The Ruling Sea (66 page)

Pulling herself up the quarterdeck ladder, Thasha found all the senior officers assembled, plus Ott and Chadfallow, and a huge Turach with a broad forehead and cold blue eyes: Drellarek’s replacement, she presumed. She could no longer see any ghosts, although Uskins was pale enough to pass for one.

“We’ll make it, surely?” he was saying. “We’ll just squeak out?”

“How d’ye expect us to answer you?” said Elkstem irritably. “We don’t know how close she is. We don’t even know the windspeed out there.”

“In five minutes we shall,” said Rose.

The men were all clustered around him, between the binnacle and the rail. The captain was the only man not on his feet: he had sent for a stool and his campaign desk, and had them bolted securely to the deck. The stool was finished with some tawny hide, and swiveled; the desk looked like a large wooden box on legs. Then Rose sprung two latches and raised the lid. Inside was a writing space protected by walls on three sides, and half covered by a wooden canopy. There were small latched drawers, a stack of paper held down by battens, a plotting compass, an abacus and a knife.

Thasha found the sight of that desk alarming, and she saw that some of the officers did as well. Was Rose about to lose himself in
paperwork?
Just how crazy was he?

The captain began whittling a pencil. “Attend me,” he said, as if the group would dream of doing anything else. “This contest may end in minutes, or not for hours, or even days. If it ends swiftly we shall lose. The
White Reaper
is no idle nickname for the
Jistrolloq
. Isn’t that so, Mr. Uskins?”

The first mate nodded. “Beyond a doubt, Captain. She’s a killer and she wants for nothing. An armored bow, she has, and four ship-shattering bow carronades. And a hundred and forty long guns down each flank.”

“Twice our count,” said Rose, “and a crew drilled constantly in their use. This ship will be matchwood if the
Jistrolloq
rakes us with a broadside. And at a distance too they can best us. They’ll be better shots, and aiming for a bigger target. They will also be faster, in these waters. Our size is nothing but a hazard, in short, until we find large waves and tearing wind.”

“Those may be close at hand, sir,” put in Alyash.

“Don’t interrupt, Bosun!” snapped Fiffengurt. “The captain’s well aware of the conditions.”

“That I am,” said Rose. “The storm brewing in the east will not be enough, however. Until the wind turns, Bramian herself will tame it. And there are shoals to either side of us, quelling the waves. No, we will not come into our own for two hours at the earliest. Until then we must stay alive. That means fire brigades, and chain-pumps, and any dead removed quickly to the surgical annex, lest the sight of them demoralize the crew. Uskins, you will restrict Byrd and Tanner to strategic fire until further notice: we don’t carry enough shot to waste it in a hopeless spray.

“And give no face but fury to the crew. Fury, gentlemen: not nerves, not reassurance. Let them see nothing but the mortal danger of displeasing you. That will save them from worrying overmuch about the
Jistrolloq
. Now then, Ott: will the Black Rags strike us with sorcery?”

(Obviously, Rose
, whispered a voice from nowhere. Only Thasha and the captain raised their heads.)

“Depend on it,” said Ott. “They have not brought Sathek’s Scepter all the way from Babqri just to send up a signal-flare.”

“What can they do with the thing? Change the winds?”

There were anxious hisses at the suggestion. But Ott shook his head. “I haven’t a clue,” he said, “but it was for that scepter that Arunis killed the Babqri Father.”

“And Kuminzat’s daughter, as it happened,” said Rose. “Have we any other idea of their motives?”

Alyash cleared his throat. “Captain Rose, the Father never quite believed in the Great Peace. And he had a particular fascination with the
Chathrand
. We were already in his sights. It may be that he had already shared his suspicions with Kuminzat and the other officers assembled for Treaty Day.”

Rose pursed his lips, as though he found the remark disappointingly simple. After a moment he said, “Their greatest advantage may be that man on the hilltop. A view to either side of Sandplume could well decide this contest. What has become of your falcon, Mr. Ott?”

An expression like none Thasha had ever seen on the man came over the spymaster’s face. It took her a moment to recognize it as sorrow. “I dispatched Niriviel the morning we landed on Bramian,” he said, “with orders to return within a day. He flew south into the Nelluroq, looking for sign of the Vortex. I fear he met with some … misfortune.”

