The River of Shadows

by Robert V. S. Redick

  Druffle covered his mouth, deeply contrite. Then he squinted and leaned close to the glass. “Where’s the doctor? He’s a muckin’ swine. D’ye know we’re moving sideways?”

  “Sideways?”

  Druffle illustrated with a wobbly gesture.

  “But that’s crazy,” said Neeps. “A ship can’t move sideways, unless you pick her up and carry her.”

  “Or the sea does, my heart. We’re in a rip tide. Miles wide and infinite long, or so it seems. It snatched us up in the night sometime—you felt the wind die?”

  Neeps was flabbergasted. “I did,” he said under his breath. “But Mr. Druffle, that means Rose was right. He said we were moving sideways.”

  Druffle nodded, his eyes red and bleary. “The going’s been smooth as buttercream since that rip tide caught us. You can’t even tell, ’cept by fixing on a spot ashore with a telescope. That’s what I did, y’see. Then I went to Alyash and made him own up. ‘Keep it to yourself, Druffle, you boozy arse!’ he quips. ‘We don’t want a panic. There’s fear enough in the men till we find that leak and plug it. And maybe we can sail right out again, just like we sailed in, and no harm done but a little lost time.’ That’s what the bosun said. But I say, panic. Panic! It’s devilry, this ripper, and it’s sweepin’ us along after that armada, like it wants us to catch up. See here, lad: we were aimin’ to make landfall to the west of that all-edges city, ain’t that so?”

  “All-edges?” said Neeps.

  “As in we ain’t sure if it’s real.”

  “The buffoon means alleged,” murmured Chadfallow from the room behind.

  “Well now we’re leagues to the west of it, Undrabust,” Druffle continued. “All night long we’ve been slippin’ backward. And those flashes ain’t lightning, my heart. They’re the fires of war. Of course, that ain’t what I came here to tell you.”

  “There’s something else?”

  “You should have stayed on Sollochstol. I’ve been there. You could do worse. You did do worse, he he.”

  “Mr. Druffle,” said Neeps, “are we sinking?”

  “Palm wine and marsh-turtle soup. And the girls in them lily tiaras.”

  Neeps sighed. “Thanks for coming by,” he said.

  The smuggler looked up, and his glance was suddenly sly. He leaned forward until his nose touched the glass. “It’s your mate, Pathkendle. He’s in the brig.”

  “What?” cried Neeps in dismay. “The fool, the fool! What’s he done now?”

  “Shh!” admonished Druffle, liberally spraying the window. But it was too late: Chadfallow rushed forward and demanded that Druffle repeat himself. The smuggler hesitated, swaying and leering at the doctor, and Chadfallow called him a revolting sot. Druffle made an obscene gesture, asked whose wife he’d lately y’know, y’know, and then both men began screaming abuse, and the Turachs laughed, and Oggosk shrieked in sudden general loathing, and Rose yanked the doctor away for fear he’d break the window.

  It was in this melee that Myett and Ludunte climbed down through the smoke-hole, walked to the room’s center and announced that the prisoners were to enjoy an hour’s liberty for good behavior.

  The hubbub vanished. “Liberty?” said Darius Plapp, his voice barely higher than a whisper.

  “Temporary liberty,” replied Ludunte. “You shall enjoy these furloughs once per week, if you try nothing foolish during the given hour.”

  Neeps was too astonished for words. For the first time in weeks he saw hope in the prisoners’ faces.

  “Captain Rose has done this once before,” Ludunte continued. “The rest of you, take heed.” He pointed to the bag in Myett’s hands. “This is the temporary version of the antidote. It lasts an hour only, and it is very precise. Use the hour as you like, but do not be late in returning.”

  “Why do you do this now?” said Rose.

  The two ixchel said nothing for a moment. “Our lord Taliktrum is concerned for your comfort,” said Myett at last, in her cold, sibilant voice.

  “You must listen for the ship’s bell,” said Ludunte. “It will ring stridently when ten minutes remain. Hurry back when you hear it. Step into this cabin, breathe in the drug. Otherwise you will die, as surely as though you’d taken no pill at all.”

  “Remember this, too,” added Myett. “Below the berth deck the ship is off-limits to humans, except by special permission. Do not try our patience. Above all, do not imagine that you have any hope of finding where we hide the drug. The lives of those who remain in this chamber are forfeit if you try.”

