The Red wolf conspiracy

From the secret journal of G. Starling Fiffengurt, Quartermaster

Friday, 6 Teala. The most horrible day of my life. Is all the world gone mad? Nay, it has long been so; I just had no eyes to see it.

Fell asleep last night still jotting down all that transpired at the governor's table. Frightening enough, especially the attempt on Lady Oggosk's life, amp; the outlandish things Pathkendle amp; Lady Thasha shouted at the end. But those events were nothing.

As Mr. Hercуl predicted, the remaining five of Ambassador Isiq's "honor guards"-all Ott's men-somehow received a signal from their master, amp; fled the ship before we returned. We informed the palace, amp; left it at that. We departed Ormael with the sunrise, making eight knots on an honest easterly.

Not a league out of Ormael port, however, a sloop came up behind us with two red pennants on her foremast: grave tidings. We heeled round, amp; in minutes the little ship was alongside.

Such awful news: the governor's whole palace struck down with talking fever! Fifty guards, servants, cooks, groundskeepers- amp; of course the governor, his wife amp; eight children. All babbling amp; foaming at the mouth. The palace was sealed tight-no one allowed in, or out. But there was worse. The Lady Syrarys, dead! Out of her mind with fever or remorse at her own evil acts, she hurled herself from her prison tower into the sea. The body is yet to be found: it seems she was in chains, amp; the iron bore her to the depths. Mistress Thasha amp; her father are still weeping, even though the woman betrayed them. Love is such a pitiless thing.

But surely the fever threatened Chathrand, too? After all, we dined with them night after night. Dr. Chadfallow bellowed questions to the sloop's commander, amp; soon believed his report: talking fever, without a doubt. Then came the only good news of the day. Turning to us, he said we had nothing to fear. "Talking fever strikes instantly, if it strikes at all," he said. "We are none of us infected."

He refused to return to Ormael, but gave strict orders for the treatment of the sick. "Millet and prunes! Nothing else for a fortnight! And send word to me in Simja of their condition!"

Rattled, we took the Chathrand on. We did not fall sick: thank the Gods the doctor was right. But I declare this ship is changed since Ormael. For the first time, a report of a fight between the Plapp's Pier amp; Burnscove Boys. Not a big fight, but as a taste of things to come it could not be worse: in Ether-horde, the two gangs never break a truce without eventually going to war.

The first-class passengers have locked themselves behind the Money Gate, afraid of the fever despite the doctor's words. And the sudden return of the ex-tarboys, Pathkendle amp; Undrabust, has set tongues wagging on every deck.

It is no secret that they amp; Lady Thasha had some adventure along the Haunted Coast amp; that the doctor amp; Mr. Hercуl rescued 'em. This scares the men half to death. A mob of sailors stopped the boys on the pier amp; emptied their pockets, asking if they had any trinkets from the Coast. Nothing at all, they replied-but Pathkendle said this while pinching the skin of his collarbone amp; staring off into the distance, like a man missing his sweetheart. Of course, I knew who she must be-the somber little sponge-diver girl, Marila-but it was a weird look all the same amp; the men were hellish disturbed.

No one searched the rich folk, naturally, amp; that was how the trouble began. Hercуl came aboard this morning with only his sword amp; a shoulder-bag, but the good doctor arrived with a crate. It was no larger than a pushcart, but it took nine strong stevedores to wrestle it up the gangplank. Was it full of lead? Chadfallow gave no sign. "To my quarters with that!" he ordered, directing them.

But as they set foot on deck, we all heard it: a man's voice, far away, roaring. It seemed to come from the lower timbers of the Chathrand itself. It was the voice of a madman-wicked, murderous amp; joyful at once:

"Give it to me! Give it to me! Give it to me!"

We all froze. All except Pazel Pathkendle, who ran up to Chadfallow amp; caught his sleeve. "You can hear him! I know you can! Please, Ignus-"

The doctor turned amp; shoved him so hard the boy fell to the deck. Pathkendle jumped up amp; turned to us, pointing.

"You heard him! All of you heard him!"

But had we? The voice was silent now, amp; the sailors made the sign of the Tree amp; ran about their business. And Rin forgive me, so did I. Was ever a man given a plainer choice of bravery or skunkish fear? I chose fear, amp; whatever follows now I shall blame myself.

Later in the morning I crossed paths with the boys again. Pazel Pathkendle had a fresh black eye. "What leprous dog gave you that?" I demanded. "Who's next off this ship?"

They hung their heads. "Rose," whispered Pathkendle at last. "He said it was my last warning."

Then my shame grew stronger. I took a deep breath amp; marched to the captain's door. I knocked. In a heartbeat Rose threw the door open.

"What is it?" cried he. "Danger, Fiffengurt? I heard no cry. Are we beset? Tell me, tell me, blast you!"

When I stammered out that I had come to learn the reason for the beating of one of my tarboys (for the Code bars even a captain from striking a boy in the absence of witnesses), he looked at me as if I were mad.

