The Rats and the Ruling sea tcv-2

by Robert V. S. Redick

  'I don't know what you're-' he began, but Oggosk cut him off angrily.

  'My time is precious, in a way almost impossible to understand at sixteen. Don't waste it. I know about Ixphir House and the crawly fortress on the mercy deck. I know about Diadrelu and her jealous nephew Taliktrum, son of the late Lord Talag. Stop shaking your heads! Look at this, you fibbing urchins.'

  Twisting, she reached back over her shoulder to a little shelf. From the clutter of vials and bent spoons and bangles she extracted a tiny wooden box. She tossed it to Pazel with a flick of her wrist.

  Inside the box something rattled softly. Pazel glanced warily at Oggosk, then freed the clasp and opened the lid. Inside lay two shoes, well-worn, soft-soled, each less than an inch in length.

  'Those are Talag's,' said the old woman. 'Sniraga brought him to me, slain by her own fangs, I think. Another crawly came to me later, to plead for the body. I gave it to him, but in exchange I made him talk.'

  'Why didn't you tell the captain, if you're so afraid of ixchel?' Pazel asked.

  Oggosk looked at him severely. 'I reveal what I choose, at the time of my choosing.'

  'That's right,' said Neeps, sounding even angrier than Pazel felt. 'We take the chances. You just croak and complain about how badly we're doing, and pile up your stories, and shoes, and things to chuckle over. Your cat goes out stealing and murdering, and you sit there like a plum duff-'

  'Have a care,' said Oggosk. 'I've killed smaller fry than you.'

  'We risk our lives fighting Arunis and Ott and your mad old butcher of a captain-'

  'Silence!' snapped Oggosk. For the first time she looked truly furious. 'Insult Nilus Rose again and you'll learn just how much these old bones are capable of!'

  Pazel laid a restraining hand on his arm, but Neeps shrugged it off. He got to his feet, a move that scarcely made him more imposing.

  'I'm not afraid, you blathering old hag.'

  Pazel leaped up, throwing himself in front of Neeps. Oggosk rose stiffly from her chair. Her milk-blue eyes were pitiless and bright. 'You should fear me, Neeparvasi Undrabust,' she said. 'What I may do, and even more, what I may choose to neglect.'

  'Get out of here, Neeps,' Pazel pleaded, shoving his friend towards the door. 'I'll handle this, go on!' Neeps protested, but Pazel was unyielding. At last Neeps stormed out, slamming the door behind him with a noise that set all the chickens squawking.

  'It's a wonder that boy has made it through sixteen years,' said Oggosk, settling back into her chair. 'You choose odd friends, Mr Pathkendle.'

  'Neeps is my best friend,' said Pazel coldly.

  '"Odd" is not a term of disparagement, boy,' said the old woman. 'I rather like him, if you care to know. We Lorg Sisters admire purity among other virtues, and your Neeps has a glimmer of purity about him — at least where pride is concerned. That doesn't mean he won't get himself killed, of course. The Lorg also teaches respect for the sebrothin, the self-doomed. He certainly qualifies.'

  She bent down and picked up Sniraga, groaning a little as she straightened. The cat quite filled her arms.

  'He isn't doomed,' said Pazel, thinking that he would soon be as angry as Neeps if she kept on in this vein. 'He loses his head sometimes, but that's what friends are for — to step in and catch you. Isn't that what you're always doing for the captain?'

  Oggosk stroked her cat, watching him steadily. 'Arunis has a Polylex,' she said at last.

  'So what?' said Pazel. 'Everyone has a Polylex.'

  'Arunis,' said the witch with growing irritation, 'has a thirteenth edition Polylex.'

  Pazel started. The forbidden book! The same magic volume Thasha kept hidden in her cabin. 'How — how did he get it?' he whispered.

  'Like any merchant, he bought it,' said Oggosk. 'Between the things that are bought and sold and the things that cannot be had for any price, there is a third category: things that appear to be beyond anyone's reach, but which may sometimes be acquired for a phenomenal price. The thirteenth Polylex is one of those. Arunis must have hired someone to search for it on his behalf — search the world over, for only a handful survived the bonfires of Magad the Third. It's a pity you take so little stock of your surroundings. Whoever found the book for Arunis must have passed it to him right there in Simja, under your noses.'

