The Rats and the Ruling sea tcv-2

by Robert V. S. Redick

  Before Thasha could ask what he meant, the lookout cried: 'Black Rags altering course, sir, due south, matching us point-for-point.'

  Rose favoured Thasha with a glance. 'Admiral Kuminzat knows what he's up against,' he said. 'Unless he has the gods' own luck with weather, he has to take us soon. Every mile we can run out on the Nelluroq plays to our advantage. He's turned south to cut us off.'

  'Around the far side of the island,' said Pazel. 'And you waited until he was almost on top of Sandplume, so that he'd have to make a hasty choice, didn't you?'

  'A hasty choice and a bad one, Pathkendle. Maybe you do know something.'

  Thasha could hear the ghosts whispering approval. In minutes Sandplume would hide the Chathrand from the Jistrolloq, and then Rose could turn as he liked without giving their course away. For the Mzithrinis, reversing direction was impossible: they would lose a good hour tacking against the wind just to get safely clear of Sandplume and back on the course she had abandoned. She could only run south now, and take up the pursuit after rounding the isle — but Thasha doubted that the Chathrand would be anywhere near Sandplume by then.

  High above, Neeps fed the line through a wheelblock, then tugged it through yard by yard. When it reached them, Pazel leaned out and snatched the rope, and clinging to the spar with his legs alone, tied a slipknot. Together he and Thasha eased the loop over Pondrakeri's head and arms, struggling to keep him from toppling to the deck.

  As she heaved at the dead man, Thasha kept one eye on Rose. Now and then the air about him seemed to flicker, as if unseen hands were gesturing and pointing, but Rose paid no attention to the apparitions. Instead he turned from the rail and shouted:

  'Hard to port, Sailmaster! East by south-east!'

  'Hard to port! Haul away port!'

  The frantic struggle on the deck began again, and in a matter of seconds they were back on their old eastward course.

  'Brilliant,' said Pazel with grudging admiration. 'We'll gain miles on 'em this way. But there's nowhere else to hide, now that we're leaving the islands. And hours of daylight yet. Sooner or later we'll have to run south again, if Rose plans to escape into the Ruling Sea.'

  'We may not escape even there,' said Thasha. 'The Jistrolloq's braved the Nelluroq before. She's too small to cross it, but she can handle the margins. The huge waves are mostly farther out.'

  Pazel was gaping at her. 'How do you know all that, Thasha?'

  She blinked at him, startled. 'The Polylex?' she said, uncertain.

  Pazel shook his head in wonder. He tied off the extra rope around Pondrakeri's legs.

  On a impulse, Thasha asked him, 'How did Drellarek die? Was it the creature who breathed on you?'

  Pazel's face paled. He looked suddenly as though he was going to be sick. He nodded, breathing hard.

  'I'm sorry,' she said. 'I shouldn't have asked.'

  Pazel made no reply. His eyes had slid to the quarterdeck. Thasha followed his gaze and saw Lady Oggosk directly below, watching them keenly.

  Pazel turned his back on Thasha. 'We've got a job to finish,' he said coldly, 'that is, if you really came to help.'

  They hoisted Pondrakeri from the netting like a drowned man, and guided him, swaying and spinning, over the rail and down to the main deck. The topman was far more difficult. At seventy feet the mast pitched enormously, and at the end of each pendular swing they looked down from the ropes not on the quarterdeck but on the churning ocean. Thasha found herself mouthing prayers from the Lorg School, and was glad when the practised hands of the ex-tarboys shot out to steady her. The hands of the topman were scarlet, slippery as eels. By the time they had him down on the deck the three youths were painted with blood from face to calves. As she and Pazel wrestled the bodies down to the surgical annexe (Neeps had stayed behind to scrub the quarterdeck) Thasha had to fight the urge to vomit. The smell of blood — a rank stench of rust and wet clay — was overpowering. Flies bit her sticky arms and sweaty face.

  They laid the bodies side by side. Pazel forced out a laugh — a bitter laugh, almost cruel, like nothing she'd ever heard from his lips. 'Wonder how much company they'll have before the day's done,' he said, smiling, clenching his fists.

  'Let's just get out of here,' said Thasha.

  They sat on the lower gun deck near Tanner's gunnery team, a tub of seawater between them, and scrubbed off the worst of the blood with rags. Thasha watched Pazel peel off his gory shirt and dunk it in the tub, where the water was already pink. What's wrong with you? she wanted to scream. Why've you gone so blary hateful? Then she saw that Pazel's eyes were moist.

