"

"You're a blary damn pigsty liar… m'lady!" sputtered Neeps, trembling with rage.

Thasha sighed. "Of course you would say that. And perhaps the officers will take your word over mine. Well, go on, back to your duties, N-Neeps. I think I'll eat in the dining room after all-now that I have something to talk about."

She was extremely proud of herself: a nicer piece of blackmail one could hardly ask for. But to her astonishment Neeps gritted his teeth and stepped toward her, only stopping when Suzyt growled.

"No, they won't believe an Outer Isles tarboy over a daisy-sweet bit of wife cargo like you. They'll clap me in jail, is what. And then make me work off twenty times that trinket's worth-and brand my arm. That's standard punishment for first-time thieves. Let 'em. Do your worst. But I'll not help you land Pazel any deeper in trouble. We-you've done enough to him already!"

Three steps and he was out, with a smart slam of the door. For a moment Thasha stood rooted to the spot. He was calling her bluff! Then she realized that if Neeps disappeared he would be no easier to find on the enormous ship than Pazel himself.

A moment later she was through the door, running with her boots unlaced. Neeps was thumping down the stern stairway. "Wait, wait!" she cried, tumbling after him, but he only ran faster-down and down, across the berth deck to the opposite stair and down again.

Just above the mercy deck he abruptly turned, blocking her way. It was dark: they were deeper in the ship than she had ever set foot. She smelled animals and hay.

"You really are his friend, aren't you?" she said.

"That's right," said Neeps, more winded than Thasha herself.

"I didn't know. I thought everyone hated him for being Ormali."

"Only dumb louts hate him. The rest are afraid of him because of what happened with the augrongs, and because a few blary idlers say they heard him speaking devil-tongue."

"Why aren't you afraid?"

Neeps just looked away. Thasha realized she already knew: this shrimp wasn't afraid of anything. Be careful, shrimp, she thought. Someone may try to cut off your head.

"What makes you so curious about Pazel?" Neeps asked.

"I don't know," she said. "Honestly I don't. But he seems special, smart maybe, also a fool like you, of course-Oh, that's not what I mean! I mean you're right. His trouble started with us, when Prahba tried to talk to him about the Rescue of Ormael. Or the"-she struggled with the word-"invasion, if that's what you like to call it. So at the very least I owe him some help. I want to get him out of the mess we got him into."

"Well, you can't," said Neeps. "All you can do is make things worse. There was a collection for him among the tarboys-eight gold, enough for a third-class ticket, maybe. If he's lucky he'll ship out on the next boat, get into the lawless territories of the Nelu Rekere."

"Can he sign on with another ship, out there?"

Neeps shook his head. "The Sailing Code isn't enforced in the Rekere, but most decent ships end up back in the Quiet Sea sooner or later. His name would be checked against the registry in any big port. As soon as they found out what Chathrand dismissed him for, he'd be charged with misleading his captain."

"Then what can he do?"

"Go out in a small fishing boat, one that doesn't stray far from its home port. Or work the docks."

Thasha couldn't believe her ears. "A docker or a fisherman? For the rest of his life?"

"Or a pirate. Lots of demand for pirates. Always getting killed, you see."

"This is terrible!"

"'Course, he might try going inland from Uturphe. Folks say there's work in Torabog, cutting cane."

"You're lying!" Thasha cried. "It can't be that bad!"

"You call me a liar? After that little game in your cabin?"

"That was just to make you tell me where he was!"

Neeps stepped closer, and she knew he could see her tears. His voice was gentler, if only slightly. "Suppose I did tell you," he said. "What good would it do? How could you possibly help him now?"

"By hiring him," said Thasha simply.

"Hiring him? Are you cracked? What do you imagine he'd do-sew you a blary wedding dress?"

"I can't tell you what I'd hire him for. It's a secret."

"You're marrying a Sizzy prince. He'll have ten girls just handlin' your laundry. Pazel wouldn't know the word for 'sock.'"

"Yes he would!" she said, her voice rising in desperation. "Oh, sky! Can't you just take me to him?"

"I'm right here, Thasha."

Pazel stepped around the bend in the stairs and put a hand on Neeps' shoulder. "Thanks, mate," he said.

"Be careful with this one," growled Neeps. "She's a trickster. She wants to get me jailed as a thief."

"I wouldn't really have done it!"

"We can't stay here long," said Pazel. "Thasha, what's this secret you want to share? Anything you can tell me, you can tell Neeps."

"I have two," said Thasha. "But you have to swear not to betray me."