  Pazel felt his anger rise again, and tried to suppress it. 'What is he doing with the thing?'

  'What Thasha should be,' said Oggosk with a little sneer. 'He's reading it — night after night, at a fever pitch. Do I really need to tell you what he's searching for?'

  Pazel was silent for a moment, then shook his head. 'The Nilstone,' he said. 'He wants to learn how to use the Nilstone.'

  'Of course. And the knowledge is there, Mr Pathkendle. Hidden in that sea of printed flotsom, and — we may hope — by evasion and metaphor and double-meaning, but there nonetheless. The book's mad editor, your namesake Pazel Doldur, considered no field of knowledge too dangerous to include. And when Arunis learns the truth he will have no more need of us. He will go to the Shaggat and touch the Stone, and in that instant we shall be overwhelmed. Ramachni will hold no terror for him, and the wall about your stateroom will pop like a bubble of foam. The Shaggat will breathe again, and Arunis will take his king home to Gurishal by wind-steed or murth-chariot. There, thanks to Sandor Ott, he will find his worshippers in a fever of expectation, ready for vengeance. And with the Nilstone for a servant they will be all but unstoppable. The Mzithrin will fall, and so, in time, will Arqual and the East. Twenty years from now, boys your age in Ormael and Etherhorde could be praying to little statues of that lunatic, and marching in his batallions.'

  'We'll get the book,' said Pazel, his voice low and earnest. 'We'll take it from him, before he finds out how to use the Stone.'

  Oggosk's eyes widened, amusement and contempt struggling for control of her features. ' You'll get the book? The mighty Ormali and his suicidal friend? That's a capital idea. Knock on his door and ask to borrow it for the evening. No, monkey, I didn't call you here for that. I want something altogether simpler.'

  'And what might that be?'

  'I want you to stop caring for Thasha Isiq.'

  This time Pazel gave the old woman just the right sort of look: baffled and offended, but with nothing to hide.

  'I am not being spiteful,' said Oggosk. 'This is a grave matter, as important in every way as Arunis and his Polylex. Indeed the two issues are one and the same.'

  'We're not handing over her body, if that's what you-'

  'Thasha is alive and restless in her stateroom,' said the witch with finality. 'And you'll do exactly as I say. Dine with her, conspire with her, let her and the Tholjassan teach you to handle a sword. Flirt with her, if you like. I know better than to expect young men to do otherwise, even when to do so is to risk everything. Glah, that's a permanent flaw in humanity, and there's no cure under Heaven's Tree.

  'But let your kisses be cold ones, boy. Do not love her. Do not let her love you. Enjoy yourself, but if she looks at you with tenderness you must laugh in her face, or walk away, or show her some other form of contempt. Do you understand me?'

  'I understand you to be out of your nasty mind.'

  'We should have brought other girls aboard,' said Oggosk, vexed. 'Girls your age, I mean. There are a number of women in steerage, however, and some have a look of experience about them. One or two are even attractive.'

  'Goodbye,' Pazel sang out, for that was all he could do short of cursing her aloud. He made quickly for the door. He was appalled; he felt as though she had torn open a secret part of him and defiled it.

  Oggosk's voice froze him in mid-stride. 'This is the only warning you will receive. Where Thasha is concerned I shall not be in the least forgiving. If that girl begins to love you I will send Sniraga into the Chathrand 's depths, and have her bring back an ixchel body to lay at Rose's feet. When he learns of the infestation he will slay the whole clan in a matter of hours — and believe me, the captain knows how it is done.'


  Pazel spoke over his shoulder. 'You'd kill them all, just to punish me.'

  'I would,' said Oggosk. 'I do not shrink from the obligations of history. But they need not die. You may advise them to disembark at our next landfall — provided you do as I say with Thasha. Give her no reason to love you, and your ixchel friends may survive to raid another ship.'

  'As if anyone would trust you to keep a bargain like that,' said Pazel.

  'You have no choice but to trust me,' said Oggosk simply. 'But listen: why not tell Thasha about the murth-girl? Say that you're still fond of her, that she fascinates you, haunts your dreams. You wouldn't even be lying, would you? But never let Thasha set a finger on you here!' — Lady Oggosk indicated her collarbone — 'Rin save you if you break the heart of a murth.'

