Rose has called off the imprisonment of Pathkendle amp; Co., though he left one Turach on duty at the invisible wall, to observe who comes amp; goes. This presents certain difficulties for me: now that they can get their own food, what excuse do I have to visit? And if I persist, amp; that soldier notes it again amp; again, how long will it be before the captain pulls me aside amp; demands a report?
Friday, 1 Norn 941. I start to wonder if a gale rages perpetually on the Ruling Sea. No end is in sight; if anything the wind is somewhat fiercer with each passing hour. Gloom among the sailors, a dangerous glint in the Turachs' eyes. And this before we have even finished the fresh food we loaded at Bramian. What is to come in the months ahead I do not like to imagine.
There were at least two hints today, however — unpleasant hints, to be sure. First thing this morning came the accusation, by a Plapp's Pier man, that three members of his gang who'd died in the battle had been stripped of their rings, knives amp; other valuables by the lad assigned to prepare the corpses for burial at sea. The accused man belonged to neither gang, but he took the Burnscove Boys oath almost as soon as he learned of the charges, saying he feared for his life without their protection. Wish I could be certain that he was wrong.
Of course it's the worst breach imaginable of the Code to pledge oneself to anything save the ship amp; her captain, amp; Rose was in a holy fury when he heard of it. As I write the man hangs by one ankle from the main yard, slamming about like a loose wheelblock amp; lashed by the storm. If the Burnscovers take this as punishment for his stealing (a charge for which there is no evidence) we may yet escape a gang war.
Then at the strike of the noon bell I met Uskins near the tonnage hatch, just standing there in the rain. He caught my eye amp; for once there was no mockery or sneering, so I drew near amp; asked what ailed him. Uskins said not a word, just looked away south-east, amp; when I did the same I saw a purplish glaze on the underside of the furthest clouds, amp; a little bulge downwards.
'Humph,' said I, squinting, 'I can't account for that, Pidetor, but we've both seen stranger things.'
'You cannot account for it,' said Uskins, 'but Arunis can. He says it is the sign of the Nelluroq Vortex.'
'The Vortex! Oh, surely not. We can't be that far east.'
'One can see its effects for thousand of miles. It alters the weather, makes its own winds. Arunis says that they bear down through its depths and vanish from this world. That one can watch a whole sky full of clouds being sucked into its maw, with thunderheads and flocks of birds, and even cloud-murths struggling in vain against its power.'
'But why in the bubbling black Pits are you talking to Arunis?' I demanded.
Uskins looked at me sharply, amp; his warthog nature came back to him. 'I bring his meals,' he said, 'as you would know if you paid less attention to those youths in the stateroom, and more to our captain's directives.'
'I know Rose is trying to keep him away from the crew,' I said, trying to ignore the provocation. 'But anyone could bring a plate to his door.'
'The captain wants him observed, Fiffengurt, not just quarantined. He chose me for my tact, and my gift for obtaining information.'
Your slime-craft amp; snooping, I thought. But I left him to his vigil amp; said no more. Arunis may be lying through his teeth, but that purple glint on the clouds' underbellies was plain to see, amp; remained so through nightfall.
Tonight Dastu pressed a slip of paper into my hand. On it were these words: Find us a safe and secret compartment. When the storm ends we're going to take some chances with trust. Pzl.
Dastu glanced back at me over his shoulder. There's one they've chosen to trust already, I thought, just as they chose me back at Simja.
I am plotting against the captain. My mutiny is now a fact.
Tuesday, 5 Norn 941. Eight solid days of storm. Nothing to do but fight it, fight it ceaselessly. Nights by far the worst, for though we stab at the darkness with fog lamps the waves are ever breaking upon us before we rightly see them. We have been close to broaching more often than I can recall, amp; five or six times had water over the deck. Pumps have failed, oilskins parted, and a hand run along half the walls on the orlop comes up wet: the Nelluroq is oozing through the seams, pressed in by the battering waves. There was a ghastly morning when the water in the well rose ten feet in three hours: a wad of grime and rat-hair had clogged a bilge pipe. Dawn amp; dusk are blurry notions, amp; noon is when you stand beside one mast amp; can see the next.
