The Rats and the Ruling sea tcv-2

by Robert V. S. Redick

  Rose turned and gestured at the Jistrolloq, bright white in the sun and near enough now to count the seven falling stars on her forecourse. 'There stands a man, Kuminzat, who's crossed half the known world in our pursuit. Ott tells me that his daughter was a sfvantskor, or soon to be, and that she was killed by the incubus Arunis hurled at their old priest.'

  'You knew.' Thasha sat up, eyes widening with anger. 'You knew about the incubus. You knew what the Sizzies accused us of was true, and denied it to their faces.'

  'Very little occurs on the Great Ship that we don't know,' said Oggosk. 'You ought to keep that in mind, both of you.'

  Thasha turned on her, bristling. 'Care to prove it?' she said. 'Can you tell me what Arunis has been doing while the Jistrolloq closes in? Or why he wants that sceptre almost as badly as the Nilstone? Or which of the crew might be spying on you for Sandor Ott?'

  The old woman actually looked somewhat cowed. She dropped her eyes, as though Thasha's gaze was too sharp for her liking. 'I might if you gave me a reason,' she muttered uneasily.

  'We are straying from the matter at hand,' said Rose. 'Pathkendle, what do you say to my challenge? Neither you nor I know that admiral's character. I have been substituting other men for him in my mind, and asking myself what each would do if he commanded the Jistrolloq. I would know what you think. Answer me, if you've a tenth the craftiness Rin gave your father. I have no more time to waste.'

  Pazel's hand was tight on Thasha's own. 'Your question is a waste of time,' he said at last. 'I never sailed with my father. I don't know what skills he used, or what tactics.'

  'Then leave tactics to me. What would Gregory have felt like? What would make him chase another vessel from Simja right down to the margins of the Ruling Sea?'

  Pazel made as if to speak, then once again held his tongue. Rose smiled and shook his head.

  'Not gold. If riches were his aim he could have sold his services to any number of lawless barons in the Rekere or the Crownless Lands, and become rich indeed. And not the rescue of his son. What's left? What would drive the resourceful Captain Gregory to do as Kuminzat's done, hazarding his very life and that of his crew?'

  Pazel's grip on her hand was painful now, and a new fury shone in his eyes. 'Nothing, all right?' he said at last. 'Absolutely nothing would make my father go to so much trouble. He's as selfish as you.'

  Rose shook his head, as if in wonder. 'From his own boy's mouth,' he said. 'Well now: that is good news. We can count on one hand the things a man will kill for. Love, lust, gold, honour, tribe: the raw ingredients of power. Ninety-nine men in a hundred will quickly show you which of these enslaves them. A ferocity lights 'em up when they're pursuing it, and there's no mistaking that look. All the trouble comes from the mystery man — that one man in a hundred who can keep his motives out of sight. Men like Gregory, you see.'

  'And Admiral Kuminzat,' said Thasha.

  'You have it, lass,' said Rose. 'Though my predecessors will keep babbling their theories. How I wish they'd shut up!'

  He said the last words in a sudden fury, knocking his fists against his temples. Thasha averted her eyes. It was then that she noticed Lady Oggosk was staring at her — and also realised that she, Thasha, had shed a few silent tears. They were for Pazel, she supposed, and for herself, and the murdered topman, and the shame of so much wanting — love, lust, gold — but why did Oggosk look so enraged? The witch's eyes flickered down along Thasha's arm, extended subtly towards Pazel's lap, and Thasha knew she guessed that they were holding hands.

  What's it to you, you hag?

  Pazel too noticed Oggosk's look. With a start he pulled his hand away. Thasha turned and found him glaring at her. When he spoke it was against some deep resistance, as if he had to wring the words out of himself. But the words were lacerating.

  'If I need pity I'll let you know,' he said. 'Meanwhile keep it to yourself. I'm — tired of this, see? Tired of being your charity case.'

  'My what?'

  'You think I'm dying for your attention. Like an Ormali should be, when a highborn Arquali girl stoops to help him, I guess. And you can spare me that wounded face. There's plenty aboard who'll be happy to tell you how special you are. Cross me off your list, that's all — leave me alone.'

  He gave her a look that was almost deranged, then turned to Rose. 'As for your question, Captain Sir: you really ought to be asking Thasha, not me. She's good with tactics. But I'll tell you right now: ghosts or no ghosts, there's something wrong with a man who sits here tormenting people, just because he's realised that he can't outrun his enemy. That's cowardice, that is. Not that you'll ever admit it.'