  'What was his name?' he said. 'The topman, I mean. Nobody on the quarterdeck even knew his name.'

  They parted at the compartment door, and Thasha went to the stateroom to change. The guard outside the stateroom, curiously enough, had been withdrawn; and as she ran to the door Thasha let herself hope that Hercol had been set free as well. But her tutor was not in the stateroom — no one was, in fact, except Jorl and Suzyt, padding the bare boards in a room where everything that could not be bolted down had been stowed.

  'Get off, idiots,' she said as they jumped on her. She locked the door and called out softly for Diadrelu. 'I'm alone,' she said. 'Where have you gone?'

  'Here,' came a faint voice from the washroom.

  Thasha opened the door. On the footstool sat Dri, washed and clothed in a new shirt of black silk. She held up her hand, stopping Thasha in the doorway, and turned to face the cast-iron bathtub.

  'Ensyl,' she said, 'you have nothing to fear from Lady Thasha.'

  Thasha tensed. From behind the bathtub stepped another ixchel, a thin young woman with a large forehead and wide, watchful eyes. She was heavily armed — sword, dagger, bow — and barefoot, as Dri always was. The woman's lips moved as if in speech, but Thasha could hear no sound.

  'Bend your voice,' Diadrelu told her. To Thasha, she said, 'Ensyl is my sophister — my apprentice, if you like. She is here to be sure I behave like an invalid.'

  'My lady must not make sport of me,' said the girl, who had not taken her eyes from Thasha. Her whole face clenched as she spoke; she did not appear to have much practice in pitching her voice to the human register.

  'Nor shall I ever,' said Diadrelu. 'What is more, I applaud your choice. For you have made a very serious choice, you know. You are only the third ixchel on the Chathrand to show herself to a human. I am another; and the third is Taliktrum himself, who has since forbidden contact with humans under any circumstances, on pain of death.'

  'I wanted to see you,' said Ensyl to Thasha. 'Some of my people have notions about you. They believe you will be the doom of this ship. Even today Lord Taliktrum's attendant Myett spoke of you as one bewitched. But Lady Dri is my only mistress, and if she tells me I have nothing to fear, then I fear not.'

  'I said you need not fear Thasha,' corrected Dri. 'We may all have something to fear from lies and superstitions — to say nothing of cannon-fire. How goes the chase, Lady Thasha?'

  'We gained a little time,' said Thasha, with a nervous glance at the window, 'but not enough to escape the Jistrolloq. Arunis said we should surrender before they kill us all.'

  'Arunis still dreams of Sathek's Sceptre,' said Diadrelu. 'Our watch saw him looking from the gunports at the red flame on Sandplume, with a hunger so great one could all but smell it. Surrender, I think, would just be a means of bringing the sceptre within his reach. Its power is surely slight compared to that of the Nilstone — but he has no means of using the Nilstone, yet. He failed with the Shaggat, and again on Dhola's Rib. Now I begin to wonder if there might be a connection between the sceptre and the Stone.'

  'What sort of connection?' asked Thasha warily.

  Dri closed her eyes. 'When Arunis called up Sathek's ghost, he said, "I must have it for my king." And something else: "Imagine him when the Swarm returns. The Nilstone in one fist, your sceptre in the other. Armies shall wilt before him, like petals in the frost." ' She opened her eyes. 'Arunis literally dar
es not touch the Nilstone. But when a poker in the fire is too hot to touch, what do we do?'

  'We use a glove,' said Ensyl.

  'Yes,' said Dri, 'and what if the sceptre is that glove? The Nilstone, as we learned, slays any with fear in their hearts. What if fearlessness is just what the sceptre can provide?'

  Thasha drew a shaky breath. 'His precious king is still just a rock,' she said.

  'That too the sceptre might reverse,' said Dri, 'once it is in the hands of a sorcerer. But enough of speculation for the moment. Thasha, where is Felthrup?'

  Thasha was suddenly alarmed. 'Hasn't he come back?'

  Dri shook her head. 'Felthrup completed his mission splendidly. Thanks to him, Ensyl came for the swallow-suit, and our people escaped Sandplume before the fire could overtake them. But what became of Felthrup after he delivered the message I cannot say. I hoped he had found his way to you, somehow. Marila has gone in search of him, although the odds are against one girl finding one lost rat on the largest ship in Alifros.'

