Mad Ship tlt-2

by Robin Hobb

  "Wait!" he commanded. "Malta Vestrit? The girl from the Summer Ball?"

  She looked over her shoulder. She acknowledged the connection with a nod.

  "Leave me here, and I will never send my ships to rescue your father!" he informed her grandiosely.

  "Your ships?" She laughed, a bit wildly. "What ships? You never intended to help me. I am surprised you can even remember that you said you would."

  "Fetch the boat and row us to safety. Then you shall see how a Satrap of Jamaillia keeps his promises."

  "Probably much the same way as he honors the charters of his ancestors," Malta scoffed. She turned her back and began to climb back down into the dark. Far down the corridor, she heard sounds like distant but thunderous applause. Dread rose in her. Drowned in memories. She knew what it meant now. Could she traverse the city again and remain herself? She forced herself to keep going. Once more, she scrabbled over the boats, noting in passing that they were not as dilapidated as she had thought. Some sort of hammered metal had been applied to the hulls. As she clambered over them, her hands came away powdered white where she had touched them. Far down the corridor, there was another roar of applause. She walked slowly toward it, but suddenly a cloud of dust wafted into her face. She coughed and choked for a moment. When she blinked her eyes clear of grit and looked down the corridor, she could see a mist of dust hanging in the air. She stared a moment longer, refusing to recognize what she instinctively knew. The corridor had caved in. There was no going back that way.

  She swayed with weariness, then stiffened her back and stood straight. When it was all over, then she could rest. She walked back slowly to the stacked rowboats. She eyed them skeptically. The top one had broken seats. She picked at a splinter of it, then recognized the wood. Cedar. Her father called it eternity wood. She began to work the top boat loose from the others, to see if the one below it might be better.

  Reyn? Reyn, dear, we need you. You have to wake up now."

  He rolled away from the gentle voice and the hands that plucked at him. "Go away," he said distinctly, and dragged the pillow over his head. Dimly he wondered why he was sleeping in his clothes and shoes.

  Bendir had always been more direct. He seized his younger brother's ankles. Reyn came all the way awake as he thudded onto the floor. He was instantly furious.

  "Bendir!" Mother rebuked him, but his brother was unrepentant.

  "We don't have time to talk nicely. He should have come as soon as the bell rang. I don't care how lovesick he is, or how hungover."

  The words penetrated both his anger and sleepiness. "The bell? A cave-in?"

  "Half the damn city has fallen in," Bendir explained tersely. "While you were drunk enough to walk on your lips, we had two quakes last night. Sharp shocks. We have crews digging in and shoring up as we go, but it's taking a long time. You know the structure of the city better than anyone does. We need you."

  "Malta? Is Malta all right?" Reyn asked anxiously. She had been in the dragon chamber. Had they got her out in time?

  "Forget Malta!" his brother ordered him roughly. "If you want to worry about someone, the Satrap and his woman are blocked in down there, unless they're already dead. That would be a fine irony, for us to bring him up the river to protect him only to have him die in the city."

  Reyn staggered upright. He was already dressed, down to his boots. He pushed his wild curls back from his face. "Let's go. You got Malta out all right, last night?"

  The question was no more than a formality. His brother and mother would not be so calm if she were trapped down there.

  "That was just a dream you had," Bendir said roughly.

  Reyn halted where he stood. "No," he said flatly. "It wasn't. She went into the city, to the Crowned Rooster Chamber. I told you that. I know I did. I told you that you had to get her out of there. Didn't you do it?"

  "She's sick in bed, not down in the city," Bendir exclaimed in annoyance.

  His mother had gone pale. She set her hand to the doorframe and clutched it. Breathlessly she said, "Keffria came to me at dawn. Malta was not in her bed. She thought—" she shook her head at both of them. "She thought her daughter might be with Reyn. We came here, and of course, she was not. Then, the bell rang and…" Her voice trailed off. More determinedly, she added, "But how could Malta have reached the city, let alone gone into it? She has scarcely left her bed since she got here. She would not know the way, let alone how to reach the Crowned Rooster Chamber."

