Quiet as shadows, the ixchel crawled down the pipe; Felthrup scurried behind them with a strange hopping sound. Only after fifty feet, where the pipe took a bend in a cable shaft far from human ears, did the odd threesome pause. They were as safe there as anywhere. Diadrelu struck a match and saw two black eyes gleaming next to her.
“But of course you're a rat,” she said.
Then she winced. The beast's left forepaw was hideously mangled. That explained the hopping. Felthrup saw her look and nodded.
“The price of living,” he said. “Four days I lay trapped in that pipe, m'lady. Clearing the dried blood with my teeth, so air might trickle in.”
“Your name,” said Diadrelu. “It sounds like a Noonfirth word.”
“How wise you are, Lady!” said Felthrup in delight. “For I am a Noonfirther, and the name I chose myself. The word means ‘tears.’ Do you know what a miracle tears are, Lord and Lady? Rats do not shed them: rats cannot grasp what they are for. And I was no different from any other beast in Pól Warren until the sunrise I tried to steal crumbs from a bakery. The fresh bread smelled so very tempting that morning, honeyed and butter-kissed—”
“Memories of the stomach,” said Talag. “Is that why you risked our deaths?”
“No, Lord Talag, but it is part of why you should not wish to kill me.”
“Tell your tale,” said Diadrelu. “But quickly, pray.”
Felthrup bowed. “It was still dark. By a broken window I leaped into the basement, then crept up the stairs and peeped into the bakery proper. There she stood! By the clay oven, her black face glowing by firelight. The first thing I saw was that she was alone. Always before her husband had worked beside her, but now he was gone. Why did I even notice? He had not taken the crumbs with him; there was plenty for me to eat. But somehow I could only stand there, watching, wondering. And the woman went into another room and returned with a painting of the two of them in wedding finery—how did I know, how?—and with a strange moan she threw the painting into the oven. Then she sat back on a stool. And cried!
“I saw her tears, cousins. And in that instant the great change occurred. I was shaken, terrified. I thought some parasite was erupting in my bowels. Yet it was not an affliction but a miracle: I had noticed tears. She was weeping for love and I understood it. And so much else, miracle after miracle! Her noise woke her little girls, they came thumping down from the loft—and suddenly, family! I grasped that, too! And names—she spoke their names, and I knew they were permanent names, not made up on the spot like wart-face and slop-head and other names used by rats. I sat there as the daylight grew, blind to my danger, hypnotized. She told them their father had run off with the butter-churn girl, and that they must all go to temple and pray that he quickly tired of that fat, faithless slut and came back to them. And then she pulled the picture from the oven and smothered the flames with her apron. But his head and feet were burned off already, and she cried to wake the dead. And I understood it all!”
Dri looked at her brother. “Are you satisfied, Talag? The rat is clearly woken. You tried to kill an innocent, thinking soul.”
Talag looked away. “Next it will be fleas,” he said. “And then barnacles, cabbages, scraps of wood. This ship is infested with freaks. In all history there has never been a truly woken rat. How was I to know this babbling thing possessed reason?”
“By using your own.”
“We are fighting for our lives,” said Talag. “That creature was a danger to our fort in Night Village. Three times he blundered about us, drawing attention, speaking aloud. And so far I've heard nothing about why.”
Felthrup looked at Talag. His nose twitched.
“Oh good and gracious Lord!” he said. “How you always return me to my purpose! I bow, I sigh, I wheeze my gratitude! Will you forgive me if—just to make things simpler, marvelous Talag—I once again call myself a rat?”
“Get on with it!” spat Talag.
“Then, as a rat—as a woken rat—I must tell you that I am not quite alone.”
“What!” cried Dri. “Do you mean that there is another woken rat aboard?”
“Yes, m'lady, just one. The only one I have ever met. He rules the warren, and he is thoroughly evil and depraved. His name is Master Mugstur.”
“Have you spoken with this creature?”
“Yes, m'lady, but I did not let him know I was awake. He would certainly have killed me, for he wants no rivals.”
“What does he want?” said Talag.
“He wants to eat the captain.”
There was a rather long pause.