  'We've got to!' said Thasha. 'He isn't safe anywhere but the stateroom. Oh Pitfire, why did they let him go? Neeps or Marila could have gone instead!'

  'And shouted at an empty corner of the mercy deck? No, Thasha, Neeps and Marila would have been stopped and questioned, and their faces would have given us all away. But you are right about the danger to Felthrup. Master Mugstur has excommunicated him, and in the rat-king's twisted ethos those who stray from Rin's path must all be killed.'

  'I'm going to look for him too,' said Thasha. 'I'll take Suzyt and Jorl; they know his scent. Rose will throw a fit, though, if I don't hurry back to the quarterdeck.'

  'We ixchel should do the searching,' said Diadrelu. 'We can enter the rat-spaces no human eye can pierce. Ensyl, go to Night Village. I do not have much hope that Taliktrum will listen to you, but you must try. Invoke the honour of the clan. Perhaps he will concede to a party of volunteers.

  'As for me, Lady Thasha, I throw myself on your hospitality. There is no home for me among my people: indeed they are under edict to slay me, "before I further endanger the clan." '

  'That edict will be lifted,' said Ensyl hotly.

  Diadrelu shook her head. 'Some things cannot be undone. I have disobeyed the clan leader in a moment of crisis, and Taliktrum has drawn family blood.'

  'Wait and see, mistress,' said Ensyl. 'In time they will beg you to return.'

  She glanced once more at Thasha, then turned and vanished behind the bathtub.

  'We have a trapdoor there,' said Diadrelu.

  'I can't say I'm glad to hear it,' said Thasha. 'Oh, I'm happy that you and Ensyl can come and go. But it proves there's a gap in the magic wall. Could it be getting larger? What if it's about to fail?'

  Suddenly a cry arose on the topdeck: 'Sail ho! Jistrolloq at eight miles!'

  'They've rounded Sandplume!' said Thasha. 'By the Tree, that was fast! I've got to get up there — although helping Rose is the last thing I feel like doing.'

  'Help him,' said Diadrelu firmly. 'You have little hope of finding Felthrup, even with your dogs. And there will be no point in finding him if the White Reaper blasts us to pieces.'

  Rose did need her help, for when she returned there were no less than seven ghost-captains upon the quarterdeck, flickering in and out of existence. Three were dogging Rose's heels, arguing over tactics in voices laced with sarcasm and antique slang. Another, an ugly, woolly-bearded giant with a naked cutlass in his hand, stood growling and threatening near the wheelhouse, his eyes on an oblivious Alyash. The others milled about the deck, hectoring the living despite the fact that only Rose had any notion of their presence.

  Thasha had her orders, but it was hard to face a deck full of ghosts, every one of which had commanded the ship from this very spot. Nor did she relish talking to thin air in front of Elkstem, Alyash and the half-dozen others crowding the quarterdeck. That's why he needs me to do it, she thought, to keep him from looking a perfect lunatic.

  'My heart's in the heavens,' she sang out boldly, climbing the ladder, 'my soul is the Tree, my dance is for ever, I fear not thee!'

  The ghosts all turned to face her, and the cutlass-wielding giant, who was nearest, simply faded away. The others scattered about the deck, looking startled and irritated. Thasha was startled as well: the Lorg School chant had been far less effective against the wraiths in the Crab Fens.

  'Very, uh, good, Missy,' said Alyash, obviously confused. 'We're not afraid of them Black Rags, are we?'

  Thasha shot him a piercing look. You're one yourself, you liar.

  Whether the chant or something else altogether had affected them, the remaining ghosts did not want to be anywhere near her. Confident now, Thasha pursued them around the mast and the wheelhouse. They dodged and scurried; it was a bit like playing tag. One by one they vanished from her sight. But as the last captain faded, he pointed at her with a long, blackened nail. 'Tonight,' he said, and was gone.

  For some time afterwards she had little to do but watch the chase. It was worse than being busy, even with gruesome tasks. Rose turned them south; the Jistrolloq tacked instantly to a diagonal intercept, and Rose had no option but to set them east again. The wind was dying, which played into the enemy's hands. By mid-afternoon just six miles separated the ships.

  Pazel, skulking behind the wheelhouse, would not look at her. Fine, she thought, go boil yourself in the Pits. But more than once she had the feeling he was watching her, though she never quite caught him in the act.

