The Ruling Sea (20 page)

He looked around wildly for an officer. At last he caught sight of Mr. Uskins, pressed bodily against the rail. But to his horror he saw that the first mate was egging the sailors on. “Told you, didn’t I?” Uskins screamed. “Never trust a Sizzy!”

Suddenly a man on the
Jistrolloq
pulled himself up into the foremast shrouds. He was a strong, lean man of middle years, and he climbed nimbly, reaching the shielded archery platform called the fighting top in less than a minute. From his bearing and his gold epaulettes, and the way Mzithrini faces began to turn in his direction, Pazel knew he was their commander.

“That’s Admiral Kuminzat,” said Dastu. “Scary-looking bloke.”

The officer stretched out his hand above the crowd. At once the Mzithrinis fell silent. Startled, the Arqualis too broke off shouting for an instant. Before they could resume the man pointed his finger and spoke.

“Deceiver. You have killed the Babqri Father.”

Kuminzat spoke in his own tongue, and no sign of understanding passed over the Arquali crowd. But all eyes looked where he pointed. There at the back of the mob, silent and until this moment unnoticed, stood Captain Rose. Lady Oggosk had hobbled to his side; Rose leaned down and let her whisper in his ear.

And suddenly the captain was looking right at Pazel. “Not a word from anyone,” he said aloud, and there was a threatening rumble in his voice. “Get over here, Pathkendle.”

The crew parted in silence. Pazel took a deep breath and crossed the deck, Neeps at his side.

As Pazel had already guessed, Rose wanted him to translate the Mzithrini’s words. Pazel did so, and Rose nodded grimly.

“Tell him we know nothing of any deaths but our own,” he said, loud enough for all to hear. “Tell him only a fool throws accusations like that around—or one with a guilty conscience of his own.”

“Tell him nothing of the kind!”

The voice rang out from the
Chathrand’s
bowsprit. It was Ignus Chadfallow. Despite a stinging distrust of his old benefactor, Pazel was relieved: Chadfallow at least was no hothead—and he too spoke Mzithrini.

Chadfallow seized the jib-stay and pulled himself onto the planksheer above the crowded forecastle. His voice rang out sharp and clear in Mzithrini: “Admiral Kuminzat. Sailors of the Pentarchy. No one aboard this ship has attacked you.”

Cries of scorn and disbelief from the
Jistrolloq
. The doctor pressed on: “We mourn with you, for our beloved Treaty Bride lies dead as well. And no sane man among us blames—”

“Chadfallow,” cut in Rose. “You’ll speak for this ship when I say so, and not a moment before.”

The doctor bowed to Rose. But at the same time he shot Pazel a look full of desperate supplication.

All at once a voice rang out from the
Jistrolloq
—in broken Arquali. “Great Peace you are promising! Not real! Not a real thing!” It was one of the
sfvantskors
, an enormous young man with a hard, pinched face. “You are the liars, the old way, the old world that is finished! Bad faith, false doctrines! These will die out everywhere, and better men—”

“Malabron, it is not your place to speak!” snapped the older
sfvantskor
. The younger man fell silent, abashed. Then Admiral Kuminzat spoke again.

“In the darkest hour of the night a beast attacked our Father when he stepped from the shrine. An unnatural creature, an abomination with wings. There was a terrible battle, with fire and spells. In the end the Father slew the thing with the help of his aspirants, but it killed one of them—”

Kuminzat choked on the last words. He drew a sharp breath and continued.

“—and gave the Father his death-wound. His disciples could not save him. But before he died, he pointed across the water—at your ship.”

At his last words the Mzithrinis erupted again, and the Arqualis followed suit. It was all Pazel could do to shout a rough translation into Rose’s ear.

“Tell him—” boomed Rose, in a voice used to carrying over gales. “Tell him that even we expected the Mzithrin to keep the treaty longer than a day. And then tell him to take his ship off our bows, before we take offense. And to the Pits with his crackpot stories!”

The Arqualis roared approval:
“Tell ’im, tell ’im, tarry!”
Pazel winced. He could not imagine something he’d less like to say. Inadvertently he glanced at Chadfallow: the doctor was urgently shaking his head.

“Do it!” snapped Rose.

Pazel felt suddenly nauseous. All around him sailors and marines were bellowing encouragement.

“The captain says,” he began, instantly silencing the crowd, “he says, ah, that he expected the treaty to last longer than a single day—”

“The boy’s Mzithrini is rusty!” Chadfallow cried. “Allow me to take over, sir—”

“Is lie,” said the young
sfvantskor
called Malabron. “Boy speaking fine. Less fine is this doctor.”

“Carry on, Pathkendle,” said Rose. “Chadfallow, interrupt again and I’ll have you in chains.”

Suddenly an idea came to Pazel with the force of revelation. He had to tell the Mzithrinis everything, in their language, before they sailed away. Thasha’s father might not succeed, and if he didn’t there would be no one else. It had to be Pazel, and it had to be now. But why was he so dizzy?

“That Ormali runt,” sneered Uskins. “He’s stalling!”