  He was dreaming. Not even Oggosk could be so senselessly cruel. But when she spoke again her voice was in deadly earnest.

  'Removing the admiral from the scene was no pleasure,' she said. 'Don't share his fate, Mr Pathkendle. What Thasha is to do, she must do alone. You can only get in her way.'

  Once more Pazel met the old woman's eyes. There was no gloating in them, and no hesitation either.

  'I hate you,' he said. 'I hate all of you, with my soul.'

  'Souls are exactly what concern me,' said Oggosk. 'Get out.'

  13

  Illusions at Talturi

  29 Teala 941

  108th day from Etherhorde

  The Honourable Captain Theimat Rose

  Northbeck Abbey, Mereldin Isle, South Quezans

  Dear Sir,

  Fond greetings from your only son.3 We are making no less than fourteen knots as I write these words, for the gale that carried us from Simja still blows favourably, east by south-east, and the warm Bramian Current works to our advantage as well. Today we passed the islet called Death's Cap: that lone round rock with its forest of poles, on which for countless years the Arquali Navy has displayed the skulls of pirates and mercenaries, and others who dare to live untamed by Magad's fleets. Our last glimpse of Imperial civilization.

  We are yet some days from the Ruling Sea; by my reckoning the ship is currently due west of the Quezans. I shall raise a glass in your direction at supper tonight.

  In fact I should like a bit more of a storm. Not only to speed us on our way, but also to keep lesser boats in port. Now that the deed at Talturi is done we must, above all things, remain unseen. And while we have kept to the loneliest stretch of the Nelu Peren, there is always the chance of an encounter. Last Thursday a ship appeared on the northern horizon, but she was too far even to count our masts, let alone identify us.

  We kept our distance until nightfall, and when the dawn came there was fog to the north, and we saw her no more.

  Rougher seas would have made the great charade at Talturi more convincing as well. You know the island: brave mariners along the western coast, especially those from the city-state of Manturl Cove. But the north-east is another world: the men there are witless clam-diggers and reef fishermen, all under the sway of a daft Bishwa who has them forever building seawalls against a tidal wave that never appears. This is where we chose to sink.

  The fog might have ruined everything — for on this one occasion we had to be noticed. Fortunately it did not reach Talturi until well past dusk, and in the end it even worked to our advantage. Just before nightfall we paraded, close and clumsy, along the north shore and the Village of Three Rivers. I made certain they saw us; I even saluted their mean little wharf with one of the forecastle guns. The storm was chasing their fishing-fleet home with tucked tails, though of course we barely felt it on the Great Ship. We ran before the wind with excessive canvas. If any true sailors watched, they must have noted our fouled mizzentop, our wagging rudder, our overall carelessness (it cost me much to force the men to work poorly; it appalled my every instinct, and theirs). Worst of all, we ran due east: straight at Talturi Reef, as though we knew nothing of it and could not hear the clang-clang-clang of the warning buoy. The fisherfolk leaped and gestured, and one or two signalled danger with a scarlet flag. We ignored them and ran on.

  But as soon as night closed in we tacked three points to windward, circumnavigated the reef, and crept back under shortened sail to Octurl Point, the eastern extreme of Talturi Island. The Bishwa keeps a lighthouse there, but its lamp is weak and could not pierce the fog: only the buoy told us our distance from the coral. I need not explain to you that the danger was real: dropping anchor was out of the question, and yet we were not half a league from a submerged wall that would tear the bottom out of Chathrand as surely as any other ship.

  We turned Chathrand into the wind, striking all but the fore topsail in order to keep us pointed true, and to hold our shoreward drift to a minimum. Then I set six hundred men to work.

  All that vital and expensive wreckage had been raised from the hold already: broken spars, shattered mastwood and gunwales, cabin doors with brass nameplates, boxes of engraved cutlery, footlockers, water casks, wine bottles, life preservers, a perfect replica of the Goose-Girl, a fine Arquali cello, first-class children's toys, a ruined longboat with IMS Chathrand emblazoned on her stern. All was genuine; even the tar on the tattered rigging matched our own. At my orders men pried open the crates, slit the burlap, severed the ropes that had secured all this flotsam, and dragged it to the gunwales, port and starboard, bow to stern. It was a weird sight, Father: our untouched Chathrand, draped in artifacts of her own demise.

