Mad Ship tlt-2

by Robin Hobb

  The damage was immense. The domed ceiling had given way in two places, dumping wet earth in mounds onto the floor. Roots dangled down beside the hanging fragments of crystal panes. He saw no sign of Malta. Hand trailing on the light bar, he made a slow circuit of the room. When he came to the first fallen panel with its mechanisms inside it, he felt ill. Here was what he had known must exist. He had searched for it so long, only to have the random violence of the quake reveal it. When he reached the second panel, he scowled. He lit another candle for himself, to confirm what he already knew. Human hands had dug out the packed earth from around these mechanisms. A few small muddy footprints could be clearly seen within the glow of the candle. She had been here.

  "Malta!" he called, but there was no reply.

  In the center of the room, the immense log of wizardwood was a contained silence. He longed to know what the dragon knew, but to touch the wood would be to give himself back to her power. The leash she had had on him had been snapped. Soon the earth would collapse on her, burying her, and he would be free of her forever. She could not seize him if he did not touch the wood. She had only been able to reach Malta's mind through his.

  "Malta!" he called again, far louder. His voice, which once would have rung in this chamber, was swallowed and damped by the wet earth.

  "Did you find her?" Selden called anxiously from the door.

  "Not yet. But I will."

  Dread was in the boy's voice as he called out, "There's water coming. From under the wall. It will run down the steps soon."

  Earth might press, but water devoured. With an angry roar, Reyn charged at the log of silent wood. He slammed his hands flat onto it. "Where is she?" he demanded. "Where is she?"

  The dragon laughed. Her laughter boomed through his mind, slamming him with familiar pain. She was back, back in his head. He was sickened by what he had done, but knew he had had no choice.

  "Where is Malta?"

  "Not here." Insufferable smugness.

  "I know that, damn you. Where is she? I know you are linked with her, I know that you know."

  She gave him a faint waft of Malta, like waving a bit of meat above a dog's nose. He sensed her through the dragon. He felt her exhaustion, and knew the leaden ache of her sleep.

  "This city cannot stand much longer. It is going to collapse. If you don't help me find her and get her out, she'll die."

  "How excited you are about that! Yet it never seemed to bother you that that was my eventual fate."

  "That's not true. Damn you, dragon, you know that is not true. I have agonized over your fate; I have begged and pleaded with my kind to help you. Through the years of my youth, I near worshipped you. There was not a day I did not come to you. I did not try to escape you until you turned against me."

  "Yet you were never willing to surrender to me. A pity. You could have learned all the secrets of the city in a single night. As Malta did."

  His heart stood still in him. "You drowned her," he said flatly. "You drowned her in the city's memories."

  "She dove into them, most willingly. From the moment she entered the city, she was far more open to it than any other I have encountered. She dove and she swam. And she tried to save me. For your sake and the sake of her father.

  You were the price I was to pay, Reyn. I was to leave you in peace forever in exchange for her freeing me. A pity for you that she did not succeed."

  "The water is coming faster, Reyn!" The boy's shrill voice broke into the dialogue in his mind. Reyn turned to look at him. The candle illuminated his small gray face. He stood on the steps, just inside the door. The water flowed past his feet in a sheet and cascaded silently down the broad shallow stairs. It reflected the light of the boy's candle with an eerie beauty. Death gleamed in the darkness.

  He smiled sickly at the little boy. "It will be all right," he lied ruthlessly. "Come here, Selden. There is a last thing for us to do, you and I. Then we'll be finished here."

  He took the boy's gritty hand in his. Wherever Malta slept in the city, she slept her last sleep. The sheeting water told him all. It would all be over far more swiftly than he had ever feared.

  He turned his back on the wizardwood log. He led Selden to the first panel on the wall. He fixed the candle to the wall with a bit of wax, then smiled at the boy in the darkness. "There's a great big door here. All we have to do, you and I, is open it. A lot of dirt will come down with it, as it opens. Don't be afraid. Once we get these cranks to turn, we just have to keep turning them. No matter what. Can you do that?"

