Behind him, the mob wailed in their thousands. Soon the youngest would catch up, shout their sympathies, get in his way. He broke into a cautious run. Misery it seemed, like fury, could give one strength.
I've lost my girl. Lost her mother twelve years before. Lost Syrarys — she was ever my foe but I possessed her body, her hands, possessed a lovely illusion. Even that they have taken from me. But not this body, you bastards, you filth. Not this mind pitted against you for ever.
He was thinking of his Emperor, and Rose, and above all Sandor Ott. Arunis might have killed Thasha, but Ott had spun the web in which the sorcerer found her, hopelessly tangled. Arunis had come out of nowhere; Ott had shadowed Isiq for years, disguised as an honour guardsman.
By the Gods, it felt good to run again. The road burned the soles of his feet and each slap said, You live, you can act, you have nothing left to fear.
He saw now what he had to do. Thasha's sacrifice meant the prophecy was annulled: no stirrings of revolution would begin on Gurishal, no preparations for the return of their god. But the Shaggat remained. So did the will to make him flesh again. Above all, so did the Nilstone.
Which meant that some other vessel would have to bear his daughter home: the Chathrand must never leave this port. And there was only one power in the Bay of Simja that could stop it. For all their show of guns, the Mzithrini ships would never dare to act against an Arquali vessel. Not here anyway, before the eyes of the world. But King Oshiram would have every right. Simja's navy might be a pitiful thing, but ten or twelve warships were surely enough to hold the Chathrand, immense as she was. You never dreamed I would go this far. You have counted on my blind love of Arqual, my soldier's oath. You will regret it.
Thasha's body passed through the North Gate, and Isiq was but minutes behind. The flower-collectors pointed the way. He would be mortally sick with fatigue when this task was done. But done it would be, and let the night come after.
'Your Excellency!'
He raised his eyes: a dark two-horse carriage was pulling up to the corner. The driver reined the animals in, but it was not he who had called to Isiq. On the seat beside the man sat the same well-dressed youth who had approached Hercol in the procession.
'Your valet bid me fetch you a carriage, sir.'
'Kind… not necessary…' Isiq found he could barely speak.
'Bless me, sir, you're unshod!'
The young man leaped down, ran to Isiq and took his arm. By the time they reached the corner the driver had opened the door and placed the footstool. The inside of the carriage was plush and empty. Isiq paused and stared at the boy.
'Who-?'
'Greysan Fulbreech, Ambassador. King's clerk, and your humble servant. Come, we shall reach the port in no time.'
He whipped a fresh handkerchief from his pocket and offered it to Isiq. The admiral mopped the sweat from his bald head and entered the carriage. A moment later the driver cracked his whip and they were off, and at startling speed.
But why were they turning? He was quite sure the port lay dead ahead. Isiq groped at the door and found no handle to open. He reached for the window: barred. Then he felt the handkerchief, still clutched in his fingers, yanked roughly through the bars. As the horses charged ahead he saw the Fulbreech boy on the streetcorner, waving goodbye.
The joyful whines of the mastiffs turned to whimpers: their mistress had not stirred to greet them. Jorl nudged Thasha's chin with his muzzle. Suzyt padded in breathless circles as the party crossed the stateroom.
'Quickly, now,' said Hercol.
They laid her on the bench under the tall gallery windows. Hercol opened the cabinet beneath the bench and reached inside, and when his hand emerged it held a naked sword. Pazel had seen Hercol's sword before — seen it dark with blood, and awhirl in fights — but he had never beheld it this closely. The blade was dark and cruel, and nicked in two places. A flowing script ran up the steel, but the years had worn the engraving almost to nothing.
Hercol noticed his look. 'Ildraquin,' he said. "Earthblood. That is its name. One day I shall tell you its story.'
He turned and swiftly inspected the chamber, then moved on to the sleeping cabins and the Isiqs' private washroom. When he returned Ildraquin was sheathed.
'No one has entered in our absence,' he said. 'We are as safe here as one can be on this ship.'
'Then I'd best see to my duties, if you don't need me,' said Fiffengurt.
'We need you,' said Hercol. 'But we need you most as quartermaster. Who else will keep us informed of Rose's schemes?'
