“You must not ask me any questions, nor think too long on what I am about to say. I have given you grounds to trust me, have I not?”
“Pitfire, Stanapeth, of course,” I said.
“Then hear me well: you released Pathkendle out of kindness, but in truth he was safer in the brig. A thing may happen soon that will tempt him to interfere-yet he must not. So I must enlist you, though I wished to involve no one else in this matter. If the time comes, you may have to restrain him by force. And Neeps as well. Neither of them will understand.”
“Those prize idiots. What have they got themselves mixed up with this time?”
“This time they are blameless, Graff. But I told you-no questions. Only be ready to take them far from the stateroom, and keep them there, under lock and key if necessary. Be ready to do it the instant you hear from me.”
“Lock and key?”
“Listen to me, you old bungler,” he said, growing fierce. “You cannot fail in this. Lives are at stake, and not only the tarboys’. When the moment comes it will be too late to think of a story. Choose one now. I would hear you rehearse it before I go.”
“All right,” I said in surrender, thinking frantically. “The hag’s pet, Sniraga. Undrabust saw her last week. I’ll tell ’em I’ve got her trapped-in the bread room, say, and need help catching hold of her. There’s just one door, and it’s got double deadbolts.”
“Not brilliant,” said he, “but it should suffice. They trust you entirely.”
“They blary well won’t after I pull this trick! Stanapeth, why-”
He clamped his hand over my mouth. “Be ready, but do not dwell on what we have said. That is crucially important. You will understand when this is over, Graff. Let us hope it will be soon.”
With that he was gone, amp; I lay back stunned. I groped for my emergency bottle of brandy amp; nipped a mouthful. Remember, be ready, don’t think. How in the Nine Pits did one obey?
It occurred to me that I might yet salvage forty minutes’ sleep out of that hellish night. Once more I closed my eyes. Once more, as if the Gods had waited for me to do just that, the door flew open, this time with a bang.
Uskins blundered in, winded, looking even worse than I felt. “You loafer!” he croaked. “Still abed, and drinking, and everything falling to pieces!”
“You certainly are,” I said, taking in his wild red eyes amp; uncombed hair. “What’s happened to you, Stukey? Have you seen the doctor?”
“I’ve seen the surgeon’s mate.”
“What, Fulbreech? I know more about illness than that son of a Simjan mule. Go talk to Chadfallow if you’re poorly.”
He shook his head. “Mules have no sons. Nor daughters either.”
“What?”
“And Dr. Chadfallow is an enemy of the Crown.” He pointed with an unsteady finger. “So are you, for that matter.”
“You smell like bad meat, Uskins. Go see him.”
Uskins gave me a derisive smile. “And shout my troubles through the glass for all to hear. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
“Why are you here?”
The question recalled him to his purpose with a start. “Get up, get dressed! They’re coming aboard!” With those words he clawed his way out of my chamber amp; ran thumping away.
I pulled on my clothes amp; raced after him. Light poured down through the glass planks: it was well past sunrise. I came out topside into a cool crisp wind- amp; saw the city for the first time by daylight. It was even stranger than the night before: huge but empty-feeling; the numbers of people out on the cobble streets too few for so many homes. Some places looked cared for; most did not. Even as I glanced up, a flock of dark birds flowed like spilled ink from an upper window. Another house stood in a tangle of brush that might have once been plantings, but now half covered the door. On its way to becoming a ghost-town, I couldn’t help but think.
All this waste amp; decay, within the splendor of the city wall, the mighty halls amp; temples amp; towers, the river winding its grand path among those statues, the lovely bridges, the farther cliffs amp; waterfalls. And above amp; behind them, huddled giants, the mountains.
But how was I able to see so much? It became obvious the moment I lowered my gaze: we were no longer trapped in the shaft. Some water-gate had been closed in the night; we had risen those last thirty feet, amp; then some. The upper basin was almost full.
We were hemmed in once more by crisscrossed lines: nudged, I supposed, until we floated where they wanted us, which was alongside the bridge-like walkway jutting out into the basin. Our quarterdeck now floated level with the walkway’s rail.
And along that walkway was coming a procession.