  "I guess so," the boy replied dubiously. He could not seem to take his eyes off the water.

  "Let me try this one first. I'll let you have whichever one is easier to turn."

  Reyn set his hands to the crank. He bore down on it with all his weight. It did not move. Remorselessly, he took a claw tool from his belt. He struck the main shaft of the crank mechanism several times, then tried his strength against it again. It resisted for a moment, then slowly the wheel turned, grating past some coarseness in its works. It would turn, but it would be hard work for the boy. Reyn took a pry bar from his belt and shoved it through the spokes of the crank. "You work it like this. Stick it through a spoke, brace it against this thing and then pull down. Try it."

  Selden was able to move the wheel a notch. Reyn heard the thud of the counterweight inside the wall. He smiled with satisfaction. "Good. Now move the bar to the next spoke and get a fresh bight on it. That's right."

  When he was content that the boy had the knack of it, he left him there and moved to the other panel. He worked quickly to clear more of the soil away from the workings. He refused to think about the results of what he was doing. He focused instead on how he would accomplish it.

  "What are you doing?" The dragon's voice was soft in his mind.

  He laughed aloud. "You know what I'm doing," he muttered to her. "You know every thought in my head. Don't give me doubts now."

  "I don't know everything about you, Reyn Khuprus. I never foresaw that you might do this. Why?"

  He roared with laughter this time. He pitied Selden. The poor boy stared at him in wonder, but feared to ask what was wrong or even to whom he spoke. "I love you. I love the city, and for me you have always been the heart of the city. I love you and so I strive to save what I can of it. What might survive."

  "You believe you will die if you turn the crank. You and the boy both."

  He nodded to himself. "Yes. But it will be more quickly than if we wait and let the water eat out the walls and bring them down on us."

  "Can't you go back the way you came?"

  "Do you seek to dissuade me from what you have begged me to do for years?" he asked her in amusement. Then he answered her question. "The way back is already gone. The Satrap's chamber was oozing water. That door is only wood. It could not hold. I suspect it is the source of the water that flows in even now. I am done, dragon, and the boy with me. However, if we collapse the ceiling, some light may break through. If it does, then you may survive us. If not, then we will all be buried together."

  He waited in vain for her reply. When it came, it surprised him. She left him. There was no lingering aura of gratitude, not even a farewell. She was simply gone.

  He rapped the shaft sharply with his claw tool. He set his hands to the crank. He suspected that once the counterweights in the wall started moving, the momentum might take over. Or perhaps the wheel would turn no more than a notch or two. He would not think of that. Slow death alone he might be able to face. Slow death with a young boy at his side would be torture eternal. He shoved the claw tool through the spokes of the wheel and braced it. He looked at Selden. The whites of the boy's fearful eyes gleamed in the candlelight. "Now!" he told him.

  They leaned on the bars. The wheels turned grudgingly, but they turned. The door groaned warningly. Move the bar up a spoke, lean. Move the bar up a spoke, lean on it again. Reyn heard the counterweights shifting inside the wall. Surely by now something should suddenly take over the work o
f the task. He wondered how many barrows full of earth were pressed up against the door. It had settled solidly for years; how many, no one knew. How could he even imagine that he could open it, let alone that the earth would break in and light shine through? It was ridiculous. Move the bar up another spoke. Lean on it.

  Cruelly, the light bar suddenly sprang to life, illuminating the final destruction of the city. It lit up the spreading cracks across the murals and the gleaming water on the floor. For the first and last time in his life, Reyn got a fleeting glimpse of the true beauty of the room. He stared up in awe. As he looked, something cracked sharply, not in the door, but up overhead. Crystal shards of one of the great windows of the dome fell like great icicles. They shattered to dust on the floor of the chamber. A trickling of soil followed them. Nothing more.

  "Keep going, lad," Reyn encouraged Selden. In unison they moved their bars, and leaned on them. Another groaning notch.