Fiffengurt shook his head. 'Rose trusts me like I trust a rattlesnake. Still I overhear things, now and again. What I learn, I'll share. And I'll send Thasha's father to you the instant he boards.'
'You're a good plum, Mr Fiffengurt,' said Pazel.
'Seeing as you're an Ormali, lad, I'll take that as a compliment.'
They locked the door behind him. For a moment no one moved or spoke.
Then Hercol said, 'Are you here, Diadrelu?'
'Of course.'
The voice came from overhead. There she was, atop the book cabinet: a woman with copper skin, short hair, black clothes, gleaming eyes. An ixchel woman, a queen until she cast her lot with humans. Crouched on the edge of the cabinet she looked no larger than a dormouse. Standing, she might have been eight inches tall.
'I know you trust the quartermaster,' she said, looking down at them intently, 'but I must tell you that we consider him one of the most dangerous humans aboard. He is inquisitive, and he knows more about the crawlways and secret spaces of the Chathrand than anyone save Rose himself. And when he speaks of my people they are crawlies, and a note of disgust enters his voice.'
'Fiffengurt hates ixchel?' said Neeps. 'I don't believe it! He's the most soft-hearted old sailor I've ever met.'
'But a sailor nonetheless,' said Diadrelu, 'and schooled in the vices of sailing folk. I do not know if his feelings stem from his past experience or general fear. But I will not soon reveal our presence to this ally of yours.'
'We wouldn't ask you to,' said Pazel.
Dri gestured at the stateroom door. 'Someone tried to pick the lock while you were on the island,' she said. 'Twice. I jammed the mechanism with my sword.'
'Well done,' said Neeps.
But Hercol shook his head. 'What if they had forced the door? You would have been caught in plain sight.'
'Hercol Stanapeth,' said the ixchel woman, 'I have lived my whole life within yards of human beings, men who would have killed me without a second thought. You have little to teach me about stealth.'
Hercol smiled, not quite conceding the point. 'Are you ready, my lady?' he asked.
For an answer the woman descended — three shelves in the blink of an eye, a spring to the back of Isiq's divan, another to Hercol's shoulder, and a last jump to the bench under the window, a few inches from Thasha's neck. When their eyes caught up with her they saw that she was holding something sharp and translucent. It was an ixchel arrow, two inches long — fashioned, as she had told them earlier, from the quill of a porcupine.
'Who will say what must be said?' she asked.
'That had better be Hercol,' said Pazel.
'No,' said Hercol. 'You were there when she fell, Pazel, and yours was the last face she saw as her eyes dimmed. The task is yours.'
Pazel took a deep breath. 'All right,' he said. 'But I'd feel better if a doctor were here. I'd even settle for crazy old Rain.'
'Kneel,' said Diadrelu.
Reluctantly, Pazel obeyed. He put his face close to Thasha's own. It was only then that he realised how truly frightened he was. Thasha's eyes looked withered. The lips he had kissed the night before were flecked with dirt.
Diadrelu reversed her grip on the arrow — and with the whole force of her arm plunged it into a vein in Thasha's neck.
Her eyes flew open. And Pazel began to talk as fast as he could. Don't shout don't shout Thasha you're safe you're with us you're with me Thasha trust me don't s
hout.
She did not shout. She leaped away from him in terror, nearly crushing Diadrelu beneath her and striking the window so hard that a crack appeared in the nearest pane. When Pazel tried to steady her she kicked him savagely away.
'Peace!' hissed Hercol. 'By the Night Gods, Thasha Isiq, I may have trained you too well! Your pardon, Lady Diadrelu, and you too, Pazel! Enough, lass, take a breath.'
Pazel picked himself up, relief breaking over him in waves. She was awake, alive-and free of Arunis' trap. It had all gone according to plan.
Or had it? Thasha's eyes were strange, savage. At last she appeared to recognise their faces, but would let no one comfort her. She shivered as though from deadly cold.
'It worked,' said Neeps softly. 'You were perfect, Thasha.'
Thasha raised a hand to her throat. Her voice was a dry, pained whisper.
'We fooled Arunis?'
'We fooled them all,' said Hercol. 'You did not marry, and Ott's false prophecy cannot come true.'