  The ixchel explained that only three hostages would be released at a time. “By evening, all of you will have had your turn. We shall begin with the youngest, and the women. Lady Oggosk, Marila, Undrabust: step forward. The rest of you, prepare to hold your breath when they open the door.”

  Marila took Neeps by the arm. She almost never smiled, but he had come to know when she was happy by the wideness of her eyes. They were wide as saucers now.

  “This is wrong,” said Dastu suddenly. “My master should be first, or Captain Rose—not these two traitors and the witch.”

  Rose waved a dismissive hand; he would never seek favors from “crawlies.” Sandor Ott cracked his old, scarred knuckles and smiled wolfishly. “They won’t let me out,” he said with certainty. “Not for an hour, or a minute. Not first or last. I certainly wouldn’t in their place. I’m right, aren’t I? Those are your orders?”

  Ludunte regarded him nervously. “I have nothing else to say,” he murmured at last.

  “No matter,” said Ott. “I will free myself, by and by. And then we shall see about Lord Taliktrum’s concern for comfort.”

  Myett looked at him with loathing, and not a little fear. Then she opened her bag and removed a small cloth package bound with string, which she quickly untied. Within lay three white pills. Side by side, they barely fit on Myett’s palm: clearly they had been made for humans.

  “You must swallow your pills at the same time, all three of you, and exit together.”

  “Glah,” said Oggosk, pointing irritably at Rose. “Give him my dose. I’ll go later, when the heat passes. Let the captain see what’s become of his ship.”

  “Are you certain, Duchess?” said Rose.

  “Was I ever otherwise, you fool? Take the offer, and leave me in peace.”

  Two minutes later the door flew open with a bang. Rose stormed out and barreled for the quarterdeck, shouting for Fiffengurt and Alyash, watch-captains, duty officers, his steward, his meal. All around him men leaped to attention. Neeps and Marila stepped out more fearfully and shut the door. They clenched each other’s hands (for who knew, who knew?), closed their eyes and inhaled.

  The drug worked. They were free, if only for an hour. Neeps opened his eyes. A mob was cheering, chasing after Rose. But three figures pushed through it in their direction. The first was running headlong: Thasha. She skidded to a halt and threw her arms around them both and laughed and shouted and kissed their cheeks. Behind her Hercól and Bolutu came striding, wide smiles on their faces.

  “Nutter girl!” Neeps laughed, hugging her until it hurt. “How’ve you and Pazel managed to stay alive so long without us?”

  “It was Hercól who got you out,” said Thasha, her own eyes bright with tears. “The council was about to explode, but he calmed everyone down and shamed Taliktrum into this furlough idea.”

  “Sometimes it takes a fighter to stop a fight,” said Bolutu. “Come, away! The hour will pass quickly. We have food—of a sort—in the stateroom, and hot water for bathing is on its way, two buckets apiece. And Felthrup is simply going mad.”

  “First things first,” said Neeps. “What in the nine stinking Pits happened to Pazel?”

  There was an awkward silence. Thasha dropped her eyes, and to Neeps’ amazement her ears began to redden. Then a voice from behind her called out: “I’m afraid I did, Undrabust.”

  Greysan Fulbreech, one eye purple and bloodshot, walked up and extended his hand. Neeps just stared at him. T
hen to his astonishment he saw Thasha take Fulbreech’s other hand, tenderly, like something she cherished.

  “I tried so hard, Neeps,” she said, her voice a plea. “To tell him sooner, to explain. It wasn’t anything Pazel did wrong.”

  “No one is to blame,” said Hercól.

  “Least of all Pathkendle,” said Fulbreech, his fingertips brushing Thasha’s arm. “He was in shock, you know. He really does care for her. Because of that I can’t be angry. In fact I’m hopeful that one day we’ll all be friends.”

  Neeps hit him. Savagely, in the stomach. He had Fulbreech down on the deck before they tore him away.

  “You rabid Rinforsaken slobbering dog.”

  Only Marila could deliver insults that cutting in a voice that calm. “I told you I’m sorry,” said Neeps, pressing clean gauze (provided by Fulbreech) into his nose.

  “Brilliant. Just blary brilliant,” Marila continued. “Thirty minutes left. If we’re lucky your nose will stop bleeding for the last three.”

