Robert Redick - The Rats and the Ruling 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 the 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.