Another three men lost, amp; reports of fever among the unhappy folk down in steerage. Chadfallow amp; Fulbreech handing out pills. The tarboy Macom Drell, of Hansprit, crushed on the mercy deck by shifting cargo. The lad was found hours after his death; he could not fill his lungs to cry for aid. Also a suicide among the Turachs. One of the guards on the Shaggat simply walked up amp; put his hand on the Nilstone. I saw what was left of him: bone amp; gristle amp; ash. They say he had been staring at the thing for a week.
Monday, 11 Norn 941. Wave height doubled amp; still we lack [illegible] end of our voyage amp; this ship's proud history unless [illegible] flooding the [illegible] down the ladderway and broke his leg [illegible] wind screams in the rigging with the sound of tortured animals [illegible] blary hand shaking too much to wr [unfinished].
Sunday, 17 Norn 941. Something in this universe must love the Chathrand, for she has looked her own death in the face every day for a week. Three days ago the waves reached 80 ft. Rose put her into the wind, for at that height the lower gallery windows were getting slapped on every swell amp; one rogue breaker could have smashed them in, flooding the deck amp; sending us to join the Jistrolloq in minutes flat. Once we had her about with the stormsails trimmed we were better off for a while, treading in place through the daylight hours, praying amp; fighting for steerage through the night.
But the day before yesterday the seas grew taller yet. Surely it has been a century or more since any man stood on the Great Ship's forecastle amp; looked up at a cresting wave, but I am that man, by Rin. Yet with Elkstem at the wheel amp; Rose beside him, we did all right until nightfall. Then the waves grew even larger, amp; the dark hours were one long frenzied struggle against obliteration, tacking up the sides of mountains, piercing the frothing crest with the bowsprit, clawing over the top amp; falling forwards with a hull-shaking thump, looking up again at once as the next mountain rushed us. The crew was simply breaking. No one talked anymore. No one wanted to eat, or dared to rest, or remembered the needs of their bodies. I had to order men to drink water, amp; watch that they did so: they were so frightened that only by working perpetually did they keep from shrieking or diving into the sea.
So passed that hideous night, amp; all of yesterday, amp; last night too. I don't think a man on this ship believed he could fight the sea as long as we did. There were lads had to be smacked to make 'em stop working the pumps, when their shifts ended. But no one had to be smacked awake. We worked like machines, like wind-up toys in the hands of a maniac, with no purpose but to see how much twisting our mechanisms could take.
Dawn seemed to have been abolished, the night stretched into weeks or months. In the worst of it I saw cloud-murths on feral steeds, galloping back amp; forth on the wave-crests, threatening us with their halberds amp; pikes. I shall never know if they were real; indeed I'm not sure I want to.
But at last the dawn did come, amp; with it a gentler wind amp; seas that rapidly diminished to a mere forty or fifty feet — waves that would have decimated any harbour in Alifros, yet we took them for our salvation. If my count is right we have been twenty days in storm (and without a foremast, by all the gods!). In that time how many hours have I slept? Ten, fifteen? We have all become like Felthrup: creatures who no longer shut our eyes, for fear of what will happen if we do.
Of Felthrup himself there is no sign.
Tuesday, 19 Norn 941. Someone must list the dead: we owe all human beings that minimum courtesy. But the bookkeeper's an oathsworn Plapp amp; may 'forget' to mention t
he losses among the Burnscove Boys; amp; by the Sailing Code his tabulation goes first to Uskins (Stukey), who so detests lowborns like Uskins (Stukey) that he may abbreviate the list even further. I don't know why this strikes me as part amp; parcel of the wickedness being done on this voyage, but I will scribble names as I think of them amp; hope this book falls into the hands of some who loved these unfortunates:
[here follows a list of 37 dead]8
May Bakru bring them all to tearless rest, edalage.
Wednesday, 20 Norn 941. As fine amp; innocent a day as one could hope for. Swells of an easy 25 ft., wind behind us amp; powerful instead of crippling, very much the conditions the Great Ship was built for. We've had an easy run these past three days, though a state of nervous collapse followed the storm — men afflicted with flux, vomiting, chills amp; nightmares; fights breaking out between the cursed gangs; drunkenness rampant beyond anything possible on their small rations of rum. The gods only know what sort of ship-brewed rotgut they're drinking.