“Specifically his tongue,” Felthrup continued. “The reason is simple enough. After he woke, Master Mugstur became religious, you see. He is a quite fanatical adherent to the Rinfaith—although his version of it is somewhat … what is the word? Homicidal? Yes, exactly! Oh, Lady Dri, do you know how I have dreamed of such enlightened conversation? A rat would say blary, bloody, munchy, delicious—never homicidal! I am the luckiest being alive!”
“Felthrup,” said Dri.
“Yes, yes! Forgive me! The point is, Captain Rose has also declared himself a believer, but he is only pretending. He takes meals with Brother Bolutu and has the man set him lessons from the Ninety Rules, but he never studies them: the old witch Oggosk answers all the questions. He says he will retire to a life of quiet prayer on Rappopolni, when in fact the Emperor has already promised him governorship of the Quezans, and many slave-wives, and a royal title. This has infuriated Master Mugstur, who will allow no one to disrespect the faith.”
“Skies of Fire!” said Talag. “Rose is to govern the Quezans? He must be doing something unspeakable for the Crown!”
“We know he is,” said Dri. “But what does this Mugstur imagine he can do about it?”
“Eat his tongue,” said Felthrup. “It is his fate to kill Rose, he thinks. My miracle was tears; Master Mugstur's was betrayal. He watched a man selling Nunekkam emeralds to a jeweler. ‘These are splendid!’ said the jeweler. ‘How did you come by them?’ ‘Oh, the Nunek gave them to me!’ The other laughed. ‘He needed them sent to his granddaughter in Sorhn, as a wedding gift. It's been planned for three years, that wedding. And for three years I've made it a point to be that Nunek's best friend. So when I happened to tell him I was traveling to Sorhn on business, he asked me to deliver them to the bride. Said he would trust no one else, ha ha!’”
“Very rat-like,” said Talag.
“Not at all rat-like, Majestic Lord,” said Felthrup. “Normal rats may lie to one another, or jump out of shadows and bite. But betray they cannot, for betrayal is not possible without trust, and rats never trust. They do not understand the word.”
“He woke at that moment, as you woke in the bakery?” asked Dri.
“He did, Lady, and his waking frightened him half to death. He ran all night in the streets, and just before dawn took refuge in a temple, where the droning of the monks and the burning incense put him into a state of religious fervor, and the Angel of Rin descended from the rafters and told him his fate. He would find his way to a great mansion that moved, the Angel said, and rule its depths, while a false priest ruled above. And one day he would kill that priest and devour the part of him that lied. And in that moment a thousand eyes would open.”
“Rose is the false priest, then,” said Dri, “and his tongue is the lying part of him. But what of the thousand eyes?”
“I do not know. Master Mugstur only speaks of his prophecy because he thinks we are all normal rats, sleepwalkers, and will not remember it anyway. But he is determined to punish Rose for pretending to believe. No matter what it takes.”
“What will he try? Sabotage?”
“My lady, he would sink the ship if the Angel wished it. Or try in any case: I doubt he could manage anything so grand.”
“He could destroy us nonetheless,” said Talag. “If his mischief irritates the giants sufficiently they will gas the ship with sulphur. Every rat aboard will be killed or driven out. An
d every last ixchel.”
“There will still be one,” said Felthrup. “A prisoner by the name of Steldak.”
“An ixchel prisoner!” cried Talag. “But he is not of our clan! Who is he? Where are the giants keeping him?”
“I don't know, Lord Talag. I only know that he is kept in a tiny cage and forced to taste the giants' food, in case there should be poison. He is said to be the most miserable of beings.”
Talag looked at Dri, rage contorting his face. “All over, sister? All in the past? How can you be so blind? While you talk of fairness the giants keep us in cages yet, and torture us for sport. Why speak of peace with these animals?”
“Some try to build peace,” said Diadrelu. “Some make it their goal in life.”
“Like our good Captain Rose, and his peaceable mission to the west.”
“How wry, Lord Talag!” said Felthrup, happy again. “For the Chathrand's mission is black indeed. I know it all: a most, most … calamitous plan. That's the word! Shall I tell you?”