He spread a blanket over her legs. Thasha looked out at the sunny bay. Looking at her, Pazel thought suddenly of a group of sailors he had glimpsed long ago: hurricane survivors, coaxing a ruined ship into Ormaelport, their faces ravaged by memories of wild fear.
'I touched ice,' Thasha whispered. 'I was in a dark place all crowded with people, but there was no light, and then I began to see without light and the people were hideous, they didn't have faces, and that old priest was there waving his sceptre, and there was ice under my wedding shoes, and black trees with little fingerbone-branches that grabbed at me, and there were eyes in the slits of the trees and voices from holes in the ground. I was freezing. I could feel you holding me, Pazel; I could even feel the scar on your hand. But then the feeling stopped. And then everything began to vanish in the dark — the monster-people went out like candles, one by one. And the voices faded, until there was just one strange voice calling my name, over and over, like something that would never stop, like water dripping in a cave forever. But there was no water, no walls, there was nothing but ice, ice under my skin, ice in my stomach and my brain.'
She hugged herself, looking slowly from one face to another.
'Was I dead?'
'No,' said Diadrelu, 'but you were as close to death as a human can be, and return unharmed. Blane means foolsdeath, but not because it deceives only fools. The name means rather that the spectre of death himself should not know the difference, if he came upon one in the grip of the drug.'
'And brandy on top of that,' Neeps sighed.
'Did old Druffle go through something like this, when you and Taliktrum drugged him?' Pazel asked.
The ixchel woman shook her head. 'There are several forms of blane, for various uses. We only needed Druffle to sleep. But when Thasha drove that quill into her palm on the marriage dais, she had to appear dead beyond all suspicion. That called for blane of the purest kind — and the most dangerous. Without the antidote, Thasha never would have woken from its grip. She would have slept until she starved.'
'I'm still cold,' said Thasha.
'You will not cast off the chill for days, perhaps,' said Diadrelu. 'My father once pricked his thumb with pure blane. A week later he still suffered nightmares, and felt the drug's cold grip. Sunlight helped, he said.'
'Alas, she will have little of that for a time,' said Hercol. 'This cabin must be your cage, Thasha, until King Oshiram learns the truth of our mission. If I can find a way to contact him at all, that is.'
'And what then?' asked Diadrelu. 'Has he the stomach to quarantine the Great Ship, and fight his way aboard against a hundred Turachs?'
'We must hope so,' said Hercol. 'But there is another question: what if he succeeds? No doubt he will destroy the Shaggat, lest by some guile of Arunis the madman be returned to life. But the Nilstone he cannot destroy: no power in Alifros can. Will he consent to guard it until some better resting place is found? It could break his dynasty — for although its merest touch slays the fearful, someone will always dream of using it, and perhaps succeed. Arunis for one believes that is possible.'
He looked gravely at each of them in turn. 'We must never forget that our fates are tied to the Stone. By our oath, first — to place it beyond the grasp of anyone vile enough to seek to use it — and by the mere fact that we are children of this world. Alifros is great, but the power of the Nilstone is limitless. There will be nowhere to hide if its power is unleashed.' Hercol turned to Thasha with a sigh. 'I had counted on your father's help in persuading Oshiram. But now-'
Thasha gasped. 'Oh, the fool! What happened? He hit the king, didn't he?'
The others smiled at each other but did not laugh. It would not do to be overheard; they were in mourning after all. Before anyone could explain, however, they were interrupted by a shrill cry.
'Hark the voice!'
They jumped. By the door to the washroom stood Felthrup Stargraven, the woken rat, terribly injured in yesterday's battle. They crowded around him, overjoyed. He seemed remarkably steady on his three good feet (the fourth had been crushed by a drainpipe lid) and he twitched his short tail impatiently (another rat had long ago bitten it in two). Jorl and Suzyt barrelled forwards and licked him, an act of love in which Felthrup might soon have drowned. But the rat shook them off and squeaked again:
'Hark the voice, the voice in the distance! Can't you hear?'
They held still. And hear it they did: a man's voice from an impossible distance, rising and falling gravely.
'It's that priest again,' said Pazel. 'The one they call the Father. But I can't make out what he's saying.'
'He is saying we shall die!' cried that rat.
'What?'