  No one at the table breathed. Thasha tensed herself for the fight of her life. Pazel had gone mad, Rose and Oggosk already were, and any sort of violence seemed possible. She'd lost her knife, she'd have to use things on the table, the serving fork, a shard of a plateThen Rose did the last thing on earth she expected. He laughed. A smile grew in the red thicket of his beard, looking like something transplanted from a merrier man. 'Outrun,' he said. 'Outrun.'

  He raised his eyes to the skylight above the table, and the laugh grew until his great bulk fairly shook with mirth. And as he finished laughing the room suddenly darkened, for a heavy cloud had eclipsed the sun. At almost the same moment, on the quarterdeck, Mr Fiffengurt began to shout:

  'Wind's turning! The wind's turning right about! Inform the captain, that's a north-easter blowin' in!'

  A great commotion began overhead, and Rose put his hands on the table and heaved to his feet. Lumbering to his desk, wine in hand, he flipped open a speaking-tube and bellowed:

  'South south-east, Mr Elkstem, and all the sail she'll bear. Full crews to their guns. I'm on my way.'

  He drank the wine in a gulp and wiped his mouth.

  'Back to the quarterdeck, Lady Thasha. And you, Pathkendle: stick to your schoolbooks; there's not a drop of sailor's blood in you. Have you forgotten that we must let no one set eyes on the Chathrand and live? I never spoke of escaping the Black Rags; the only question is how best to destroy them.'

  29

  The Duel

  24 Freala 941

  The storm built quickly, as the new wind barrelled in from the north-east, carrying great black-hearted thunderheads and a sheet of advancing rain. By the time Pazel and Thasha reached the topdeck the topsails were all raised for the sudden turn, and the huge yards were once more being hauled into the teeth of the wind. The Black Shoulders were out of sight, and Bramian itself was a mere smudge on the western horizon, but the Jistrolloq looked frightfully close — under two miles, probably, and closing without a doubt.

  Such sudden darkness. The clouds were sealing off the heavens like a sheet of tin; already the sun was banished to a bright streak in the south, drawing away much faster than they could advance. The waves were growing too: white-capped, they were cresting around the height of the upper gun deck. Pazel shuddered to imagine tiny Diadrelu in the stateroom, looking up at the grey-green water each time the Chathrand entered a trough. But neither waves nor wind had yet reached the awesome scale the Nelluroq was famed for, the kind that would swamp the enemy or force his retreat.

  Thasha was shaking with emotion, though Pazel knew she was trying to hide it. He had never felt like such a heel. The things he'd said in that cabin. Oggosk had left him no choice, of course, but the fact spared him little shame. He longed with all his heart to tell her the truth, but how could he, when he needed her to hate him?

  Without a word to each other they made for the quarterdeck. Rose was leaning over the rail, talking to Fiffengurt: 'Nine cannon exactly, and as soon as you may. All thirty-two pounders, all from the lower battery. Make sure they understand you.'

  'Oppo, Captain, nine it is.' Fiffengurt shielded his eyes and nodded at a topdeck gun. 'And that faulty forty-eight makes ten?'

  'Precisely. But before any of those the empty charge.'

  'Consider it done, sir.'

  Fiffengurt rushed to the hatch, shooting Paz
el a furtive look of terror and anxiety. Then he was gone down the ladderway, blowing sharp notes on the whistle clamped in his teeth.

  Moments later the rain caught up with them. It came with a fiercer wind, and slashed across the topdeck in rippling sheets that broke and boiled around their ankles. Everyone was running and stumbling: for deck swabs, for oilskins, for shelter.

  'Batten down the Five!' boomed Uskins, seizing Pazel and thrusting him at the hatch. 'Not full-fast, but shielded, Muketch — can you manage?'

  'Oppo, sir.' Pazel squatted down before the rolled oilskin and tore at its gathers. Thasha bent instinctively to help him, and for the merest instant they both froze, looking at each other. Something in Pazel's face must have told Thasha that her help was unwelcome, for she suddenly released the oilskin and dashed away through the downpour.

  Neeps appeared out of the chaos, looking positively hostile as he snatched up a corner of the oilskin and helped Pazel spread it over the hatch rail. Together they stretched and tightened the canvas until it fitted tight as a drumhead, leaving a gap just wide enough for a man to squeeze up or down the stairs. 'Thanks again,' said Pazel as they finished.