Before they could answer, noises echoed down the pipe: far-off human footfalls, a squeak of metal. A sudden breeze swept past them.
“The drain has opened!” said Dri.
“The storm must be rising!” Talag raised his head, listening. “Brace yourselves—here it comes!”
“It?” said Felthrup.
A great gush of stormwater barreled into them. Felthrup squealed piercingly—drowning of one sort or another was his deepest fear, after all—but in truth he was not in much danger. Dri, however, was knocked off her feet. She was lighter than Talag (and barely half Felthrup's weight), and the water bore her down the pipe like a twig. Her brother could not reach her, but Felthrup saw her and recovered himself. As she swept by he caught her shirt with a nimble snap of his jaws, and held fast. Ten seconds later the gush of water subsided. Diadrelu put a hand on his cheek in silent thanks.
Soaked and chilly, they descended the last length of pipe to the ixchel's escape hatch. Here Talag paused and faced the rat.
“We owe you our thanks,” he said gruffly, “for your courage, and your warnings. Now we know that it will be necessary to kill this Master Mugstur.”
“That may be harder than you imagine, Lord,” said Felthrup.
Talag actually smiled. “We shall see about that. Come! My cooks will feed you something better than rat-scrabble. And you will share what you know of Chathrand's true mission.”
They pulled themselves up through the hatch and into a dim triangular chamber. This was the canvas room, in the back of the tailor's nook, a cramped compartment piled floor to ceiling with pennant silks, tarpaulins and huge bolts of white, flaxen, nearly indestructible sailcloth. They were on a wide shelf about five feet above the floor.
Somewhere in the outer compartment the tailor was humming a flat little tune beneath his swaying lamp. Diadrelu squeezed the water from her shirt.
“Felthrup,” she said, “how did you learn about the ixchel prisoner?”
“And the mission of the Chathrand, for that matter?” put in Talag.
“The same way he learned about this tunnel of yours, crawly,” said a low, rasping voice overhead. “I told him.”
The two ixchel flew like arrows, dodging, rolling, drawing their swords even before they regained their feet. They were not a moment too soon. Five enormous rats pounced on the spot where they had stood a split second before, knocking Felthrup aside like a bowling pin.
“Hold that door!” snapped the voice. “Two die for every crawly who escapes!”
Out of the mounds of sailcloth they came, dozens of rats of all shapes and sizes and hues. Many squirmed about the doorway. Others appeared at both ends of the shelf and advanced toward Dri and Talag, white teeth snapping.
“Well done, Felthrup!” said the rasping voice. “I am glad of your service.”
On the shelf above them appeared the largest rat Diadrelu had ever seen. He slouched forward to examine them, attended on either side by formidable guards. He was stark white with purplish eyes that bulged like overripe grapes. The hair had fallen or been worn away from his head and underside, revealing long scars and thick rolls of fat. But despite his belly dragging in the dust it was clear he was immensely strong.
Felthrup gazed at him with loathing. “I do not serve you!” he cried.
“Of course you do,” said the big rat. “All rats on this ship serve Master Mugstur, just as he serves our holy Emperor in the Keep of Five Domes, and through him the Angel Most High. I'm not surprised you kept it from these two, of course. Yes, it was very well done. They were so caught up with your chatter they did not even notice the missing guard.”
Dri and Talag exchanged looks. It was true: an ixchel guard should have been standing by at the mouth of the escape hatch. The rats snickered, and several of the biggest licked their lips.
“Lies!” screamed Felthrup. “You told me nothing! It was the bird, the moon falcon, who told me what I know! I hate you! I would never do your bidding!”
Master Mugstur shook his head slowly. “Lying is a sin,” he said.
There were now a hundred or more sleek, strong rats crowded together in the nook, all watching the ixchel.
“Lady! Lord Talag!” squeaked Felthrup. “Don't listen! Run back up the pipe!”
Master Mugstur laughed. “By all means, do! One way leads to the sea; the other to the clerk on his stool. And we shall follow close behind you.”