  Rose spent much of this time at his campaign desk, his back to the Jistrolloq, sketching. When Thasha sidled close enough for a glance she saw a page covered with tiny pencilled numbers, long arrows, rough outlines of hulls.

  At four bells he stood and latched the desk shut. 'Come, Thasha, Pathkendle. We shall dine in my cabin. Mr Elkstem, I will have updates by speaking-tube.'

  Thasha and Pazel followed Rose down the ladder. They did not go immediately to the cabin, however, but walked the whole length of the Chathrand, squeezing through the busy mass of men. Thasha thought the sailors looked as frightened as any crowd she had ever been among, but as Rose passed with a smouldering gaze each man seemed to concentrate just a bit harder on his task, as if those eyes could strip away distractions like a knife stripping bark from a switch. On their return Rose paused here and there to murmur to the watch-captains, and behind their backs Thasha heard the officers shouting: 'Captain Rose is formidable proud of you, lads! Says you're the picture of an Imperial crew! His very words!'

  She glanced over her shoulder, slightly awed. Rose's casual manner was doing wonders to keep the sailors calm, and the compliments, which he never gave in easy times, were bringing smiles to their faces. Crazy or not, she thought, he's blary good at what he does.

  Lady Oggosk joined them at table. Pazel visibly stiffened at the sight of her — and also, it appeared, at being once more in Rose's cabin. He was glancing about with a savaged expression, and Thasha reflected again that she knew almost nothing of what had been done to Pazel since the Turachs dragged him away.

  'Something new in here since your last visit, Pathkendle,' said Rose, striding forwards. 'Which of you can tell me what these are?'

  Ranged along the gallery windows were four stout, wide-mouthed cannon, their carriages tightly lashed to the deck. Behind them, bolted rigid as a mast, stood a long wooden rack about three feet high, and dangling from the rack were twenty or thirty canvas sacks, each one ending in a small iron disc. The sacks were about the size of hams, and bulged as if filled with giant marbles.

  'They're grapeshot guns,' said Thasha.

  'Not much use against an armoured hull, are they?' Pazel added.

  Rose looked sternly at the two youths, and made no answer. 'Let us sit down,' he said at last.

  During the meal they spoke very little. The steward poured four glasses of cloudy wine. Rose ate like a horse at a feed-bag, eyes downcast, jaw working non-stop. Lady Oggosk mashed her food with her fingers, while her red cat snored
peacefully in a spot of sun.

  All the while the Jistrolloq was plainly visible through the gallery windows. By the time they finished eating she was within three miles.

  'Tell us, Pathkendle,' said Rose suddenly, 'what would your father do in these circumstances, if he were in command?'

  Pazel was taken aback. 'I don't know,' he said. 'Edge his way south, maybe. Look for higher seas.'

  'You misunderstand the question,' said Rose. 'I meant, what would Captain Gregory do if he commanded the Jistrolloq, and wanted to take us? He must have learned to think like a Black Rag, after serving with them for years. And of course your presence on Chathrand would present no obstacle. Gregory sailed away from Cape Coristel without a backward glance at you, didn't he? And we know he doesn't shrink from firing on his kin.'

  Pazel had spent almost six years as a bonded servant, and five months under Captain Rose. He was not, Thasha knew, particularly easy to shock. But the brutality of Rose's offhand comment slipped past his defences. His eyes widened, and a spasm of anger twisted his face.

  Under the table, Thasha furtively touched his hand. Pazel was on the verge of doing something drastic, something Neeps-like: overturning the table, or cursing Rose at the top of his lungs. But at her touch he managed to check himself, bite back the words trying to detonate on his tongue.

  'Well,' he said, breathing hard, 'let's see. I suppose he might think back on what he knows about the enemy — about you, in other words. He might say to himself, "Right, here's this old shifty captain who's famous for his nastiness-" '

  Rose lifted an eyebrow.

  '"-and his greed, and for being afraid of a shipboard cat, and for the fact that he writes letters to-" '

  'Silence, bastard!' shrieked Lady Oggosk, rising from her chair and pointing at Pazel. 'Never, never was there a lowborn with such a reckless tongue! Walk out of here, you insolent Ormali gutter-dog, before the captain has you-'

  'Peace!' Rose slammed his palm against the table. 'Lady Oggosk, your defence is unnecessary. Pathkendle remains confused, no more. Look out that window, lad, and your confusion will evaporate.'