Neeps scoffed, but Pazel said: "We'll swear if you like. We're not tattlers."

After she had their promises, Thasha told them about Hercуl and the mysterious attacker. As she expected, neither boy had heard of the events: Fiffengurt's rumor-control efforts had so far succeeded.

"A murderer aboard," said Neeps. "That's marvelous. He shouldn't be too hard to spot, though, if his wrist is in such bad shape. All we have to do is find out who's been let off work."

"How?" said Pazel. "Mr. Uskins keeps track of that sort of thing, and Rin knows he won't tell us. We could ask Dr. Rain who he's treated, but I doubt that whoever attacked Hercуl will be looking for treatment in sickbay."

Neeps sighed. "You're right, I suppose. But you had another secret to share, Thasha. What is it?"

Thasha took a deep breath. She said, "I'm not marrying that prince. Not for Prahba or Arqual or peace or anything. Hercуl was going to get me out of it, somehow. If he dies-"

Her sobs broke out in earnest. The boys looked at each other. One did not simply hug an ambassador's daughter, did one? At last, awkwardly, they gripped her by the elbows, as if propping up a rickety ladder. They could not tell if she was comforted or annoyed.

Eventually she pulled out a red handkerchief, blew her nose and continued, "If Hercуl dies I'll find a way out myself. I'll have Ramachni spirit me away or turn me into a skunk. Or I'll just run off. I have enough gold to sail twice around the world."

"They'll send a fleet after you," said Pazel.

"Two fleets," Neeps put in. "One Sizzy, one Arquali. But who's this Ramachni?"

"Then I'll jump ship before we're anywhere near Simja," Thasha went on, ignoring Neeps. "Right here in Uturphe. With you, Pazel! And I'll buy us both passage to somewhere far away, in the Crown-less Lands or Outer Isles. That's what I want to hire you for, see? To be my guide."

In the silence that followed they heard cows munching placidly in their stalls.

Neeps was the first one to speak. "I knew it, mate, she's cracked."

"Entirely," said Pazel. "I've never even seen the Outer Isles. And what will your father say if you disappear?"

"Whatever he likes," said Thasha with sudden anger. "He sent me to the Lorg! I blamed Syrarys for years, but it was him. He needed a daughter fit to marry a prince, and that's what the Sisters were training me for. You're right, Neeps: I'm just cargo to these people."

"One of these people is the Emperor," said Pazel. "Do you think he'll let you slip away?"

"Not easily. That's why I need your help."

"His help!" laughed Neeps. "I like that! Not enough that you've ended his sailing career. You want him to be a fugitive. With His Supremacy's men and the Black Rags combing the seas for him."

"You make everything sound so rotten," said Thasha.

"Listen, half-wit, it's rotten whatever I say. When they catch you, they'll make you marry a Sizzy. But what do you think they'll do to Pazel? He talks back to your dad and gets whipped like a slave. If he helps you run away-"

"They'll kill me," said Pazel quietly.

Thasha sat on a step. She covered her face with her hands, but this time she didn't cry. After a moment she looked up at them. "You're right," she said. "I have to do this alone. They'd kill Hercуl, too, if he tried to help me. I'm that important, somehow. Peace is coming, and this made-up marriage is the guarantee."

"But they don't want peace," whispered Pazel. "They want war." The others looked at him, stunned.

"Who wants war?" blurted Neeps.

"Be quiet, you donkey!" Pazel seized his arm. "I don't know who!"

"Well where in the brimstone Pits did you get that idea?"

"I can't tell you. But it's true, Thasha: all this peacemaking is a sham. Ramachni told us there was an evil mage hidden aboard."

"Who's Ramachni?" said Neeps, stamping his foot.

"He didn't say the mage had anything to do with me," said Thasha. "Or with this Treaty Bride business."

"What else could be so important about this voyage?" Pazel went on. "And don't you see, Thasha? If someone is trying to start a war, breaking off the marriage will play right into their hands."

"I don't see, and I don't care," said Thasha. "Let them hand over someone else to the Sizzies!"

"Right for once," said Neeps. "I don't know the half of this-but Pazel, you're not making sense. If some fools wanted a new war with the Black Rags, they could find easier ways to start it."

No one spoke for a moment. Pazel was thinking of Chadfallow's words, ten years ago at his mother's table. Lies, Suthinia. We are adrjft without charts in a sea of lies. And what else? One lie can doom the world. One fearless soul can save it.

"Thasha," he said, "who else knows you plan to run off?"

"Nobody else."