Thasha felt stricken. The bird had almost hated her, but it made no difference. There was something beautiful about his loyalty to Sandor Ott. She hated to imagine him alone over the fabled whirlpool, battling the winds, dropping at last into the depths.

“Captain Rose,” she said, forcing herself back to the matter at hand.

“What is it?” he demanded.

“I don’t think they can change the winds. In fact I don’t think they can use the scepter well at all, if the Father’s dead. Only the most powerful mage-priests can use it safely. But the Father may have used it
before
he died, to make his
sfvantskor
stronger, or the ship itself.”

“How in precious Pitfire could you know such things, girl?” scoffed Alyash.

Thasha looked at him evenly. “I read a lot.”

“What Thasaha says stands to reason,” said Chadfallow. “The priest cannot have meant to set the whole hill on fire, when he was standing atop it. He may even have perished in the blaze.”

Rose turned on his stool. “First Mate, you spoke with Arunis?”

“Aye, Captain. He’s prowling about the jiggermast even now.” Uskins drew a deep breath. “He was … of little help, sir.”

“No help, you mean?”

“He speculated that the
sfvantskors
present at the wedding ceremony had all boarded the
Jistrolloq
, Captain. And he said that the priest wielding Sathek’s Scepter could not fail to sense the presence of the Nilstone.”

Rose looked thoughtful. “Lieutenant Khalmet,” he said.

The blue-eyed soldier nodded. “Sir.”

“Do you command the Turachs, now that Drellarek is dead?”

“No, sir. That would be Sergeant Haddismal. The sergeant is inspecting the ranks, and begs your pardon for not attending this meeting himself.”

“He does not have it,” said Rose. “Tell Haddismal never again to ignore a summons from the captain. And have him redouble the guard on the Shaggat Ness. I don’t want the sorcerer taking advantage of our circumstances to make some attempt to reach his king.”

“Oppo, Captain. And if I might venture a thought, sir: release the Tholjassan, Hercól Stanapeth, and let him have his bow. We cannot have too many marksmen.”

“Is that your commander’s advice?”

“No, sir, merely my own. Sergeant Haddismal has not ventured an opinion.”

Thasha was stunned by Khalmet’s words.
Could he be on our side? A Turach, trained to throw his life away at a word from the Emperor?

But the captain shook his head. “Stanapeth defied my orders, and sent five of your comrades to the surgery. He is not to be freed unless the
sfvantskors
themselves come over our rails. Do I make myself clear?”

“Perfectly, Captain.”

“Mr. Uskins,” said Rose, “did Arunis have nothing else to say?”

Uskins hesitated. “Sir, he told me we should drop sail and surrender, before the Reaper cuts us down.”

A brief silence fell. Thasha saw Rose’s jaw tighten, and his gaze turn inward. He folded the knife, looked down at the blank paper before him, and suddenly began to sketch.

“Time to change tack,” he said, without looking up.

But everyone else did, and there were shouts and gasps, for they were little more than two ship’s lengths from the western cliff. Fiffengurt, Uskins and Alyash flew to the rail, commands exploding from their lips. Elkstem rushed back to his mates at the wheel, and together they wrenched it to starboard, while five hundred backs strained on the deck below. The yards pivoted, the
Chathrand
heeled over, a frothy wake boiled along the starboard bow, and they cleared the point with ten yards to spare.

From the maintop a voice shouted, “We’re free, we’re free!” And like a slap of reprimand the full west wind struck the foremast and carried both topgallants away.

“Clew up! Save the rest!” screamed Alyash. They were out of the cove, and the wind was four times the strength of a moment ago: too strong for the highest canvas, though the topsails could take it with ease, and the mains looked flaccid yet. Alyash cringed like a man tied and waiting for the whip: Rose had warned him about those topgallants. But the captain merely spun around and gave Elkstem the new heading, and told Chadfallow he might return to his surgery.

The next turn was effortless, for the wind shouldered them about. In seconds they were running east, skimming across the mouth of the cove that had nearly become their graveyard. Thasha looked down at the throng of sailors, snatching a moment’s rest, and was not surprised to see Neeps joining the lineup on a starboard brace.
Nobody’s turning down help today
, she thought.

Then the lookout began to howl: “Sail! Dead astern three miles! It’s the enemy, Captain, I can see the red stars!”