Managed to raise a guide spar on the stump of the foremast: the best we can hope to do until we reach still waters. Cazencian whales, of all things, spotted a quarter-mile to windward, on a parallel run. Told Mr Latzlo amp; got a snarl for thanks. He does not look normal, Latzlo. He used to shave amp; primp amp; perfume himself each day for the Lapadolma girl; now he resembles something escaped from one of his cages.
Monday, 25 Norn 941. Little lad or lass, asleep yet in Annabel's womb: how I should love you to grow up knowing these four youths. If the dream of the rain of ashes should prove true somehow — if my kin disowns me for the choices I've made — still I must believe that you and your dear Mother will accept me. Lady Thasha, Pathkendle, Undrabust, Marila: we'll call them your honorary aunts amp; uncles, amp; you will scarce believe the tales they tell.
The good weather holds. Somewhere it is winter; the first frosts are surely etched on your mother's window, but here fungus is blooming in our footlockers amp; tar bubbles out of the deck seams at noon. The whales still with us. The Vortex gone from sight.
Last night I brought food once again to the stateroom. Undrabust amp; the stowaway girl, Marila, were the only ones I saw at first. Then a whirling swept across the floor at ankle-height. It was Diadrelu, of course. The crawly woman was dancing a kind of ballet with her sword in the middle of the chamber. She moved so quickly one could not tell where flesh ended amp; steel began. If she were human-sized she'd be a match for any Turach who ever drew a blade.
'Where are-'
Marila raised a finger to her lips. Undrabust, meanwhile, came forwards and asked loudly, 'Did you bring it, then?'
For once he meant something other than food. Undrabust had slipped me a second note, asking for the weirdest thing: my old mandoloro,9 which I'd not played or even thought about since my commission began, nigh two years ago(Had I known then who was to be my captain, I should have left the mandoloro behind. How sad to recall what I imagined then: nights on the Nelu Peren with a happy ship, a crew of contented Burnscove gangsters under my command,10 amp; one scant year before I handed the honour over to a fresh face amp; settled down with my own sweet 'Bel. Oh Anni, don't hate me, none of this was my choice.)
'How in the putrid Pits did you know I had a squeezebox?' I'd asked Undrabust. The tarboy replied that Felthrup had mentioned it, weeks ago. Which is odder still, as I'm sure I never discussed music with the poor little rat.
I'd no sooner taken it from its case than Undrabust snatched it up amp; began to play. Or rather to squeeze amp; mash buttons. He might have been attempting The Lighthouse Girl. It does not matter; I have seen men flogged for less. Undrabust himself frowned at the bleating amp; honking, but that did not stop him from grinding away. Marila took my hand amp; led me to one side.
'They may be listening,' she whispered. 'Neeps is just drowning them out.'
'Who are "they"?' I asked.
'Rose's men,' she said, 'or maybe Ott's. It was Khalmet who warned us — the Turach second in command. We think he's on our side.'
'A Turach, siding against the Emperor? That's impossible, missy.'
Marila shrugged.
'Skies of fire! If it's true, you must never, never give him away. The things they'd do to a disloyal Turach!
'That's just what Thasha said.'
'Where is the young mistress? And Pathkendle?
Marila pointed to Thasha's cabin. 'She's in there. Reading her Polylex, or trying to. Since Felthrup disappeared she's acted very strange about that book. She just cracks it open anywhere, reads for a moment, and then sits still, gazing off into space. It's very strange. She looks… old, when she's sitting there. And when she stands up she's tired.
Marila looked sourly at Thasha's door. 'She and Pazel are still fighting. Last night it got bad. Thasha mentioned Fulbreech, and Pazel just hit the roof. He said it was time she decided who her friends were, and she yelled back that he should take his own advice, and stop hating her for what her father did to Ormael. Then everyone started yelling at once. Pazel said he could just clear out, since she'd be wanting Greysan to move in any day. "Admit it," he kept saying. "You'd be happier. Admit it." Neeps said he was sure Lady Oggosk was feeling happy — I don't know what he meant by that — and Pazel told him to be quiet. Then Pazel asked Thasha how much Fulbreech had got out of her. He meant how much information, but that's not how she took it. She went into her cabin and slammed the door. And Pazel found somewhere else to sleep.'