  "Selden," Reyn said harshly. "Her little brother. He's been all over Trehaug with Wilee Crane. Sa knows I've chased Wilee out of the city a score of times. Her brother would know the way in by now, if he has been playing with Wilee. Where's Selden?"

  "I don't know," his mother admitted it with dread.

  Bendir broke in without apology. "There are people who are definitely buried in the city, Reyn. The Satrap and his Companion, not to mention the Vintagli family's digging crew. They had just begun excavating a chamber near the one where they found the butterfly murals. At least two other families had night crews at work down there. We don't have time to worry about those who might be down there. We need to concentrate on the ones we know are down there."

  "I know Malta is down there," Reyn said bitterly. "And I know where. The Crowned Rooster Chamber. I told you that last night. I'm going after her first."

  "You can't!" Bendir barked, but Jani cut him off.

  "Don't argue. Reyn, come and dig. The main tunnel leads toward both the Crowned Rooster Chamber and the apartments we allotted to the Satrap. Work together and you can get access to both."

  Reyn gave his brother a betrayed look. "If only you'd listened to me last night," he said accusingly.

  "If only you'd been sober last night," Bendir retorted. He turned on his heel and left the room. Jani and Reyn hastened after him.

  Unstacking the boats to find the best one was a difficult task in the tight space of the collapsed boat-house. After she had chosen the best one, getting it outside proved even more of a task. Kekki was virtually useless. When her weeping finally stilled, it was because she had fallen asleep. The Satrap made an effort, but it was like being assisted by a large child. He had no concept of physical work. She tried to keep her temper with him, even reminding herself that last year she had been just as ignorant.

  He was afraid of the work. He would not grip the wood, let alone put real muscle into dragging the boat out. With an effort, Malta held her tongue. By the time they had managed to get the boat out of the cleft and onto the leaf-strewn ground outside, she was completely exhausted. The Satrap brushed his hands and beamed down on the boat as if he had brought it out himself. "Well," he declared with satisfaction. "That's done it. Fetch some oars and we're off."

  Malta had sunk down to the ground and leaned back against a tree. "Don't you think," she asked, fighting to hold back the sarcasm, "that we should see if it still floats first?"

  "Why shouldn't she?" He put a foot on the boat's prow possessively. "She looks fine to me."

  "Wood shrinks when it's out of water. We should put it in shallow water, and let the wood swell up a bit and see how much water it ships. If you have never heard before, I'll tell you now. The water of the Rain Wild River eats wood. And flesh. If it doesn't float high and dry, we'll need to put something in the bottom to rest our feet on. Besides, I'm too exhausted to row anywhere just now, and we aren't sure where we are. If we wait until dusk, we may be able to see the lights of Trehaug through the trees. That would save us a lot of time and effort."

  He stood, looking down at her, balanced between offense and consternation. "Are you refusing to obey me?"

  She met his gaze unflinchingly. "Do you want to die on the river?" she asked.

  He bridled at that. "Do not dare to speak to me as if you were a Companion!"

  "Perish the thought," Malta agreed with him. She wondered if anyone else had ever dared to disagree with him before. With a groan, she got to her feet. "Help me," she said, and began to shove the boat towa
rd the swamp. His help consisted in taking his foot off the prow. She ignored that. She put the boat in shallow standing water. There was no line to tie it up, but there was no current to draw it away either. She hoped it would stay there, and was suddenly too weary to worry any more about it.

  She looked at the Satrap, who was still glaring at her. "If you're going to stay awake, maybe you could find some oars. And you might keep an eye on the boat so it does not float away. It's the best of the lot that was down there, and none too good at that." She wondered at her tone, and then as she lay down on the earth and closed her eyes, she identified it. That was how her grandmother had always spoken to her. She understood why, now. She ached all over, and the ground was hard. She slept.

