Robert Redick - The River of Shadows

“Your sister is not dead,” said Felthrup. “And as for my family-it is aboard this ship. My rat-brethren back in Noonfirth cast me out, the very day I woke. They were terrified of my verbosity. They slew my mother’s second litter before her eyes, ten blind bleating things not a day old, and chased her off into the streets. When I fled they were trying to determine who had mated with her, so that they could kill or scatter those unlucky males as well.”

Pazel closed his eyes. He was, in fact, intensely grateful for Felthrup’s presence, his grounding inanities and madcap wisdom. But you had to have patience, barrels of it, whenever the rat warmed to a theme.

Thasha managed it better than anyone. “We’re late for the council, Felthrup dear,” she said. “What is it you wanted to tell us?”

“That I have been eavesdropping,” he said. “Dr. Rain has lately been interrogated by several officers concerning one of his patients. Have you heard the rumors surrounding the topman, Mr. Dupris?”

“I heard that Rain had quarantined the man,” said Hercol. “Something about a fever.”

“He has no fever now,” said Felthrup. “When that serpent neared the Chathrand, and every man aboard feared the worst, Mr. Dupris fled his post, screaming, ‘I won’t touch it, I won’t, I won’t!’ That sort of nonsense. Later his friends dragged him to sickbay. He was in a terrible state, but he grew calmer once they strapped him down: indeed he thanked the doctor for strapping him down. But then the surgeon’s mate discovered his high temperature. Fearing he might infect the rest of the ward, he persuaded Rain to send the man to an empty cabin. They moved him late at night. But on the way to the cabin, Dupris asked for some fresh air, so Rain and the mate brought him to one of the open gunports and let him bend down. He took a deep breath. Then he looked over his shoulder at them. ‘He cannot make me do it. I’ll never touch that cursed thing.’ With those words Dupris cast himself into the sea.”

A silence fell. “Arunis,” said Pazel at last. “He was talking about Arunis.”

Thasha sighed. “And the Nilstone, of course.”

“So Arunis has begun to kill,” said Hercol, “as he always promised he would. It is terrible news that he has grown strong enough to attack our minds in such a way. I always thought that he managed it with Mr. Druffle through some prolonged contact with the man-through potions or torture. Now it appears he can do so without ever touching his victim-from hiding, where no one can interfere. During the crossing, when the Turach committed suicide by placing his hand on the Stone, I thought the poor man had simply despaired. Now I wonder.”

“Why isn’t the whole ship talking about Dupris?” asked Pazel.

“Mr. Alyash feared to start a panic,” said Felthrup, “and so he ordered Rain and Fulbreech to keep the man’s death a secret. But I can tell you something more, friends: I was not alone in listening to their conversation. There were ixchel, somewhere close, for I heard their whispers. They did not hear me, I think. I have become a better spy on this voyage, if nothing else.”

“What did they say?” asked Thasha.

“Something very curious. They said, ‘So it’s happening to the giants as well.’ ”

A low groan escaped Pazel’s chest. “Arunis must be working on the ixchel too. And why not, since they’re in charge? But what in blazes does he want? He still needs a crew to sail the ship, doesn’t he?”

“We should go to the council,” said Thasha. “Not that anyone’s going to listen to us.”

“Whether they listen or not, we must keep our purpose clear,” said Hercol. “We swore to place the Stone beyond the reach of evil-and that we must do, somehow. Where is that place? I do not know. Even Erithusme, greatest wizardess since the time of the Amber Kings, did not know. But it exists, or Ramachni would not have set us looking for it. Taking the Nilstone to that place will be impossible, however, so long as the Chathrand remains in the grip of evil men. We must break that grip.”

“That could mean killing,” said Thasha.

“I expect it will,” said Hercol. “Arunis will never relent; Sandor Ott does not know how. If we have truly leaped forward two centuries, then his Emperor is dead, and the very dynasty of the Magads may well have failed. That at least would be no tragedy. But Ott does not know this, and my heart tells me he would not believe it even if he stood before the tomb of the last Magad to sit on the Ametrine Throne. No, he will fight on, even as a prisoner of the ixchel. Other hearts may change, however. In that possibility we must always have faith.”

“Not all change is for the better,” said Felthrup.

“That’s blary true,” said Thasha. “Those horrid ships-they were flying Bali Adro flags. The whole Empire that Bolutu thought would come to our rescue must have turned into something foul.” She looked up at Hercol with sudden dread. “We can’t let them take the Chathrand.”

“Now you see it,” said Hercol. “If Bali Adro is ruled by mass murderers, what greater crime could we commit than to bring them the Nilstone? We are charged with keeping it from evil, not laying it at evil’s foot. Once we imagined the South an empty land, where we might persuade the crew to abandon ship in sufficient numbers to strand her, until the villains gave command of her to us. Now the villains may well be everywhere. A sound ship and a willing crew are our only hope of survival.”

Pazel felt anger tightening his chest. “You want us to go on helping these bastards? Helping Rose and Ott, Alyash and Taliktrum and his gang?”

“We cannot proceed without them, Pazel. Of course I don’t imagine that they will make it easy. But we must remember the lesson of the fishermen and the crocodile.”

“Ah!” said Felthrup. “An excellent parable; I have heard it myself. Two fishermen made long war over a favorite spot to cast their nets. Each day they came and bickered, racing each other in their labors. Finally, at the end of one hot, sticky, altogether infelicitous day, they came to blows, and one man clubbed the other nearly senseless, and left him crawling on the banks. There Tivali the crocodile found him, and delightedly feasted.”

“Oh joy,” said Pazel.

“I have not finished, Pazel,” said the rat. “When the other fisherman returned, he was glad to have the spot to himself, and stayed all day, filling his baskets. But in the shadows of evening Tivali crept up and seized his leg. The crocodile was strengthened by his earlier meal, and before he ate again, he remarked through his teeth that he had never dared attack both men together. ‘You did my work for me,’ he said. ‘I knew I could depend on you.’ You’re right, Master Hercol. Rose and Ott may be monstrous, but without them we cannot face the crocodile. And we all know who that is.”

“Arunis,” said Pazel, “of course. But Pitfire, there must be a better choice than that.”

“There will be,” said Hercol, “when Ramachni returns.”

“ ‘When a darkness comes beyond today’s imagining,’ ” said Thasha, echoing the mage’s parting words. “But hasn’t that time come and gone, Hercol? I don’t have any intention of giving up-and neither does Pazel, he just talks rot-but Rin’s eyeballs, how dark is dark enough?”

“Ramachni has never failed us,” said Hercol, “and I cannot believe that he will fail us now, as the battle of his lifetime nears its conclusion. But we must go. The villains await us in the manger.”

“I will be near you, under the floor,” said Felthrup. “There are passages the ixchel never dared to use, passages that belonged to the rats. They are all mine, now.”

“For a time, perhaps,” said Hercol. “Go softly, little brother.”