Neeps put a hand on his arm, steadying him. Pazel bent over, hands on his knees. The noise, the heat, the stink of angry men: was it making him ill?

And then all at once he knew better. He looked up at Neeps. “Oh gods above, mate,” he whispered, covering his ears.

Neeps understood in a flash. “It can’t be! It’s just been three days!”

“I feel it,” said Pazel. “Oh
credek
, not here, not with so many people—”

“Captain!” shouted Neeps. “My mate’s sick! Let Chadfallow translate, Pazel can’t—”

“Sergeant,” said Rose.

Drellarek barked an order. Suddenly Turachs were dragging Neeps and Chadfallow away. Rose took Pazel by the shirt with both hands and hoisted him bodily atop the
Chathrand’s
inverted longboat. His huge hand closed like a vise on the back of Pazel’s neck.

“Speak!” he thundered.

“Lie!” shouted Neeps in Sollochi as he vanished down the ladderway.

Rose was no fool, Pazel thought. He would know Pazel was twisting the message, just by the Sizzies’ reaction to it.
I’ll have to get away from him first. Otherwise he’ll choke me before I can explain a thing
.

But how long would his own mind obey him?

Pazel cleared his throat, and shouted: “Captain Rose says there’s a treaty in place, and no reason to feel offended, because after all, one of you married one of us, and we’re happy and glad and expect the most honorable—babies.”

Kuminzat stared at Pazel in disbelief. Some of the
sfvantskors
were shaking their heads.

“Tell him we didn’t kill his bleedin’ Father,” said Rose.

“He’s very sorry the Father bled. To death.”

“And we can settle this with cannon if he doubts my word.”

“My word, those are unsettling cannon.”

“And there’s no demonology practiced on the
Chathrand.”

“There is no demonology practiced on—
SQUAAAGH! CHATHWA! GRAFMEZPRAUGHAAAAA!”

Rose leaped away from him, aghast. Pazel fell writhing from the longboat, his voice an inhuman wail. The mind-fit was on him, and he was trapped in the center of a furious mob, and the noise tore at his brain like a thousand shrieking, stabbing birds. There were stomping feet, flying bottles, blood. Uskins and Drellarek closed in, bellowing in Pazel’s face. They seemed to think he was faking—or that faking or not, they could beat him into silence.

Suddenly a figure interposed itself between Pazel and Drellarek. It was Hercól, grave and terrible. Pazel saw him standing eyeball to eyeball with the Throatcutter, both of them poised to draw swords.

More Turachs fell in on either side of Drellarek, but Hercól stood his ground. Pazel rose to hands and knees—just in time for Uskins to kick him hard in the stomach. If the first mate had kept his balance a little better, the kick would have finished him. As it was Pazel fell gasping, and Uskins, spitting with hate, drew his foot back for another.

The blow never fell. Uskins spun sidelong, as though struck by a hammer. Mr. Fiffengurt was there, brandishing his fists at the first mate and clearly challenging him to come back for more.

Uskins took no persuading. Larger and younger than Fiffengurt, he picked himself up and lunged. Pazel groped to his feet as the two men collided. Hands at each other’s throats, they strained together. Then Uskins’ greater height prevailed, and he threw Fiffengurt down against the carronade. The quartermaster gasped as his head struck the potbellied cannon. Uskins raised his fist to strike again.

Without a thought Pazel dived at him. Uskins swung with all his might, but the force of Pazel’s collision brought his fist down just left of Fiffengurt’s cheek—where it struck the cannon dead-on.

Uskins howled with pain, and the sheer ugliness of his distorted voice snapped Pazel’s last vestige of control. As the first mate lurched away cradling his fist, Pazel ran, fingers in his ears, biting his lips against the scream inside him. The mob fell back, as if from a rabid dog. Pazel hurled himself down the ladderway to the main deck, where to his indescribable horror he found three real geese pursued by Frowsy the tarboy, all of whom ran before him down the length of the ship trailing noises so painful they seemed to leave red welts in the air, and then through an open hatch he saw Arunis and Jervik, huddled like two men at dice, gazing at him with crafty smiles from the deck below.

10
Thasha’s Choice

Q. How long have you worked for the Trading Family?

A. Thirty-six years, my lords
.

Q. And in that time, how many inspections of the
Chathrand
have you conducted?

A. None, my lords. Inspections are the duty of the Yard Manager
.

Q. The Yard Manager answers directly to the Fleet Superintendent, does he not?

A. Not directly, sir. The Superintendent’s office is located on Nickel Street
.

Q. You are being evasive. How many reports have you reviewed in that time?

A. Nineteen or twenty
.

Q. And in any of those reports was there mention of … irregularities, shall we say, in the lower decks?

A. Does my lord refer to something beyond regular damage and restoration
—

Q. Of course he does. Answer the question.

A. There is a tradition of rumor and yarn spinning among the crew that no effort by the managers can extinguish
.

Q. Did those rumors include mention of compartments that only certain members of the crew could find, or areas of the ship where men were wont to vanish, nevermore to be seen? [Extended pause.] Let the record note the witness’s disinclination to cooperate with this inquiry—