"Pazel Pathkendle," he said, "is the most dangerous person on this ship. I shouldn't have smacked him-I should have put a knife in his gut. Look out!"

He flinched, staring wildly past my shoulder. I jumped half out of my skin amp; turned about: nothing. Rose slammed the door behind me.

I cleared my throat. "I won't stand for this, Captain," I shouted, not very boldly, though. He made no answer, amp; I turned amp; descended the ladderway, down amp; down, to the afterhold, seeking that mysterious voice. The augrongs were there, half dozing as always, amp; a fair number of enormous rats. But no strange men. I worked my way forward, searching for anything unusual. I was startled by how well stocked we were-enough grain amp; hardtack amp; beef chips to see us home to Etherhorde, with food to spare. Had it all been laid away in Ormael, while I was out looking for the Lady Thasha? I made a point to question Swellows.

So there I was, moving aft, when who should appear before me but that cripple-footed rat! He sat there on his haunches, waiting for me.

"Git, you!" I shouted, looking for something to throw.

And save me, Rin, the beggar answered, "No, Mr. Fiffengurt."

I nearly dropped the lamp. "You can talk!" I whispered.

Ratty just nodded, like I needn't state the obvious. Which I promptly did again.

"My name is Felthrup Stargraven," said Ratty. "You rescued me from the bilge-pipe. I am in your debt forever."

"By the buddin' branch of the blary beautiful Tree!"

"I should love to make conversation," Ratty tells me. "Nothing more so! But I am fleeing a monster. Will you kindly examine the goods stowed by the mizzenmast step?"

"You can talk!"

"Goodbye, Mr. Fiffengurt. I thank you for your idrolos, and for my life."

He turned amp; limped off into the darkness. At the edge of my lamplight, he pulled up short amp; looked back at me. "By the way," he squeaks, "everything they told you is true."

Then he was gone. And a second later Sniraga rushed past my legs. I chased after her-what if I heard 'im plead for mercy in her mouth? But she was gone in the darkness, same as Ratty.

My Annabel likes that word, idrolos. The courage to see. I stood there, worried my brain had sprung a leak. Then I made my way to the mizzenmast step.

The hold of Chathrand is like the basement of a castle. It has rooms amp; shafts, catwalks amp; tunnels. It takes a solid week just to count what's stored down there. Naturally we carry enough wood for any repairs the Great Ship might require. There's spare mastwood, wales, planking, transom knees. A spare bowsprit. Even a lump of oak for carving a new Goose-Girl, should we lose Her Ladyship. But when I crept down to the foot of the mizzenmast I found timbers that had nothing to do with repairs. They were broken, smashed amp; filthy Twisted bolts amp; snapped cleats amp; bits of rigging trailed from 'em. Some of the wood was even burned.

"Gods of fire!" I said. "It's parts of a wreck!"

But what wreck? It hadn't come from the Haunted Coast-these pieces were stowed under goods we'd taken on in Ether-horde. We'd carried this trash for months! Huge timbers, too: some of the largest I'd ever seen-except for what the Chathrand herself is made of. And what for pity's sake was it good for? Nothing at all, so far as I could see, except tossing over the side…

'Twas then I heard a rustling behind me. "Come out, whoever the blary hell you are!" I growled, spinning round. "Fiffengurt's not afraid of you!"

No one came. But now I was facing a broken beam with a copper faceplate. IMS CHATHRAND, it read. CAPTAIN'S DAY-CABIN. STRICTLY PRIVATE.

I felt a cold, murthy hand on my heart. I looked further: there was a cabin door with the Chathrand Family coat of arms. Tattered sailcloth with CHATHRAND sewn into the hem. A Chathrand life preserver, snapped in two.

This is wickedness, I thought. This is evil from the Pits.

It was our own wreck I was looking at. A simulation of it, I mean: about as much as would wash up ashore, if we wrecked nearby. Tossing over the side was exactly what this junk would be good for.

I had to sit down. Someone needed the world to think us wrecked. Someone meant Chathrand to disappear.

Ratty's voice echoed in my brain: Everything they told you is true. And the lad amp; Mistress Thasha had said we would be crossing the Nelluroq with (Rin help us) the Shaggat Ness aboard. And that his mage was alive amp; behind it all. And that the Emperor wanted war.

My knees were shaking. Who could I tell? Who could I trust, out of eight hundred souls? Only two tarboys, a rich girl amp; a rat.

Do something, Fiffengurt, I told myself. Trust someone. Form a gang. Take the ship away from Rose.

I sat down with the lamp between my feet. I let five minutes pass, then five more. And then it was too late.

"Man adrift! Man adrift! Two points off the starboard bow!"

The voices reached me faintly. I thought, What now, blast it, how can things get any-*

* At this point Mr. Fiffengurt's journal is torn in two: the remaining pages are lost.-EDITOR.