  “Why don’t you go do something, then?”

  “I hate you. I hate you.”

  “You’re not being fair to him,” said Pazel, hands on the bars of his cell.

  “Don’t tell me about fair,” said Marila, still in that deadpan voice. “You think I feel sorry for you, locked up for three whole days?” She looked hard at Neeps. “Taliktrum will never let you out again after this.”

  “Listen, Marila,” said Neeps, his head still tilted back, “Fulbreech is a liar. A fake. He’s found a … weak spot, see? A weak spot in Thasha, and he’s exploiting it.”

  “Thasha is not a fool,” said Marila. “If she’s with him, she has to have a reason. And if you ask me it’s because she’s taken a fancy, the same way anybody else does.”

  “Then she’s a fake,” said Pazel. “She doesn’t love him. She’s pretending.”

  “Well she’s doing a blary good job.” Then, seeing Pazel cringe at her words, she added in a louder voice: “I never say things the right way. I know that. If you want somebody to lie and make you feel better, maybe I should go.” She paused, breathing deeply. “But if you ask me you’re better off without her, that mucking rich grugustagral. You weren’t the only one she fooled. I was there when she told you she was done with Fulbreech. I know what you’ve been through with her. For her.”

  Neeps whispered, “What’s a grugu-gu—”

  “Shut up,” said Marila.

  “Thasha’s a good person,” Pazel insisted miserably. “And we need her, too. We’re supposed to be a team.”

  “Exactly,” said Marila. “Those burn scars mean you’re supposed to stick together, you three and Hercól and Bolutu and even Rose, somehow—to stay and fight together to the blary end. Besides, you and Thasha—” She puffed out her round cheeks, angrily. “It’s like magic. You love her despite the invasion of Ormael, despite her father. I think you even managed to love her father. And if she wants to throw all that away just because some handsome—”

  “Handsome?” cried both boys. “He’s not! He’s a goon!”

  Marila looked from one to the other. “Hopeless,” she sighed.

  Neeps turned back to Pazel. “Hercól must be in on it,” he said. “But why are they doing it, and why won’t they tell you? That’s what you have to figure out.”

  “Right,” said Pazel. But Neeps could see that his heart had gone out of it. Marila’s argument had struck home; he was at last considering the possibility that Thasha’s change of heart was real.

  All at once he seemed to reach a decision. “Get up, you two,” he said. “You’ve wasted almost your whole hour on me. Go and eat something, walk around. And wash off that blood, mate. Go on, right now. I mean it.”

  Neeps felt like a heel, but his guilt at keeping Marila from enjoying any of her furlough was gnawing him, and Pazel was unyielding. All three got to their feet. Pazel linked hands with them through the bars.

  “Every other time, she trusted me,” he blurted. “Even when she was scared or ashamed. Why would she start hiding things now?”

  Marila looked Pazel in the eye. You had to know her well to realize how much sympathy she felt. “That’s my point, Pazel. She wouldn’t, and she’s not.”

  But as they walked away Pazel was still shaking his head.

  The ten-minute bell clanged its strident warning. In the stateroom, Neeps and Marila jumped up from the table, and the little feast their friends had assembled. Hercól and Bolutu rose as well. Neeps looked across the room and stifled a growl.

  It just kept getting worse. Thasha and Fulbreech were standing by the windows, close together. She had brought him through the invisible wall. Since its sudden appearance three months ago they had found that Thasha alone controlled access to the stateroom, merely by commanding the wall to admit chosen friends. Uskins had marked it with a red line of paint on the deck; it ran from port to starboard, straight down the middle of a cross-passage twenty feet from the stateroom door. No one but those Thasha named could cross that line. They had no idea where the wall had come from, or why it answered only to Thasha, but they were all glad of its protection. Now without consulting anyone she had added Fulbreech to their circle.

  She had tried to make peace between them. Fulbreech had been willing; but Neeps had turned his head with a bitter laugh, and Marila’s look made Jorl and Suzyt whimper deep in their throats. After a moment Fulbreech had simply withdrawn to the other end of the stateroom. Thasha had tried to talk to them—about the attack of the dlömic army, the council meeting, the fruitless search for Arunis. Hercól and Bolutu had urged them to eat. Felthrup, in nervous agony, had babbled like a soul possessed, now and then stopping to chew his stumpy tail. At last he had burst into tears and fled into Admiral Isiq’s old quarters. Hercól had followed him inside, and emerged minutes later, shaking his head.