  Reyn had not convinced them; he had simply gone on. If he had waited for them to completely clear and shore up the main passage before advancing along it, Malta would certainly be dead before he got to her. He had wormed his way past two blocking falls and finally reached a portion of the main passage that was still intact when he came to the end of the thin line he had been paying out. He set a large chunk of fallen rock atop it. He had paused to mark his sign on the wall with star-chalk. The stuff would show well in even the faintest light. They would know he had been there and gone on. He had marked his passage through the falls, indicating the best places to start the re-excavation. He had an instinct for these things.

  The scene with Malta's mother had been awful. He had found her helping to barrow out rubble from the tunnel. The bandages on her damaged hand were smudged with dirt. When he asked her if she had seen Malta, the worry she had contained had broken forth on her face. "No," she said hoarsely. "Nor Selden. But, of course, they could not be down there."

  "Of course not," he lied, feeling ill. "I'm sure they'll turn up. They probably went walking in Trehaug together. No doubt they are wondering where everyone else has gone." He tried to put some of his own belief in his tale, but could not find it. She read the horror in his eyes. A sob caught in her throat. He could not face her. He headed down into the buried city. He did not promise her that he would bring her children back to her. He had already lied to her once.

  Despite the fresh falls, he had moved with confidence through his city. He knew the strengths and weaknesses of it as he knew his own body. He diverted the diggers from one tunnel that he was certain was a loss, and moved them to another fall that they swiftly cleared. Bendir wanted him to go from site to site, carrying a lantern and map and passing out advice. He had flatly refused. "I'm working with those who are tunneling toward the Crowned Rooster Chamber. Once we reach there and rescue Malta, I'll work wherever else you put me. But that is my priority."

  There had nearly been a confrontation, but Mother had reminded Bendir again that the trapped Satrap and his Companion were along that route as well. Bendir grudgingly nodded. Reyn picked up his supplies and set out. He carried water, chalk, line, candles and a tinderbox in a bag slung over his shoulder. Digging and prying tools clanked at his belt. He did not bother with a lantern. The other men might need light to work by, but not him.

  As he hurried down the passage, he trailed the chalk along the wall just above the failed jidzin. Truly, the city was dying when he could not waken even a glow from it. Perhaps it was broken in too many pieces now to work anymore. He wondered mournfully if he had forever lost his chance to puzzle out how it had worked.

  He came to the chamber where they had secured the Satrap. It had been one of the most beautiful chambers they had ever discovered, but the Satrap and his Companion had wallowed in it as if it were a sty. Cosgo truly seemed to have no idea of how to care for himself. Reyn understood the need for servants. His family had hired help who cooked, cleaned and sewed. But a servant to put the shoes on your feet? A servant to comb your hair for you? What sort of a man needed another man to do that for him?

  Water was oozing slowly from beneath the door. Reyn tried to open it, but something heavy pressed against it from the other side. Probably a wall of earth and mud, he reflected grimly. Reyn pounded on the door and shouted, but got no response. He listened to the silence. He tried to feel sorry for how they had perished, but could only remember the look he had seen on the man's face as he looked down at Malta in his arms. Even the memory of it knotted the muscles in Reyn's shoulders. The mud and earth had given the Satrap a swifter death than Reyn would have worked on him, if he had ever looked at Malta like that again.

  He marked the door to let the diggers know he regarded it as hopeless. Let them rescue the living in the next few days. Recovering bodies could wait. He set his chalk to the wall and walked on.

  A dozen strides further and he stumbled over a body. He fell with an oath, then immediately groped his way back. Someone small, the body still warm. Alive. "Malta?" he dared to hope.

  "No. It's Selden," replied a small miserable voice.

  He gathered the trembling boy in close to him. His body was chilled. Reyn sat on the floor and pulled him into his lap. He chafed his arms and legs as he asked him, "Where is Malta? Close by?"

  "I don't know." The boy's teeth began to chatter. Waves of shivering ran over him. "She went in. I was afraid. Then there was the quake. When she didn't come out, I made myself follow her." He peered up at Reyn in the darkness. "Are you Reyn?"