"Just think, then," said Pazel. "There's never been a marriage between Sizzies and Arqualis. But there's also been no war for forty years."

"So?"

"So what if the marriage itself is supposed to start the war?"

"Oh, rubbish!" said Thasha. "This whole business has been planned for decades. First the fighting stopped, then the name-calling. Then a few important men on both sides, men like Dr. Chadfallow, met and talked. Now a Mzithrini prince takes a… a-"

"A gift basket," said Pazel. "Tied up in bows."

She gave him a look to curdle milk. "A daughter of an enemy soldier, that's all that matters. And when I've lived seven years in Babqri City, the Mzithrin priests are supposed to pronounce me acceptable, or noncontagious, or at the very least human, and that will mean Arqual itself is no longer the enemy of the Old Faith. And then we all become friends."

"Very pretty," said Neeps.

"Foolishness and rot," said Thasha. "But it's supposed to prevent a war, not start one. Pazel, you're not being fair. I've told you my secrets, and you've told me nothing but your crazy guesses. If this wedding is really a sham, don't you think I have the right to know?"

"She's got a point, mate," said Neeps. "Trust and trust alike."

They waited, but Pazel just shook his head. "If I could explain," he said, "you'd understand why I can't."

"That's the maddest thing yet," said Neeps. "Rin help us if-oy! You there!"

The others turned. Seated primly on the stairs above them was Sniraga, Lady Oggosk's cat. The red animal looked at them serenely, like someone enjoying a bit of light theater from a balcony.

"Sniraga!" said Pazel. "Why's she always popping up?"

"That cat gives me the chills," said Thasha.

"She stole a pickle from the galley this morning," said Neeps.

"She stole my leek fritter in Sorrophran," Pazel growled. "Go on, thief, away with you!"

The cat turned Pazel an indifferent look. Then she bent her head and lifted something coiled and shiny from the deck.

"My necklace!" Thasha cried, aghast. "How did she get it? I must have left the door open!"

With the silver chain in her teeth, Sniraga stood and stretched. Then, before anyone could move, she sprang up the stairs and vanished.

"Oh, catch her, catch her!" Thasha shouted. "Prahba will murder me!"

They raced after the cat, but Sniraga was already gone from sight. At the berth deck they divided: Thasha kept climbing, muttering oaths, and the boys rushed in among the sailors. The cat, the cat! they begged. Had anyone seen it? No one had. But when they reached the tarboys' quarters Reyast waved them down.

"T-T-T-Teggatz is fit to k-k-kill you, Neeps!"

"Blow me down!" said Neeps. "I've been gone half an hour!"

"M-m-m-more."

"And I'm late for cow-and-pig duty," said Pazel. "Thasha will have to manage alone."

"She'll manage," said Neeps. "Stay out of trouble, mate."

Neeps rushed back to his post. Pazel returned to the manger and spent the next two hours mucking it out, and feeding the goats and cattle. Then the dairy cow needed milking, and a goat kicked over a five-gallon pail of fresh water, forcing Pazel to haul another from the deck below. When his labor was done at last, Pazel sat in the hay beside the cow and leaned into her warm flank.

He had about ten minutes before Fiffengurt locked him up in the brig for the night. He stank of manure and piss. It was the smell as much as the thought of iron bars that reminded him: Steldak.

His own troubles had made him forget Rose's prisoner for days. Now he felt selfish, ashamed. Someone had to help that man.

Summoning all his courage, he whispered: "Are you listening?"

The cow looked at him dreamily. Pazel waited, holding his breath. There was no sound but the slice of the ship through the waves, loud here at the waterline.

Diadrelu had said they would speak again once the Chathrand left Etherhorde, but she had never come. And sometime tomorrow he would be tossed ashore. If he told Neeps or Thasha about the ixchel they might be murdered in their sleep. If he didn't, Steldak would rot away in that cage until he died.

"Can you hear me?" he whispered again. "Come soon, Diadrelu. Please."

"Kit-kit-kit! Kitty-cat! Come out, you sly, stinking cheat!"

Around Thasha, sailors stifled laughs. None had seen the red cat, so sorry m'lady, and Thasha realized the chase was futile. Better to get back to the stateroom before things got any worse.

She made a quick dash across the main deck. Her door was ajar. Slipping inside, she kicked off her shoes and coat and ran straight to her cabin.

Hercуl looked worse. Under Dr. Rain's tight bandages his leg was swollen like a fatty sausage. A low wheezing came from his throat.