  “Are you sure it was wise, Thasha, to indulge his request?”

  “I’m not sure of much these days,” she responded, her voice suddenly hardening as she glanced at Hercól.

  “What are you talking about?” said Marila. “What request?”

  Thasha sighed. “Felthrup believes that he’s accomplishing something vital—in his sleep. You know he used to have those terrible nightmares, the ones he’d wake up from squealing and shaking? Well, they’ve stopped, thank Rin. But he has an idea that they weren’t normal dreams at all. He thinks they were sent by Arunis.”

  “What?” said Fulbreech, touching her elbow. “Your rat friend thinks the sorcerer was attacking him through dreams?”

  “That’s his suspicion,” said Thasha, “although he’s never been able to remember any details. When the nightmares were happening he was so afraid that he stopped sleeping at all—for ages. I think it nearly killed him. And now he’s just obsessed. He’s been reading about sleep and dreams and trances in the Polylex—you know, my particular copy—”

  “Right,” said Marila quickly as Fulbreech raised his eyes with sudden interest.

  She’s cracked! thought Neeps. She practically just told that slimy bloke that she’s got a thirteenth edition! Why doesn’t Hercól put a stop to this?

  “He wanted a place to sleep in the daytime,” Thasha continued. “He asked for a dark nest, and I provided it—found an old hatbox, lined it with scarves, placed it with the open side facing the back of the closet. Then I hung a curtain over the closet door to keep light from leaking in. With all of Father’s uniforms and Syrarys’ dresses still hanging in there, I guess it’s about as dark and quiet as anyplace on the ship.”

  “He retreats to that nest for hours at a time,” said Bolutu, “and when he emerges, he is strange and preoccupied, but he never tells us why.”

  “I don’t like this at all,” said Neeps.

  “Nor do I,” said Hercól, “but I have come to trust that rat’s intuition almost as much as my own. He often senses far more than he understands. But we must be off, my friends. The hour is ending, and it is a long walk to the forecastle house.”

&nb
sp; “Thank you all,” said Neeps. “You’re first-rate, I mean it.”

  Thasha came forward, her eyes bright, and took his hand in both of hers. “We miss you,” she said.

  “Yeah,” said Neeps, glancing around, as though for someone who wasn’t there.

  “We’ll go with you, of course,” she said. Then she added awkwardly, “Greysan’s going to stay here.”

  A difficult silence. Marila turned to look at the Simjan. “Alone?” she said.

  “Yes, alone,” said Thasha, a bit sharply. “Why shouldn’t he?”

  Neeps took a deep breath, and held it. Because it’s insane, that’s why. Because you’re out of your mind if you let him poke around in the stateroom. The magical Polylex was here, and so was Mr. Fiffengurt’s secret journal, and the letters he’d written to his unborn child. There were also Bolutu’s notebooks, and Thasha’s own, and even some jottings Pazel had made in the back of an old logbook.

  “We’ll go back by ourselves,” said Marila suddenly. “You can all stay here.”

  Neeps quickly agreed: it was as if Marila had read his mind. The others protested, but he and Marila stood firm. Wishing their friends a last hasty goodbye, they bolted from the stateroom.

  What occurred next shocked them both. Just beyond the red line that traced the invisible wall they found Rose waiting, terribly tense, fingering something in his pocket. “What kept you?” he barked. “Come along, quickly!”

  “We have to get back, Captain,” said Neeps. “I can already feel the pain beginning.”

  “Save your breath,” said Rose. “Come with me, that’s an order.”

  He plunged across the upper gun deck, not looking back, confident of being obeyed. Neeps and Marila stood rooted to the spot.

  “He’s going the right direction,” said Neeps at last. “We can start off following him, and break for the topdeck if things get strange.”

  “Things already are,” said Marila.

  Nonetheless they followed the captain as he barreled past the startled carpenters and gun-repair teams, around the tonnage hatch and into the starboard lateral passage. “He’s still aiming for the forecastle house,” whispered Neeps. “In fact we’ll probably get there sooner this way. No crowds to slow us down. But would it hurt him to—”