  Bit by bit, Reyn pieced the story together. He gave the lad water, and lit a candle to give him courage. In the flickering light it cast, Selden looked like a little gray old man. His face was smeared with dirt, his clothes heavy with it. His hair was caked to his skull. He could not tell Reyn where he had wandered in his searching. Only that he had called and called for her, and not finding her, he had pressed on. In his heart Reyn cursed both Wilee, for showing Selden how to sneak into the city, and himself, for not seeing that the abandoned tunnels were better secured against adventurous small boys. Two parts of Selden's account struck more fear into Reyn than he could explain. Malta had come here, deliberately seeking the dragon. Why? But as ominous as that was, when Selden mentioned the music she had heard, Reyn bit his lip. How could she have heard it? She was Bingtown born. Few even of Rain Wild stock could hear those elusive notes. Those who could were kept out of the tunnels. That was why he had never told his mother or his brother that he could hear it. Those who heard the music eventually drowned in the memories. So said all who worked the city. Even his father. His father had heard the music and worked the city anyway, until the day they found him sitting in the dark, surrounded by small cubes of black stone. He had drowned in the memories of the city, losing all remembrance of his own life. When they found him, he was sitting in the darkness, stacking blocks like a great babe.

  "Selden," he spoke softly. "I have to go on. I know the way to the chamber where the dragon is buried. I think Malta would have discovered the way there. Now." He took a breath. "You have to decide. You can wait here for the diggers. Perhaps Malta and I will be back before they get here. Or you can go on with me, to look for Malta. Do you understand why I can't take you back to the surface right now?"

  The boy scratched the caked dirt on his face. "Because she might be dead before you got back to her." He sighed heavily. "That's the same reason I didn't go back out and look for help, back when I knew the way out. I was afraid help would be too late."

  "You've a brave heart, Selden. That doesn't mean you should have let it lead you here, but it's a brave heart, none the less." He stood the boy on his feet, then stood up himself. He took Selden's hand. "Come on. Let's go find your sister."

  The boy clutched the candle as if it held his life. He was game, but exhausted. For a short way, Reyn slowed his pace to the boy's. Then, despite Selden's objections, he boosted the boy to his back. Selden held the candle aloft and Reyn trailed his chalk along the wall. They pressed on against the darkness.

  Even the wavering light of the candle was not kind. It showed Reyn all he had avoided knowing. His city was surrendering. The quakes of last night had pushed it beyond endurance. It would persist for a time as fragments of its
elf — disconnected wings and isolated chambers — but eventually all would crumble. The earth had swallowed it years ago. Now it would digest it. His dream of seeing the entire sprawling edifice unearthed and lit again with the light of day was a dream with no future.

  He strode resolutely along, humming to himself. The boy on his shoulders was silent. Had he not held the candle so unwaveringly, Reyn would have believed him asleep. His humming masked the other sounds he did not want to hear. Distant groans of overstressed timbers, dripping and trickling water, and the faint, pale echoes of ancient voices talking and laughing in a by-gone day. He had long ago learned to guard against being too aware of them. Today, as he mourned the passing of his city, its memories pressed against him, seeking to burn themselves into his mind. "Remember us, remember us," they seemed to plead. If he had not had Malta to think of, he would have given in to them. Before Malta, the city had been his life. He would not have been able to contemplate surviving its death. But he did have Malta, he thought fiercely to himself. He did have her, and he would not surrender her, not to the city, not to the dragon. If all else he loved must perish, her he would preserve.

  The door to the Crowned Rooster Chamber hung ajar. No. A closer look revealed it had been forced out of its frame. He gazed briefly on the gaudy cockerel that had become his family's symbol. He slid Selden from his back to the floor. "Wait right here. This chamber is dangerous."

  Selden's eyes widened. It was the first time Reyn had spoken aloud of the danger. "Will it fall down on you?" he asked anxiously.

  "It crushed me a long time ago," Reyn admitted. "Stay here. Keep the candle."

  If Malta were alive and conscious, she would have heard their voices. She would have called out. So. He would look for her body and hope the breath of life was in it yet. He knew she had come here. Without hope, he slapped the jidzin beside the entrance. A faint glow, lighting little more than itself, trickled like slow syrup away from his hand. He forced himself to stand patiently as it encircled the room.