  Then we distributed the bodies of our slain. Rarely have I seen men look more mutinous, sir. Even that trader in pelts and carcasses Mr Latzlo (still mooning for the Lapadolma girl, who despised him) roused himself to grumble about the wrongness of tossing our own sailors and soldiers out with the garbage, especially as they had died fighting for the ship. Probably Sandor Ott intended to use the bodies of criminals: the governor of Ormael had some twenty waiting to be executed. But after the violence in which Ott was driven from the palace, the governor (too great a fool to be trusted with details of the Plan) was no longer cooperative. In a sense we are indebted to Arunis for killing as many of us as he did: shipwrecks must have bodies. Old Swellows, who served you as a tarboy on the Indomitable, lay among them: bloated and red-faced, a drunkard even in death.

  Brother Bolutu prayed beside each corpse, and sent their spirits to final rest with the sign of the Tree. His gesture calmed the men. It was the first time he has proved useful since the start of the voyage.

  For two hours I stared into perfect darkness. The clanging buoy grew louder, nearer; all over the ship men listened, barely breathing. We were surely no more than a quarter-mile off the reef.

  In another minute I would have given the order to abort and run. Then a dim glow swept over the Chathrand. It was the lighthouse: the fog was thinning at last. 'Over the side!' I declared. 'Over the side with everything, the whole confabulation! They can see our lights too, make haste, make haste!' I did not shout, for the wind was behind us and my voice might have carried to the lighthouse keepers. But the lieutenants took up the command, and at once the men began to heave and hurl the wreckage into the sea. Ott's attention to detail was flawless, not to say maniacal: he had lain away bags of straw, silage, chicken feathers and other debris that would toss on the wave-tops, and casks of walrus oil and turpentine to stain the Talturi shore.

  The corpses proved most difficult: even after Bolutu's blessing we had to tear some of them from the arms of their shipmates, who sobbed like children. I let them. If those voices reached Talturi, so much the better.

  Next we extinguished every light aboard, save the running lights facing the island, and a few handheld lamps. There are five of these running lights: big fengas contraptions designed to self-extinguish if their glass hoods so much as crack. With great care my men detached them from the rigging and lowered them, still burning, towards the sea. Those of us holding lamps rushed and staggered, dipped and bobbed: I think Mr Uskins was quite enjoying himself.

  By now I could hear
voices hailing us from Octurl Point. We answered with screams, distress-whistles, frantic peals of the ship's bell. Teggatz beat a cauldron with an iron spoon. Alyash, the new bosun, lit a flare and hurled it in a blazing arc into the sea. Of the officers, Fiffengurt alone stood silent, arms crossed, as if the scene was highly offensive to him. I know what you will say, Father: that I have not punished him sufficiently, taught him to fear my every glance, my least displeasure. Better a dead man than a disobedient one, etc. But I cannot do without Fiffengurt yet. Although he suspects nothing, he is going to betray his friends to me. He is a man with too much to lose.

  The storm had us rolling, and one of the running lights smashed against our hull. But the others we managed to drown in the waves — one after another, as though our keel had shattered on the reef and we were flooding fast. I sent the men with the deck lamps a short way up the masts: they were the lone survivors, now, trying to keep their heads above water. One by one we snuffed the lamps. I dangled the last one from the quarterdeck, waved it fitfully and blew it out. And in deep darkness the men set mainsails, and we tacked sharp into the wind and bore away.

  'Congratulations, Nilus,' said Lady Oggosk, who had come out into the rain to watch the show. 'Once more you prove that you were born to deceive. By mid-autumn all Etherhorde will know that the Great Ship went down off Talturi. Lady Lapadolma will die of heartache. Come to think of it, she'll learn of her niece's death at about the same time.'

  'She took the Chathrand from me once,' I said. 'Now I have taken the ship from her and her damnable Company, for ever.'

  It was then that the ghost intervened. Oggosk's lips kept moving, she was cackling and delighted, but instead of her voice I heard another, cold as a tomb, and saw the walking shadow approaching me from the jiggermast. 'For ever!' it hissed. ' That is but one of the black immensities! You know nothing of them, but I do. I know them, Nilus Rose. They gape at me like cavern mouths. One of them shall claim and devour me.'