It was headed by a small, weird animal. It was probably a goat, but it had tusks instead of horns amp; slobbery lips amp; it minced along like a well-trained dog. Behind it came two drummers, amp; these were even stranger beings: stocky, almost frog-like, nearly as wide as they were tall, with eyes like a bloodhound’s amp; huge fidgeting hands. They wore uniforms of dark red cloth with blue sequins amp; their bare feet flap-flap-flapped along the walkway. Their drums were big, mournful barrels strapped to their chests amp; they beat them very slowly, taking turns. The effect was like the ticking of some dismal clock.
Next came twenty or more dlomu. They were soldier types amp; terrifying to behold: hard of eye amp; huge of build, with murderous halberds, hatchets, spears. They’d seen battle, too: scars, old burns amp; gashes amp; puncture-wounds, marked their faces amp; limbs. Around me the Turachs grew wary amp; still.
In the thick of the soldiers, two figures stood out. The first was Olik, frowning amp; impatient, but dressed now like the prince he was: in a fitted jacket of cream-white leather that stood out smartly against his black skin, a sea-blue cloak, a crimson sash across his chest.
Beside Olik walked an even more extravagant person. Tall amp; pale for a dlomu, he wore a doublet of green leather amp; black iron rings, finished with a gold breastplate emblazoned with the Imperial leopard amp; sun. He was a warrior like the others amp; scarred to prove it. But what a face! His eyes jerked his lips were apart: he looked to be suffering permanent amazement. When he walked his head bobbed up amp; down like a hobby horse’s. The man’s webbed fingers, sparkling with dark purple jewels, caressed an ornate scroll case tied with a golden thread.
Captain Rose was rushing to assemble his officers. Some stood with him already; others, like myself, had to shove through the mob. We were all there: Alyash, Uskins, Byrd, Lapwing, Fegin, Coote, Tanner, even Old Gangrune, looking musty amp; irritable. All of us hurried to Rose’s side. Most of the officers were in dress uniform; I felt the captain’s wrathful eye take in my dishevelment. At hapless Uskins he did not even glance.
We formed a line behind the captain. I saw Pathkendle amp; Undrabust amp; Marila standing nearby, amp; on the other side, quite apart, Lady Thasha, with pretty-boy Fulbreech at her side. Taliktrum was there too, balanced on the gunwale in his feather cloak, a fair swarm of ixchel around him.
The procession reached the end of the walkway, amp; the drumming ceased. For a moment we were on display again. Olik looked at his folded hands, wearing a sly little smile. The pale dlomu just stared at us in shock. But a moment later his eyes narrowed, amp; his mouth tightened to a line. He shouted something, amp; his soldiers drew apart. Quick as you like, the little tusken-faced goat-creature minced forward to the walkway’s edge. It stopped there amp; eyed us expectantly, waggling its ears.
Silence. Rose looked around for guidance. So did the goat. Then Bolutu squeezed through the crowd to Rose’s side. I didn’t catch his words, but the captain’s response was plain enough: “You’re joking!” amp; “I’ll be damned if I will!” amp; finally, “No, amp; no again. You’re barking mad-”
Gasps and hisses from the dlomu. Rose shut his mouth. He stared incredulous at Bolutu, who was still whispering, pleading. At last our captain, looking as though he were about to eat something noxious, stepped forward amp; bowed to th
e goat-thing.
The creature blinked, pawed the stone. Then it bent its forelegs amp; knelt.
A great sigh went up from the onlookers ashore. One of the guards lifted the animal amp; bore it quickly away.
“Well done,” said the prince, smiling down at us. “Old rites must be respected, friends. The birthig is the city’s liege-animal. When it kneels to visitors, it is granting leave to enter the city. Symbolically, of course.”
Alyash amp; I traded looks. What if it hadn’t blary knelt?
Then the amazed-looking dlomu with the rings stepped forward. No smiles from this bloke. “I am Vadu,” he said, “Commander of the Plazic Battalion of Masalym, amp; First Counselor to His Excellency the Issar. It is with regret that His Excellency does not greet you in person, but he looks forward to receiving you in the Upper City at his first opportunity.”