  Suddenly, on Reyn's side of the door, there was a tremendous series of pops. Instinct sent him diving toward Selden as the door suddenly burst unevenly from its track. The edge of the door bowed in, a great vertical crack that reached from the floor to the top of the door. Suddenly the sagging and splitting spread from there. Like the shell of a dropped egg, the cracks spread out across the dome above. Crystal panes and plaster frescoes fell like rotten fruit from windswept trees. There was no place to escape the bombardment as the ceiling randomly surrendered to the weight of earth atop it.

  Reyn clutched the boy to him and hunched over him as if his paltry body could save him from the forces of the earth. The boy clung to him, too frightened to scream. One great intact panel of the ceiling fell with a crash. It landed against the wizardwood log and leaned there. Selden wriggled loose from his grip. "Under there. We should get under there!" Before he could clutch at him, the boy was racing across the chamber, dodging falling pieces of ceiling and heaps of debris on the floor. He scooted under the fallen ceiling piece.

  "The rising water will drown us there!" Reyn roared after him. Then he was following the boy's zigzag course, to scuttle into the dubious shelter of the leaning ceiling panel. The light bar failed. They plunged into darkness as the ceiling came down with a roar.

  She woke up because someone was nudging her in the back. "It's not funny, Selden! That hurts!" she snapped at him.

  She rolled over, fully intending to give him a good shaking. Suddenly the warmth and safety of her bedroom at home vanished. She was cold and stiff. Leaves crinkled under her cheek. The Satrap poked her again with his foot. "Get up!" he commanded her. "I see lights through the trees."

  "Kick me again, and you'll see lights with your eyes shut!" she snapped at him. He actually stepped back from the threat.

  It was evening. It was not quite dark enough for stars to show, but it was dark enough that the yellow gleam of lamplight showed well. Her heart lifted and sank simultaneously. They knew where to go now, but it seemed very far away. She stood slowly, easing her body to her feet. Everything hurt.

  "Did you find any oars?" she asked the Satrap.

  "I am not a servant," he pointed out coldly.

  She folded her arms on her chest. "Neither am I," she declared. She scowled to herself. It was going to be black as a tomb back in the collapsed boat-house. How could the Satrap, rightful ruler of all Jamaillia, be such a useless, stupid man? Her wandering eyes took in Kekki. The Companion was sitting hopefully in the boat. She looked like a dog expecting an outing. The water was so shallow that the boat had sunk to the bottom under her weight. Malta barely repressed a terrible urge to laugh. She looked back at the Satrap. He was staring at her severely. Then she did laugh. "I suppose the only way I'm going to be rid of you both is to take you back to Trehaug."

  "At which time, I will see you are punished appropriately for your lack of respect," the Satrap announced imperiously.

  She cocked her head at him. "Is that supposed to make me eager to take you back?"

  He was silent for a moment. Then he drew himself up. "If you act swiftly to obey me now, I shall take that into account when I judge you."

  "Will you?" she asked him archly. Then, suddenly, she wearied of the game. She walked away from him, back to the dark cave-like opening where the remains of the building projected from the earth. There was no part of her body that did not hurt. Her feet were bruised and sore, her knees and back ached as she crouched down to re-enter the ruins. She searched in the dark, by touch. She had no means of re-lighting the lantern they had carried. She found no oars, but did manage to pull loose some pieces of wood that might serve. Like the boats, they were cedar. They would not fit the oarlocks, but she could pole with one of them, she thought. As long as she kept to the shallows of the swamps, they would do. It would be hard work, but they could get back to Trehaug. Once there, she would have to confess all her foolishness. She would not think about that, not just yet.

  She frowned to herself, briefly, as she crawled out of the ruins dragging her boards. She had intended to do something. Something to do with the city, with boards like these. When she had left the city, she had had some firm, fixed purpose. She groped after it, but could only recall a dream from her afternoon's sleep. A dream of flying through darkness. She shook her head. It was most peculiar. It was not that she could not remember; the problem was that she remembered so much, she could not sort out what parts of it belonged to her. From the time she had entered the buried city, few of her actions seemed like something she would do.