'Die, die! Not literally, of course Not even metaphorically. Nor by inference intended — but how, pray, does a speaker know what his listener infers? And in the strictest sense what he is saying is not the point so much as the indisputable fact that it is being said. Bellowed, blasted, harrooed-'
'Felthrup,' said Diadrelu. 'You are healed. Your chatter proves it. But whatever are you talking about?'
'There's a bell ringing now,' said Pazel.
Felthrup spun in a circle, too upset too hold still. 'Not one bell — two! Disaster, disaster!'
They opened more windows: indeed there were two bells, one high, one low, sounding precisely together so that the notes seemed to fuse as one. And now from the shore came voices, incredulous voices, crying out in delight.
'But that's the wedding signal,' Thasha said. 'Simjans ring two bells at once to show that a couple is married. But we're not! We never spoke any vows!'
'Besides, they all think you're dead,' said Neeps.
'So what's happening?' Thasha demanded.
'Oh, woe, woe, woe!' cried Felthrup.
Like the rat himself, Pazel found he could be still no longer. Despite shouts from the others he dashed across the stateroom, slipped through the door, and ran along the short passage to the upper gun deck. Men were hastening to the ladderways (really the ship's staircases; but so steep that handholds were carved into the steps), leaving swabs and buckets and half-spliced ropes where they lay. Pazel climbed with them. When they reached the topdeck the crowd was already enormous. All stood to portside, gazing at the shore.
Among them Pazel was glad to find Dastu, his favourite among the senior tarboys. He was a broad-shouldered twenty-year-old from the rough Etherhorde district of Smelter's Den. Like nearly everyone, Dastu was a bit afraid of Pazel — at his touch a man had turned to stone, after all. But Dastu had never once called him muketch (mud-crab) as almost all the other boys did when they realised he was Ormali. Dastu still looked him in the eye. And Dastu shared his knowledge of the Chathrand, its hidden corners, legends, slang. The No. 5 ladderway, close to the stateroom: that was the Silver Stair, because rich passengers used it, and sometimes sealed the Money-Gate to keep the riffraff away from their cabins. Ladderway No. 1 (at the starboard bow) was the Holy Stair, because it was there that old Captain Kurlstaf had heard the
voice of Rin. In a sense these little details hardly mattered. But Dastu's efforts did, immensely.
The older boy made room along the rail. 'No one knows what's happening,' he said. 'Those cheers sound blary happy, though, don't they? Strange way to show respect for the dead.'
'Any sign of Admiral Isiq?' asked Pazel.
Dastu shook his head. 'Nobody's come aboard since you did. And the rest of us are trapped out here, blast it.'
Trapped. Dastu was not exaggerating. Captain Rose and the marine commander, Sergeant Drellarek, had authorised no shore leave: only the wedding party had touched land. Sickness had provided a handy excuse: two days earlier the talking fever had broken out in Ormael, where the Chathrand had lain at anchor for a week. Dr Chadfallow had pronounced Thasha and her family in perfect health, but cautioned that the rest of the crew would have to be examined one by one — a process that might take days.
The truth, of course, was that anyone who did go ashore would surely speak of the violent madness they had witnessed on the Great Ship. That was a risk the conspirators could not take.
'The men must be angry,' whispered Pazel.
'Fit to be hog-tied,' said Dastu. 'And the passengers! Do you realise we're holding forty passengers hostage? Just for appearances, mate! There's a big Atamyric family — parents, children, old aunts and uncles — trying to get home via Etherhorde. Some Simjans too. How do you think that would play ashore?'
'Where are they? Locked down in steerage?'
Dastu nodded. Except for Latzlo and Bolutu. Uskins boarded them up in their cabins 'til we get underway. You can bet your breakfast those two are wishing they'd disembarked in Tressik.'
Pazel shook his head. Latzlo was a dealer in exotic animals. He had been with them all the way from Etherhorde, selling walrus ivory in one port, buying sapphire doves in another, trading six-legged bats for fox pelts in a third. But trade alone had not kept him aboard. He wanted to marry Pacu Lapadolma.
No one could deny that he was an optimist. In three months Pazel had heard the girl speak just four words to her suitor: 'You reek of dung.' If she mentioned him to others it was not by name but as 'the imbecile' or 'that wrinkled ape'. Latzlo did not seem to mind: indeed he went on discussing names for their children with anyone who cared to hear.
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