“That is very good of him,” said Rose. “And we thank His Excellency for his gift of food. Last night my people ate well.”
The dlomu’s head gave one of its bobs. He looked a bit put out, amp; I noticed a sudden unease among the onlookers. They were drawing back, sharing urgent whispers. And all at once I thought to wonder just who had provided our meal.
Vadu held up his scroll case. He gazed at us severely, as if we should know quite well what it contained. Untying the golden thread, he pulled out the parchment amp; held it at arm’s length. One of the drum-wielding creatures waddled over amp; stood at his elbow.
I am used to odd amp; cumbersome ceremonies. The Merchant Service has its share. Anni’s family too, when it comes to prayer cycles amp; whatnot. But none of them could touch the strangeness of the next thirty minutes. Vadu began to read in a flowery dlomic, much less like Arquali than anything we’d heard to date. I’m sure I didn’t catch more than half of it- amp; this despite hearing every word twice. For each time Vadu paused, the drum-bearing creature at his side would inflate his deep chest, tilt his head straight upward, close his eyes amp; belly-scream the words to the edge of the city. We winced. The creature was shockingly loud; he set dogs barking far away up lonely streets.
What I did grasp of the message was this: that the Issar, something like the mayor or lord of Masalym, was deeply honored to preside over the city chosen for a visit by the people of the Magnificent Court of the Lilac (that phrase I’m sure about: it was too weird to get wrong). The Issar considered this “Court” a treasure of the world of Alifros, amp; the arrival of the ship a reason for boundless civic pride. There was a great deal next about the Emperor Nahundra, away in Bali Adro City, amp; his “welcoming embrace” of all people, everywhere. Mixed up with the “welcoming embrace” talk was quite a bit about the Plazic Legions of Bali Adro, which he also called the Dark Flame, amp; how their goodness amp; virtue had made them a fighting force none could stand against.
The proclamation went on to assure us that his people respected the solemnity of our visit, mindful as they were of its “celestial significance,” amp; that of course we deserved more than just the rite of the birthig-beast. For the Court of the Lilac, nothing but “the full and sacred ceremony” was enough-at this point Vadu gestured for some reason at the drummers. “Our mizralds will not disappoint you,” he said.
Finally, the Issar (through his scroll) humbly asked us to speak well of our treatment in Masalym should we ever stand before the Resplendent One in Bali Adro, amp; swore finally that our privacy would at all times be respected.
“Our privacy?” said Rose.
There were uneasy glances among the dlomu above us. The crowd along the basin’s rim was muttering, debating the long declaration. They sounded as skeptical as we were ourselves.
Rose had had enough. “To the Pits with privacy,” he huffed. “Our ship is damaged, sir. We are taking on water. In a few days there’ll be nothing left for you to look at with civic pride but our topmasts. And one meal cannot make us forget our lack of provisions. We’re not beggars. We can pay for both-fairly, and in full. But we must request them without further delay. If you would consent to step aboard-”
“Daaak?”
The voice was like an explosion. It was one of the drum-creatures again, louder even than before. I can’t imagine the word was really meant as a question, unless it was addressed to the Gods above, who surely heard it. Rose stared, affronted; he was not used to being shouted down.
“What the blary-”
“Haaaaaaaaaan!” screamed the other creature, who had waddled up beside the first.
“Prince Olik,” sputtered Rose, “kindly-”
“Daaak?” repeated the first creature, adding a boom on his drum.
“Haaaaaaaaaan!” replied the other, deafening.
The soldiers struck the walkway with their halberds. Vadu amp; Olik bowed low. Then, as the two creatures stood gazing skyward, drumming amp; shrieking “Daaak?… Haaaaaaaaaan!” to wake the dead, the procession turned amp; marched away.
Rose started forward, shouting. Olik glanced once over his shoulder, with a certain gleam in his eye, but moved on with the rest. We swarmed along the rail, shouting at their backs. Food! Repairs! Where are you going?
“Daaak?”
“Haaaaaaaaaan!”
They left us with those screaming monstrosities. We could have scrambled somehow up to the walkway amp; given chase-but what for? We were inside a walled city in an alien land. A moment later the shore gate was sealed, amp; a heavy guard placed on it, amp; more soldiers stationed along the rim of the basin.