Talag caught Dri's eye a second time. With the greatest caution he signaled her: two fingers on his sword-hilt and a lifted shoulder. Dri answered with the tiniest nod.
“Tell them the truth ere they die, Felthrup,” said Master Mugstur. “They tried to kill you, brother! Why shouldn't you lead them into my trap?”
“Monster! Fiend!” Felthrup was hopping up and down on his three good legs, tearful and snarling at once. “You used me to trap them! You followed me!”
“Where is our kinsman, the one we left on guard here?” Talag demanded.
For an answer the big rat spat at one of his aides. There was a shuffling noise above and then something ragged fell onto the shelf in front of them.
It was the hand of an ixchel, nibbled almost to the bone.
“Rats of Chathrand,” said Master Mugstur, “you heard the crawlies' words: they planned to kill me, as they tried to kill Brother Felthrup. But thanks to my agent's courage and the mercy of Rin, their wickedness ends here. Let us pray before we dine.”
Mugstur raised one long-nailed paw. The rats grew still.
And the ixchel sprang.
Talag leaped straight up, grabbed the lip of the shelf above him and swung onto it. Even as he landed he beheaded the rat lurching toward him, jumped over the corpse and slit the throat of another. Dri meanwhile ran up the side of a heap of sailcloth. The mound tipped, and as it did so she leaped high into the air and landed on the shelf beside her brother.
When ixchel train together, the battle-dance they learn becomes so quick and flawless it seems almost like mind-reading, and Dri and Talag had trained as a pair from birth. Not even a glance was needed for Dri to fall to hands and knees, and then push with all her might when she felt Talag's foot upon her shoulder. In this way she helped him sail over the heads of five rats and land upon the back of one of the two great bodyguards of Mugstur himself. The beast rolled and struck, but only succeeded in helping Talag to chop off both its forepaws with one swing. When the second rat-guard snapped at his leg, Talag did not even look: he had seen Dri move from the corner of his eye. The rat died with her throwing-knife in its skull before it could tighten its jaws.
About six seconds had passed.
But there were more rats now. They came on with idiot fury, biting at Talag and Dri as Mugstur fell back, roaring. The ixchel pressed after him, spinning like lethal tops through a spray of blood and fur. Then came a great crash as something heavy, a toolbox or a pair of sail-shears, crashed from a high shelf to the ground. Twenty feet away they heard the tailor bellow, “Ho there! W
hat moves?” Lamplight swung toward the room.
The ixchel were fortunate. Mugstur had ordered so many rats to guard the door that they could not all hide themselves before the tailor arrived. One rat would have startled him; dozens made him erupt in an incoherent yowl. As he stomped and cursed at the fleeing rats, Dri and Talag slid down one side of the door frame and escaped the room.
Neither had been so much as scratched. But what of Felthrup? Dri risked one backward glance: she could see no trace of him among the living or the dead.
Bad Manners
6 Modoli 941
54th day from Etherhorde
The tailor never reported the incident.
Rats in his corner of the ship could only be explained by one thing: food. No sailor was allowed to store food of any sort in his work area—and Rose, as the tailor well knew, hated hoarders above all things. A famous story involved a sailor on lookout who had once taken three apples with him to the crow's nest. Rose found out inside an hour, docked him a week's pay and forbade the crew from addressing him by any name but hog for the rest of the voyage. He had noticed an apple seed on the deck.
The tailor had no doubt that someone had brought food into the canvas room, and he delivered a blistering warning to the tarboys on the evening watch.
“Get this into your brains right now: food means crumbs. Crumbs mean rats. Rats mean nests and nibblin'. You want holes in the sails when a storm blows up, or when pirates have us in their sights?”
Among these boys was Jervik. He was angry at being assigned to what he called girly work and behaved with extra savagery the next morning at breakfast.
“What you know about sailing ain't worth a gull's thin spit,” he told the boys at his table. “Food in the canvas room! Who did it? Speak up, you useless ninnies! You!” He pointed at Reyast. “Always the slowest eater! I'll bet you slipped leftovers into your pockets and munched 'em on the sly.”
“L-l-leftovers? N-n-n-n—”
The Red Wolf Conspiracy Page 28