'Horns of the hairy devil!' I exploded. 'Leave it to me! I'll straighten that fool of a tarboy out!'
But Marila had something else on her mind. 'Did you find us a room, Mr Fiffengurt?'
'I found one,' I said. 'The reserve liquor vault, in the after-hold. It's dark and small, and the stink could wilt every branch on the Blessed Tree, but it's also as remote as you can get. Just a narrow little scuttleway from the mercy deck, and there's no light-shafts or speaking-tubes to give you away. Trouble is, it's locked tight as a drum. Otherwise you'd have lads breakin' in, ye see, no matter how dire the punishment.'
Then I saw Marila's mouth twitch. Blow me broadside, I thought, the girl knows how to smile.
'Locks are nothing to worry about,' she said. And with that she produced a large brass key. It was the ship's master key — the very one Frix had used to sneak into my cabin and steal my first journal, the one he'd dropped just before I kicked him in the rump. When I babbled, 'How — how-' Marila pointed at Diadrelu, fencing with shadows on the bearskin rug.
'She found it in a crevice on the berth deck. And she brought it to us, Mr Fiffengurt, not to her clan.'
I knew what Marila was telling me: the crawly had chosen sides, turned her back on her own people, in favour of us. But she's just one, I thought.
'Listen,' I said to Marila, 'you must never be caught with that key on your person. Rose would murder you in cold blood. And that's not a figure of speech, lass. Our captain's a man of extremes, you might say — but you've not seen him angry 'till you've seen him dealing with a trespasser! Paranoia, that's what ails him. He'd think you were looking for the Imperial horde, wherever they've hidden it — or worse, spying on him, sneaking into his cabin for a look around.'
'So this does open his chambers,' said Marila, satisfied. 'How about the steerage compartment? And Arunis' cabin?'
I didn't much like the drift of her questions, amp; said so. Her response (she is a girl after all) was to ask another question. 'How many days until the dark of the moon?'
'The dark of the moon? Well now. Six, eight. Why do you ask?'
'Because that's how long we have to choose someone to bring to the council. You've got to bring someone, too. Pazel says it doesn't matter if they're strong or brave or clever — just absolutely trustworthy. But I don't trust anyone except the people who come to this room. Who should I bring, Mr Fiffengurt?'
Neeps' arms were slowing; the mandoloro moaned like a lynx in heat.
'Best come alone,' I said at last. 'Don't take chances. Guess wrong and Rose
will have us all killed.'
Marila shook her head. 'He won't kill Pazel or Thasha. Haven't you noticed how strange he is about them? He arrests and abuses Pazel, then sets him free and invites him to lunch. He plans to sell Thasha to the Leopard People, then keeps her by his side all through the battle. Why does he put up with them, or any of us? All he'd have to do is cut off our food until we surrender.'
She might have read my mind — or this journal — so close did her wonderings mirror my own. But I'd come up with a theory amp; was anxious to tell someone. 'D'ye know what I think, missy? I think he doesn't want to beat Pazel or Thasha. He needs 'em. He wants 'em walking this ship, free and visible, and for one very good reason: because they frighten Arunis.'
Marila looked at me in blankly.
'Thasha defeated the mage's fleshancs,' I went on, 'and there's her friendship with Ramachni to consider. And Pazel turned his Shaggat into a lump of stone. As long as Arunis has them to worry about, he won't be so quick to try something else. Like taking over the Chathrand.'
'You're right,' said Marila, her face creasing with thought. 'Oh, how stupid I am! Yes, yes — and that's why there are Plapps and Burnscove Boys.'
'Eh — um-'
'Aboard the Chathrand, I mean. That's why Rose brought so many Plapps onto a Burnscove ship. Don't you understand? As long as the crew's divided he never has to worry about a mutiny, no matter what he puts us all through. It makes perfect sense.'
It did make perfect sense, amp; little Marila is anything but stupid. The crew is one third Burnscove Boys, one third Plapp's Pier, amp; one third men from neither gang. Foolproof, you might say. Their numbers were large enough to divide the crew, but too small for either gang to take over. And if the thought of mutiny ever did cross a few minds — well, the only way they could dream of taking on those deadly Turachs would be as a ship united. And we'll see the moon hatch tadpoles before that day ever comes.
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