  When she got back to the boat, she found both the Satrap and his Companion sitting in it. "You'll have to get out," she pointed out to them patiently. "We'll have to push the boat to deeper water before you can get in. Otherwise, it won't float."

  "Can't you just row us to deeper water?" Kekki asked plaintively. "No. I can't. The boat has to be floating before we can row it." As she waited for them to disembark, Malta reflected that she had never paused to think how much she knew simply by virtue of her upbringing. There was a lot to be said, after all, for being a Trader's daughter.

  It took some time in the twilight to find a place suitable to launch. Both Kekki and the Satrap seemed extremely uneasy with the rocking of the small vessel as they clambered down into it from a tree root. Malta directed one to each end and took the center. She would have to stand to pole the boat along. When she had been younger, she had had a little pram she had rowed about in the ornamental pond. This was very different from that. She wondered if she could do it. Then she lifted her eyes to the glimmering lights of Trehaug. She would make it. She knew it. She seized one end of her board and pushed the boat off.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  Paragon's Captain

  Two days had passed since the battle with the serpent. The ship had almost settled back into routine. Haff had attempted to return to his duties, but after an hour in the sun, he had fainted and nearly fallen from the rigging. His attitude toward Althea was markedly more deferential. The rest of the crew seemed to be following his example. Haff had not thanked her for saving his life, but she told herself she hadn't really expected that from him. It was, after all, part of her duties. She'd be content if he accepted that there were areas in which she was his better. She wondered idly which act had actually finally gained the men's respect: threatening to throw Artu overboard or standing up to the serpent. She still hurt all over, but if it had finally secured her berth as second, then it had been worth it.

  Brashen still looked terrible. The blisters on his face had broken and the skin was peeling. It made him look lined and old and weary. Or perhaps he actually felt that way. Brashen had summoned them to his cabin. Now, as Althea glanced from Lavoy to Amber to Brashen, she wondered why. His eyes were grave as he announced, "The crew seems to have finally settled into its duties. The ship is being run competently, though there is still room for everyone to sharpen up. Unfortunately, in the waters ahead, seamanship may not be as important as our ability to fight. We need to determine our expectations from the crew, in the event of
encountering pirates and serpents." He frowned and leaned back in his chair. Then he nodded at the table and the chairs surrounding it. A handful of canvas scraps was on one corner of the table. There was also a bottle of brandy and four glasses. "Please. Be seated." As they took their seats, he poured a jot of brandy into each glass. When all were settled, he offered them a toast. "To our success, thus far. And to our continued success."

  They drank together. Brashen leaned forward and rested his arms on the table. "Here is how I see things. The men know how to brawl. Believe it or not, that was one of the things I considered in hiring. But now they need to be taught how to battle. By that, I mean as a unified force, one that listens to commands even in the midst of danger. They need to know how to defend Paragon, as well as how to attack another ship intelligently. It can't be every man for himself. They have to trust the judgment of the officers. Haff learned the hard way that the ship's officers have reasons for their orders. I want to start training the men while that is still fresh in their minds."

  Brashen's eyes roamed the table and came to rest on Lavoy. "We discussed this when you were hired. It's time to begin training. I want some drill every day. The weather has been fine, the ship fair sails himself. Let's learn while we have leisure for it. I also want to see more cohesiveness in the crew. Some of the men still treat those who were formerly slaves as beneath them. I want that changed. There should be no sense of difference from man to man. They're all crewmen, no more, nor less."

  Lavoy was nodding. "I'll mix them up more. Up to now, I've let them pair up for work as they wanted. I'll start assigning work groups. They'll resist at first. There'll be a few broken heads before it's all settled."

  Brashen sighed. "I know. But try not to let them disable each other in the process of getting acquainted."