  'You really are a swine, you know,' said Neeps. 'Thasha's falling to pieces.'

  Pazel shot him a sideways look. 'All right, mate,' he said, 'I'm going to tell you what's what.'

  'Well it's about blary time.'

  'But you have to swear to stay away from Oggosk. Can you do that?'

  'Fire,' said Neeps.

  'What?'

  A cannon-blast drowned Pazel's question. The two boys hit the deck as men screamed warnings to each other. The Jistrolloq had opened up with her long guns. Pazel glanced up just in time to see the bow of the enemy ship blossom with new fire — four points this time — and then he cringed as the sound reached them, four fused explosions slamming into his chest. But none of the shots touched the Chathrand.

  'That's all for show, lads,' Alyash bellowed, staggering aft against the wind. 'They couldn't strike us at this range on a quiet day.'

  As the youths rose, there came a noise far louder than the Jistrolloq 's guns. It was one of their own, but something had gone wrong: the blast seemed to come from well inside the Chathrand. Pazel heard coughing and retching as smoke began to billow from the starboard quarter.

  'Fiffengurt must have botched something terrible,' said Neeps.

  Pazel watched the plume of black smoke vanish in the rain. 'Did he? I wonder.'

  'What are you talking about?'

  'Something Rose said. About firing off a gun with no ball, just a powder-charge, though why he-Down, down!'

  The Jistrolloq was firing again. This time they heard the scream of the ball as it passed overhead. Pazel looked up: Thasha and Rose stood side by side on the quarterdeck. Neither one of them had taken cover.

  'Damn it all!' said Neeps, also looking at Thasha. 'He may be insane, but she's not. Or wasn't, before you got to her. I think you had something you wanted to tell me?'

  Pazel told him, shouting over the wind. As he listened the Sollochi boy's face grew tight with fury. 'Oggosk!' he said. 'That vulture! I'm going to shove those threats right down her scrawny old throat!'

  'No you're not,' said Pazel. 'You're going to do something else for me. You're going to explain it all to Thasha.'

  Neeps took a deep breath, and nodded. 'Yeah, all right.'

  'And make sure she understands, Neeps: she can't so much as smile at me, even when we're alone. She should try not to think about me. Oggosk has ways of finding out.'

  Neeps went straight to the task — and Pazel, fearing that Thasha would turn to him with some look he would have to respond to, stepped quickly behind the mizzenmast.

  The rain was cold now, and the wind stronger yet. From below, Pazel caught the dim sound of Fiffengurt roaring Fire, and then came a series of blasts, and puffs of black smoke from the starboard gunports. On the Jistrolloq, nothing changed, and Pazel would have been amazed if it had. They were still too far apart, and it looked very much as though Chathrand was firing at a hopeless angle. What was Rose trying to prove?

  More shots from the Jistrolloq; more wild and useless return fire from the Chathrand. Then Neeps returned from the quarterdeck, but his face wore no hint of satisfaction. 'You can call me a swine now, if you want,' he said. 'I–I cacked things up, Pazel. I was trying to explain that when you acted strange around her it was because you were worried about what Oggosk would think. But I was still thinking about the murth-girl, and said Klyst when I meant to say Oggosk. And when I realised what I'd done… aya, Rin-'

  'What next?' said Pazel. 'Out with it.'

  Neeps closed his eyes, wincing. 'I said, "He's not in love with her." '

  Pazel grabbed him by the shoulders. 'You didn't. Neeps, you couldn't have-'

  'I thought you'd want her to know!' Neeps shouted defensively. 'It's just that the way I said it was all wrong! I sort of blurted it out. And it shocked her a little, I guess, because she turned her back and ran off.'

  Pazel sagged against the mizzenmast rail. 'She's going to think I do fancy Klyst. Which I don't. Oh Pitfire-'

  His collarbone gave a warning throb.

  'Oggosk!' cried Neeps. 'This is all her fault, the hag! But listen, mate, don't you worry! I'll straighten things out with Thasha. I'll explain.'

  'No!' said Pazel desperately. 'Don't do any more explaining. And don't go after Oggosk either. Just… go stand still somewhere.'

