Robert Redick - The Rats and the Ruling sea

'How can we make that happen?' said Neeps.

'Leave it to me!' said Felthrup, jumping. 'I know where they are! And the Turachs will never catch this rat, even if they bother to try! Leave it to me!'

And he too was gone.

Diadrelu hissed: Marila had dipped a handkerchief in brandy and was swabbing her wound. Fiffengurt would not let himself look at her again — or just once, just to confirm a suspicion. There it was, by Rin, he hadn't dreamed it: the wolf-scar, the same shape the others carried, burned into that astonishing'They will need you aloft, Quartermaster,' said the crawly woman, looking at him over her shoulder.

He wrenched his eyes away, blushing. 'Never could I have dreamed that I would see such a day,' he mumbled.

The crawly woman laughed, though tears of pain streaked her face. 'Stay alive long enough and you'll see it all.'

Thasha found the captain in the chart room, checking figures in a log-book with Elkstem, a great map of the Outer Isles spooling over the table's edges and draping to the floor. His steward blocked her way, but she shouted past him. 'Captain Rose! Captain Rose! We're under attack!'

He looked up at her, threatening. Then he lumbered to the door, waving the steward aside.

'How dare you,' he snarled, leaning over her.

'It's true,' she said, meeting his wolfish eyes. 'The Jistrolloq is running straight for us, Captain, on the other side of Sandplume. She's probably less than ten miles off.'

Rose's eyes blazed down at her. 'The Jistrolloq. You are hysterical, girl. Steward, have the guard escort-'

'No!' said Thasha, seizing his coat. 'It's here, it's followed us! Captain, for Rin's sake-'

'Be silent, you little fool!'

Thasha said nothing, but a look passed between them. He had called her that before: in the Straits of Simja, when the fleshancs were storming the Chathrand, leaving dead men around them in heaps. Rose's face paled slightly, and she knew that he remembered which of them had been in the right.

'How do you know this?' he whispered.

'Does it matter?' she said. 'Look at me, Captain. I know.'

Their faces were inches apart. One moment longer Rose crouched, stock-still, only his eyes whirling here and there like bats, and Thasha had the odd impression that he was listening to voices other than her own. Then he shoved her aside and charged from the room like a marauding bull.

'BEAT TO Q UARTERS! EVERY LAST MAN TO QUARTERS! THE BLACK RAGS ARE MINUTES FROM OUR BOWS!'

24 Freala 941

For the first time in his life, Felthrup crossed a deck in broad daylight without fear of men. The only danger they posed now was trampling; rats were the last thing on their mind. After what had happened in Thasha's cabin, moreover, Felthrup felt a strange, intoxicating liberty coursing through him. When two sailors locked in an argument over battle protocol jammed the ladderway, he shrilled, 'One side, one side!' — making them leap from his path. I scared them, thought Felthrup. I might have been a bear, the way they jumped! Although in fact they could kill me with one blow. Reckless, that is the word. I am a reckless woken rat!

But also a rat with a mission. And once he had bounded down into the gloom of the mercy deck, Felthrup realised just how perilous his mission was. The normally abandoned deck was caught up in a frenzy such as he had never seen. Hurricane lamps whirled through the half-light. Sailors were running, striking at one another, bellowing for greater speed. Every voice was raised, and still they could scarcely be heard above the thunder of feet on the boards above. Don't stop, darling Felthrup, run now or you'll never run at all.

So Felthrup ran, straight through that frightened stampede, with men slamming and shouldering crates and hogsheads about as fast as they possibly could, securing everything that might slide or topple when the Great Ship fled. This I do for Dri. For the lady who saw me as I truly am.

In their cargo-crate fortress the ixchel huddled, hearing the madness of the giants spread, feeling the tremors as cargo-restraining boards were slapped down and nailed to the deck within a few yards of them. Young ixchel warriors stood armed and tensed; their elders sighed with remembered massacres; parents clutched children tight to their sides. Not one in six hundred made a sound, not even the youngest: ixchel learn not to cry in their first month of life, and never do so again except in silence.

When they heard the rat's voice, octaves above that of the giants, they did not know what to do. It did not sound like the normal witless rat-prattle. Indeed it could not be: there was too much of truth about it. You can hear me, cousins, I know you can. Your lady is wounded; the rest remain on Sandplume. Be fearless now or lose them for ever. Send me one — no more. Just one brave soul prepared to fly.

He struggled to shout over the humans — most bellowing orders, a few exclaiming about a woken rat, and a growing number declaring that miraculous or not, they would stomp the rodent dead if it didn't shut up.

Thasha followed the captain up the No. 5 ladderway, squeezed by the men rushing headlong in both directions. It had taken Rose nearly a full minute to believe her, she mused, but the crew of the Chathrand had taken his word without a second thought.

They stepped out on the topdeck and she paused, overwhelmed. She thought she knew what an active ship looked like, but past emergencies paled before this whirlwind. At every hatch the watch-captains punished their kettledrums. Sailors by the hundreds were leaping for the halyards, and between them Turachs were falling in with crossbows, longbows, and vascthas that flung discs of sharpened steel. The rigging boiled with men, laying aloft, running out the spars, freeing the clews on sail after sail. Tarboys raced down both sides of the ship, emptying sacks of sawdust for footing. The windscoops were capped, the running lights struck down, the few passengers in sight were driven below, the tonnage hatch was sealed with oilskin, and great rolls of netting were stretched between the shrouds, to guard the men on deck from falling mastwood.

Captain Rose marched towards the waist of the ship. 'Odd mains, Mr Alyash,' he cried, with that tireless trumpet-blast voice he could keep up for hours. 'Mr Frix, cut us free. Uskins, turn out Byrd's crew to the carronades, Tanner's to portside forward, and get Drellarek's replacement to the quarterdeck as soon as his men are in hand. Mr Jonhelm, see that the galley fire's put out. Lady Oggosk, I beg you to stay indoors.'

'Soon enough, Nilus. I want a look at her first.'

The witch had an excited gleam in her eye. She meant the Jistrolloq, Thasha knew, but if they caught sight of her while still trapped in the cove it would be the last thing they ever saw.

After his first explosive shout the captain had become extraordinarily calm. His voice when he raised it was deafening, but he spoke most of his orders softly to his lieutenants, who relayed them mast by mast along the ship. His face was emotionless; his eyes slid over the crew with an abstracted look. To Thasha, who had seen Rose spitting and furious over a misplaced pen, this subdued Rose was more unsettling than a thousand bellows.

'Let us have topgallants, Mr Alyash. But stand by to clew up the moment we clear the rock.'

Alyash looked at the cove's western headland. 'Oppo, sir. I can hear that wind. Not that it's doing us any good.'

'Full parties to the braces nonetheless,' said Rose. 'We're going to have to swing the mains about like a lady's parasol to scrape out of here.'

The anchor went by the board: Frix and Fegin, wielding a two-man hawser saw, cut through the tree-thick line in a few dozen strokes. Thasha felt the sudden kick as they floated free, and turned just in time to see the mainsail flash open, like a white castle wall suddenly raised in their midst. The forecourse and spanker-course followed: the odd-numbered mainsails, far enough apart not to fight one another for the meagre wind. Thasha raised her eyes even higher and saw men bending topsails. The upper canvas might catch a wind that the lower sails missed, but would all of them together give them speed enough to escape the cove in time? Between the stone cliffs the Chathrand stood nearly becalmed — even as the Jistrolloq raced towards them on the open fetch of the westerlies.