Thasha fought down panic. Hercуl's dying. Ramachni's out of reach. Pazel's being thrown off the ship. She could not remember ever feeling so trapped. Who was she, to imagine she could escape the clutches of two empires? She couldn't even escape from the Lorg.

Her misery was cut short by the sound of a key in the stateroom door. Thasha left her cabin just as her father opened the outer door.

"How is he?" Isiq asked at once.

"Not good."

Eberzam crossed the room, peered in at Hercуl and shook his head. Thasha pulled her collar high around her neck, praying he wouldn't notice the missing necklace.

"Prahba," she said, "who's in charge of catching the attacker?"

"That would be Commander Nagan," said Isiq.

"Good old Nagan," she said, with less-than-perfect conviction. "Where's he been lately?"

"He sailed ahead to be sure all was safe in our next port of call. But he is back aboard now. A fine soldier, that one. By the way, Syrarys has been asking for you."

"Oh?"

"She has grown fond of the ladies' powder room. Women can actually talk there, she says, away from us menfolk." He smiled. "You should join her one of these nights."

"I will," said Thasha. "Come to think of it, Prahba, I think I'll join her now."

"Good girl," he said.

Of course Thasha's intentions were not "good" in the way her father meant. She had already poked her head into the first-class powder room on two previous nights and had not found Syrarys there at all. Once more, she thought, and I'll ask where she really goes after dinner-in front of Prahba, of course. And how will you squirm out of that one, you fancy louse?

But tonight, outrageously, Syrarys was where she claimed she would be. "Dearest!" she cried when Thasha opened the door. "Have you come to soak with us awhile?"

Soggy hands drew Thasha in. One of the first-class wives (nine were stuffed in the little room) had arranged for a tub of near-boiling water to be installed in the powder room, and they sat around it in ecstasy, soaking their ostrich legs. "Salt water, tut," said the wife of the Virabalm wheat merchant. "Still, it's the very thing on a cold night!"

Syrarys had wrapped her hair in a towel. "Our Thasha's been studying the enemy-oh dear, that's wrong-our former enemy, of course. She knows about their history, their strange and frightening ways. But we mustn't be frightened anymore, right, darling? From now on we shall live and let live. And all the more so after your marriage. Come, sit by me-and do teach us some Mzithrini."

Once again Thasha had walked right into Syrarys' trap. She could hardly accuse her of sneaking off somewhere now. "Mzithrini! Mzithrini!" the wives chirped in delight. And every minute brought them closer to Uturphe.

Thasha spoke a phrase from the back of the Merchant's Polylex ("Don't touch any of my goods!"), which was all she ever intended to say to her fiancй if the wedding somehow occurred. She told them it was a polite greeting among nobles.

Groping her way out of the steam at last, Thasha closed the door on their "Ta-ta!'s" and made for the topdeck. But she had not taken three steps when she saw an old soldier leaving the smoking salon, just ahead. He was short, lean, scarred, a survivor of many battles, and he wore the red beret of the honor guard.

"Good evening, Commander Nagan," she said. Sandor Ott turned with a smile. "At your service, Lady Thasha." "Commander, my father says you're in charge of catching-" "Forgive the interruption," said Ott, "but if you would have me succeed, please lower your voice."

What a fool she was! She had almost blurted catching Hercуl's attacker loud enough to carry through several cabins. It was exactly the sort of recklessness her father worried about.

"Thank you," she said, more softly. "Commander Nagan, can I tell you something that may be of help?" "I pray you will," said Ott.

"Hercуl has very strong legs, even for a dancer," said Thasha, "and Mr. Ket saw him kick the attacker in the wrist, just after he was stabbed. Whoever the man is, he'll have one blary great bruise at the wrist."

Ott looked at her with something like admiration. He folded his smoking jacket over his arm. "You're quite right, Lady Thasha. In fact, that point had not escaped my notice. And relying on your perfect discretion, I will tell you this: we have found four men aboard with such injuries. Two are common sailors, who say they were injured aloft-struck by blocks or cable-ends. The other two are steerage passengers. All four are being held and questioned, but I already have a good idea of the guilty party. His name does not matter, but his own wife admits the man is a deathsmoker, and such addicts will kill for a few cockles to buy their next pipe. Oh yes, there's deathsmoke down in steerage, m'lady, and matches, too. Of course, fire is forbidden-but what are ship's rules to one who will stab an innocent man?" "But… don't third-class passengers get locked in at night?" "Indeed they do," said Ott. "And no one recalls seeing this man return to steerage at nightfall."