A general groan, shouted down at once by the officers. Rose leaped from the stool and barreled aft around the wheelhouse, extending his telescope as he went. Thasha chased after him. There was the
Jistrolloq
, tilted over like a white gravestone, slicing a neat white wake as she ran.

“Her topgallants are holding, blast her,” said Elkstem. “By the Tree, she’s a formidable ship. And closer to two miles than three.”

Rose lifted a hand for silence. A moment later he lowered the scope.

“She will have four knots on us,” he said, in a voice not meant to carry.

Thasha did not want to believe it. “Four? That would let them catch us in—what? Less than an hour?”

“Thirty-seven minutes,” said Rose. “Mr. Elkstem, at my command we shall be making a very sharp tack to the south. A very
visible
tack. But give no orders before my mark, do you hear? Don’t even look at the men.”

Elkstem was clearly mystified, but Rose’s face ruled out any questioning. “Oppo, sir, she’ll corner handsomely,” he said.

“You wanted to see me, Captain?” said a voice from behind them.

It was Pazel. He was looking at Rose, and quite determinedly not at Thasha.

Rose’s eye did not leave the telescope. “Aye, Pathkendle, but only to keep these grackle-mouths quiet. They have you mixed up with your father, and seem to think I need Captain Gregory’s advice.”

“They
, sir?”

Rose only frowned, and Thasha, ignoring Pazel’s awkwardness, took his arm and tugged him aside. “He’s seeing ghosts,” she whispered. “But he’s not crazy, they’re real. I can see them too. They’re the old captains of the
Chathrand.”

Pazel was certainly looking at her now.
“You’re
seeing these things?”

“Well, not this minute. Rose can scatter them, I think—but they keep coming back. Like flies. Right now I can hear them, and feel them. And this isn’t the first time it’s happened.”

“Are you talking about what happened the day you found Marila?”

Thasha shook her head. “That was different. Those were real people, flesh and blood. But for weeks now I’ve been feeling … strange. As if people were surrounding me, when there was no one there at all. I think it was them, Pazel. I think they’ve been watching me.”

Pazel stared at her, aghast, but was he concerned for her safety or her sanity? She was on the point of asking him directly when Rose gave a startled grunt.

“The priest did not die,” he said, “but the fire has driven him from the hilltop. He’s watching us right now. He’ll be blind to his own ship’s whereabouts, though, unless that thing in his hand lets him see through solid rock. Ehiji, what’s this? He’s got friends!
Sfvantskors
, by the gods,
sfvantskors
coming out of the bush!”

Thasha could just make them out: three tall figures in black, rushing across the smoldering slope to join a fourth, bald-headed, with a long golden object in his hand. Even as she looked another
sfvantskor
emerged running from the trees.

“That new one has a longbow,” said Rose. “And damned if he isn’t—firing!
Aloft! Take cover aloft!”

Scarcely had the words left his lips when they heard a wail, sharp and ethereal, and then a man’s scream from the rigging. Thasha looked up and saw Kiprin Pondrakeri, the muscular Simjan recruit, facedown in the battle netting with an arrow in his chest. The strange wail continued for a moment, then lowered and died.

The next thing she knew Pazel had leaped on her and borne her down onto the deck. The air was suddenly full of the wailing noises, and from the spankermast came another cry of agony. Thasha struggled out of Pazel’s grasp and got to her hands and knees. But even as she did so a boot kicked her flat again.

Sandor Ott had delivered the kick as he dashed to the rail with a great bow of his own. He fired in a blur, once twice thrice, and then he lowered the bow and took a breath.

“Done,” he said. “That one will shoot no more, and the rest are running for cover. You can stand up now, lass.”

As Thasha and Pazel rose, Ott reached up and seized the dripping end of the arrow embedded in Pondrakeri’s chest. He pulled, and the netting sagged, but the shaft would not let go of the corpse.

“Singing arrows,” he said admiringly. “We still don’t know how they work—must be expensive, however; they fire ’em all in the first few volleys. Marvelous way to demoralize an enemy.”

He released the arrow, having not glanced once at the dead man, and set off smiling for the topdeck.

“He’s enjoying this,” said Thasha. “I think he
lives
for fighting and killing, the beast.”