  Neither of them had the chance to stand still, however, for scarcely had Pazel spoken when they were dragged into another job, this time by the gunner, Mr Byrd. Two of the Chathrand 's ancient guns, crude behemoths from her early days as a warship, had stood lashed like old monuments behind the kevels since Pazel first stepped aboard. Now Byrd's men had freed the starboard gun and cranked it halfway to firing position, kicking open the gunnery door and unbolting the sliders that would let the cannon extend. Neeps and Pazel, along with eight sailors, were herded together on either side of the gun carriage. In went the powder charge, then the ram, and finally two men heaved the forty-eight-pound ball into the muzzle.

  'Take hold!' shouted Byrd. 'We're going to run all-out, boys, as we slide down the next wave. Just mind you don't go overboard! Steady, now-'

  Baffled, Pazel looked from sailor to sailor. Who was carrying the match?

  The wave crested; Byrd cried, 'Now!' and eleven bodies threw themselves at the big gun. It flew forwards — the sliders must have been freshly greased — and with a terrible sound of breaking wood, the cannon and carriage smashed right through the gunnery door. Men cried out, ropes snapped, ringbolts were torn from the deck. The big gun toppled forward and plunged into the sea.

  Pazel gaped at the ugly wound in the Chathrand 's side, thinking, Rose is going to tear off our heads.

  'That'll do nicely,' said Byrd without a hint of sarcasm. 'Carry on, tarboys — my crew, below.'

  The sailors vanished. Neeps could not have looked more stunned if he'd been beaten with a shoe. '"That'll do nicely?" This crew's gone raving mad. And if this is how we fight they're going to slaughter us.'

  'We look like a troupe of clowns,' Pazel agreed. He turned — and four men bearing lumber nearly bowled him down. They had carpentry tools as well, and immediately set about repairing the rail. As if they were expecting the job, Pazel thought.

  Then he froze. Expecting the job.

  'That sly old dog,' he said, turning to look at Neeps. 'Rose is doing it all for them, don't you see? The powder-charge inside the gun deck, the hopeless shots, now this big muck-up. He's making us look like clowns on purpose. He's setting a blary trap.'

  Understanding spread across Neeps' face. 'You're right. You must be! He's reeling that Admiral Kuminzat in. But what happens if he falls for it? We're not as lame as all this, but they really can outgun us two to one.'

  A shout from the quarterdeck: Rose himself was beckoning them near. When they had raced up the ladder the big man bent level with their faces.


  'You both climb well,' he said. 'I need you aloft the spankermast, now, and clewing up the topgallant.'

  'Captain,' said Pazel, 'we've never worked your sails. We don't know the spanker rigging.'

  'Exactly,' said Rose, 'you'll look like perfect imbeciles up there. Climb!'

  The boys glanced at each other. Pazel's theory was apparently proved, but they took no satisfaction from it. 'We might do some harm up there,' Neeps protested.

  'See that you don't,' said Rose. 'Find a line that's bent to the topsails and foul it up, that's all — not badly, just plain to see. And keep worrying it 'til nightfall, unless I call you down.'

  'Or we're shot down,' said Pazel. 'You wouldn't mind that at all.'

  Rose struck at him with his massive fist. But the thousand blows Hercol and Thasha had landed on him had not been in vain. Just in time he leaped backwards, and found himself in fighting-stance, almost without conscious thought. It was the same pose that had so amused Drellarek, moments before the Turach died.

  But Rose was not at all amused. 'You offal-brained Ormali layabout,' he said. 'I'm the captain of this ship! What if I'm not mad, eh, and we survive this engagement? Do you know how many ways I can make you wish you'd been killed? Get up that mast!'

  There was no help for it: Rose was sincere in his threats, if in little else. Once more the boys took to the shrouds, bare feet on the decrepit ratlines, hands on the sturdier ropes. This time the ascent was horrifying. The topgallants rode a hundred feet above the quarterdeck, and before he'd climbed thirty Pazel began to suffer fantasies of falling, flying, letting go. The wind was like a frigid hand trying to claw them from the ship; the rain flew at them horizontally in a ceaseless, biting spray. Over and over the ratlines snapped, letting them half-drop through the shrouds, feet kicking wildly. And now the Jistrolloq was close enough for him to see the fire leaping from her chaser-guns.

  Don't clench your hands! Captain Nestef had taught him. If you squeeze the blood out of 'em they'll soon be too tired to hold on. That's one of the fifty ways fear can kill you.