"So he hid somewhere else in the ship, and waited?" "Exactly so. And the smell of the drug was everywhere about him." Thasha took a deep breath. A deathsmoker! Pazel's fears, and her own, began to seem far-fetched. And yet Ramachni knew a conspiracy was under way, an evil mage awaiting his moment to strike. And then there were Hercуl's own fears, the man killed in her garden, the Red Wolf…

"Of course, we will take no chances," said Ott. "None of the suspects will leave our sight for a moment, from here to the port of Uturphe."

"By Uturphe, Hercуl may be dead."

Ott was silent a moment. "Perhaps," he said. "But I have seen more wounds than anyone should in a single lifetime. I'm a fair judge of death's approach. Your Hercуl has a warrior's toughness, m'lady. For what it's worth, I expect him to live."

Ott's words made something snap inside her. She found herself shaking. "I'm sorry," she said. "I've been terrified for him. All along. I'm not used to fear, but now I'm sick with it for his sake."

"All along?" Ott asked gently, eyebrows knitting. "Before the attack as well?"

Thasha nodded. A moment later it burst from her: "I don't trust Syrarys. I never have. I can't tell my father-he's too much in love with her to listen. I don't know what to do."

"Dear lady!" said Ott, taking her arm. "I think you know exactly what to do, for you have just done it. You have told me your fears."

"Should I have?" she asked softly. "I mean, I hardly know you."

"But I have known you all your life-from a distance. No favorite of His Supremacy is without a guardian officer like myself. When Admiral Isiq married your esteemed mother, I guarded the outer temple. When she died, I stood watch at the cemetery."

Thasha looked at him in astonishment. "You… were there?"

"When you were born," said Ott, "my guard company built the summerhouse that stands in your garden, as a token of the Emperor's affection. Your mother loved that garden. What a tragedy she enjoyed it so briefly."

A lump swelled in Thasha's throat. This old man had protected them her whole life, and never asked for a thank-you. "But why did you stop guarding us?" she said.

"I received new orders," he said. "When you get to be as old as I am, your Emperor must consider how he will replace you. I was given the honor of training a new generation of the Imperial Guard. You were but five or six. Now that training is complete, and in his generosity the Emperor has allowed me to protect his favorite admiral-and new ambassador-one last time."

"Was it you who shot that man in my garden, then?"

Ott shook his head, pursing his lips with regret. "Merely a man who works for me. The intruder should have been kept alive, and questioned. But my man feared for your safety."

How could he, Thasha wondered, with Jorl and Suzyt holding that ragged stranger in their teeth? But before she could ask, she noticed Ott glancing up and down the passage. Certain they were alone, he reached into his pocket and drew out-

"My necklace!" Thasha cried. "Commander! How in the world did you get it?"

"I'm old, Lady, but still quick." Ott grinned and raised a sleeve: there was a fresh, deep scratch on his forearm. "That Sniraga is a hell-cat, but I caught her tail and spanked her till she howled, and made her let go of this pretty thing. I knew it from your mother's neck, you see. Won't you let me fasten it anew?"

Thasha turned and lifted her hair. "I'll never let it out of my sight again," she said as Ott sealed the clasp. "Oh, Commander, thank you! My father said you were a good man, but I had no idea."

"You flatter me, Lady. But I should prefer your trust. For your father's sake, tell me all that troubles you about the Lady Syrarys. Hold nothing back, I beseech you."

So Thasha did. Once she began to speak, she realized how little she actually knew for certain. Syrarys had pretended to love Thasha as a girl, and discarded her once her place in the household was secure. She had pretended to miss Thasha when she vanished into the Lorg, pretended to be worried about her father's health (why had no doctor besides Chadfallow ever come to see him?), pretended to want nothing from life but a place at his side.

"But it's not true. She wants much more. And now she pretends to visit the powder room each night after dinner, but doesn't. She's going somewhere else."

"Tonight, for instance?" said Ott.

"Tonight she did go," admitted Thasha unhappily.

"Ah," said Ott.

"You think I'm a fool."

Ott shook his head. "On the contrary. I am humbled by your insight."

"Don't say that unless you mean it," she pleaded. "Commander Nagan, this isn't the babble of a jealous daughter. Promise me you'll take this seriously!"

Sandor Ott took her hand. "Forty-eight years have I served the Ametrine Throne," he said. "I was just your age when I took the oath, at the feet of His Supremacy's grandfather. Mind and marrow, bone and blood, to strive till my hand drop the sword and my soul leave the flesh. For Arqual, her glory and gain. Believe me, Lady Thasha: I take nothing more seriously than that."