A great argument erupted. Taliktrum flew into a rage, declaring that we were obviously being punished collectively for Rose’s “barbaric stupidity” in subjecting Prince Olik to the knife “as your very first act since being freed from confinement.” Rose to be sure had a ready comeback, amp; his wrath extended well beyond the ixchel. Why hadn’t Bolutu intervened, amp; why hadn’t he warned us that the royal family was a hive of lunatics? When were Pathkendle, Thasha, Hercol amp; “the rest of you schemers” going to uncover the lair of the sorcerer? Why had Alyash let the Ibjen youth jump overboard, when he might have served as ransom? And so on, while those two oblivious trolls went on screaming DAAAK? HAAAAAAAAAAN! until our minds were addled with it.
I saw Bolutu pulling desperately at Rose’s sleeve, amp; drew close enough to catch what he said. But it just made things weirder: the Court of the Lilac, he shouted, was a colony of albinos, possibly mythical, amp; many thousands of miles to the east if it existed at all.
“Albino dlomu?” bellowed Rose over the din.
Bolutu assured him that was the case. For whatever reason, the Issar believed (or had anyway declared) that we were all dlomu. Just weird, colorless dlomu from unthinkably far away.
“But they’ve seen us,” shouted Undrabust. “Prince Olik’s seen us up close, and so has Ibjen.”
“Hundreds of dlomu on that walkway have seen us as well,” said Hercol, “but that does not mean the masters of this city will hear them. Sometimes those who wield great power come to believe that wishing a thing were true is enough to make it so: that nature must submit to their will, just as men do.”
“And maybe he’s keeping us on the ship, Captain,” I added, “so that we can’t make it plain to the whole city that we are human. Just a few hundred of them saw us, after all, and half of them thought we were blary ghosts.”
“What of the frog-things?” demanded Rose.
Bolutu said they were mizralds, “perfectly respectable citizens,” found throughout the Empire amp; employed (no surprise this) as heralds amp; criers. The horrid bellowing, he added, was probably a mechine, a rite of welcome, though Bolutu had never heard of one being carried on amp; on.
“They are silencing us,” said Rose, “and at the same time pretending that we’re dlomu.”
“But why should they?” asked Pathkendle.
“Think a moment,” said Thasha. “It was a disaster for the whole Empire when humans became tol-chenni. If we suddenly sail into port and start walking the streets, it could mean… well, anythi
ng.”
Pathkendle would not look at her.
“You’re right, Thasha,” said Fulbreech. “That old woman last night thought it was the end of the world.”
“Perhaps a ship full of woken humans could make some think it is the dlomu’s turn to become tol-chenni,” said Hercol. “And that would be the end of the world, for them. At the very least it may seem a threat to rulers of a frightened city in a time of war.”
All this was just speculation. We were trapped. Nor did the folk of Masalym provide us with another bite of food. They watched us, though, as the hours wore on: contingents of well-dressed dlomu arrived amp; studied us through scopes amp; field glasses; there was some argument amp; finger-pointing, too. Rose tried to signal our desperation, with shouts amp; flags amp; spoons rattling in empty bowls. He sent Bolutu to the fighting top with orders to beg loud amp; long in his own tongue. But the trolls’ infernal racket made all these efforts nigh impossible, amp; it occurred to me that this was, perhaps, the whole idea.
The water in the hold reached thirteen feet. Of course we were pumping like mad, as we’d done for the last three days. But Rose was right: it was not going to be enough. And what if they have no means of beaching us, or no real will to try?
Midafternoon, it rained. To our infinite delight the trolls scurried indoors. But we were still hungry, amp; the dlomu were still deaf to our pleas. We officers took refuge in our duties. For me that included breaking up a fight between the rival gangs (the issue was a hoarded slab of last night’s cheese), amp; getting the broken-nosed Plapp amp; split-lipped Burnscove Boy to shake amp; agree to donate the precious morsel to the steerage passengers. When the lads saw those hopeless faces, I declare they knew a moment’s shame. But they were glowering at each other before we parted.
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