Robert Redick - The Rats and the Ruling sea

'What are we waiting for?' asked Big Skip.

'Deliverance,' said Fiffengurt. 'Just watch, and trust the lady!'

They all watched the second hand. As it swept through its third revolution, Thasha bent even nearer to the clock face. And just as the hand reached twelve, she whispered, 'Ramachni!'

There was a sharp pop, and the clock face sprang open on its hinge. Thasha sat back, glowing. But no whirl of black fur emerged from the clock. Nor did Ramachni step out with royal dignity, as Thasha had sometimes described to Pazel, giggling. He did not emerge at all. The only thing that emerged was a breeze — a sudden, cold breeze that extinguished Pazel's candle, and made the others quickly shield their own — and a little of the dark sand that always blew from the magic tunnel between the worlds. Thasha knelt down before the clock, and Pazel, on an impulse, dropped beside her. Thasha tugged the clock face wide.

'Sorcery,' muttered Druffle.

'Hush up, man!' snapped Fiffengurt.

The breeze became a wind, frigid and gusting. It tugged at their ankles, and blew Thasha's golden hair away from her face. 'Ramachni!' she said again, as loud as she dared. 'Ramachni, what's the matter? Where are you?'

She tried to look into the tunnel, but grains of the black sand stung her eyes. Another candle blew out. The wind began to moan from the clock face.

This is madness! Diadrelu cried from above. Pazel, close that thing, before you wake the ship!

Pazel moved to obey — but Thasha caught his hand tightly in her own.

'Wait,' she said, 'please.'

The newcomers were backing against the walls, trying to get farther from the clock — all save Bolutu, who stared at it as though at some frightful revelation. Even Fiffengurt looked anxious. Thasha's grip tightened; Pazel wondered if he would still be sitting there, holding her hand, when the Turachs kicked in the door.

If this continues your fight is over, said Dri.

Pazel turned to Thasha, but as if she guessed what he would say she shook her head fiercely. Please, she mouthed. The wind grew stronger, louder; the door of the vault began to shudder in its frame.

Pazel pressed his lips to Thasha ear. 'I'm sorry,' he said. He reached down and closed the clock.

Perfect silence gripped the room. The wind had vanished; the watchers uncurled their bodies, listening. No pounding feet, no bellows or cries. The immensity of the ship, or the crew's exhaustion after weeks of storm, had saved them. The Chathrand slept on.

Thasha put her face in her hands.

Pazel touched her shoulder, but Thasha only stiffened and leaned away. Neeps looked at him and nodded. Telling him he'd done what he had to. It didn't make Pazel feel any better.

Druffle looked at Marila, eyes blazing with accusation. 'Why'd you bring me here?' he asked.

9 Umbrin 941

179th day from Etherhorde

If opening the clock had proved an ambiguous wonder, the fact that no one fled the room afterwards was simply a miracle. Big Skip was still staring at the suitcase, into which Pazel had quickly packed away the clock. Druffle was nipping from a flask. Bolutu, for his part, gazed fixedly at a spot in the air, bending his notebook first one way, then the other.

Thasha sat silent, face in her hands. Ramachni had not come; no help of any kind had come, and now the newcomers were terrified. Their rebellion was sinking into chaos before it had even begun. Pazel sat across from her, wishing that he could take her aside, calm her, beg her not to feel ashamed. But there was no chance of that.

Neeps and Marila, to their credit, were trying to steer the meeting back on course.

'What you've got to remember,' Neeps was saying, 'is never to touch Arunis of your own free will. Pazel found out the hard way: it gives him the power to look into your mind, somehow. That's why he could kill poor Peytr Bourjon. Once he knows you're not the spell-keeper, you're fair game.'

'We've been wondering what Arunis could have promised him, to make him shake hands,' Marila added.

'Safe passage off the IMS Chathrand,' suggested Big Skip, 'that is, if we reach the south. If there is a south.'

'That is the other great unknown,' said Khalmet, breaking his wary silence. 'I mean the South itself. Drellarek always spoke of resupplying quickly, making west along the southern shores, taking our bearings at some known location, and then returning north to Gurishal, behind the Mzithrini defences. But he knew nothing of the land or its people. Will we face a wilderness like Bramian, full of beasts and savages? If we fled the ship we might perish in a day, or wither slowly, while Rose and his loyalists sat at anchor, starving us out.

'But we might just as likely find a civilised country, with townships and industries, and force of arms. We must be ready to contact such people. It may be they have ships that could take on the Chathrand.'

'Like the Jistrolloq did?' said Fiffengurt. 'Don't bet on it, mister. Rose fights above his weight.'

'I'll bet there's nothing but a wasteland,' said Druffle. 'Nothing but toads and spiders, rocks and desolation, and hills all sheathed in ice.'

'Toads and ice?' said Marila.

Pazel saw Bolutu shaking his head, as if he had heard nearly all he could stand.

'Just a minute,' said Neeps. 'The Chathrand and her sister-ships used to cross the Nelluroq all the time. There has to be civilization in the south. Otherwise, why bother?'

'That was centuries ago, mate,' said Dastu.

'Aye,' said Khalmet, 'and civilizations come and go.'

Bolutu uncurled his notebook — a warped, water-stained ruin after months of abuse — scrawled two words, and held them up: NOT THESE.

They looked back at him, puzzled. 'Whaddya mean?' said Big Skip.

The veterinarian frowned, looking from face to face. He began to write again.

' The wa… waking… phenomenon,' Druffle read over his shoulder. 'As in waking animals? What's that got to do with the Queen's Tea?'

Bolutu stopped writing and sighed. Then he dashed off a sentence and held it up.

NOTHING WILL GET DONE AT THIS MEETING.

'Well you're a right blary naysayer,' growled Fiffengurt. 'Why don't you help us get somethin' done, then? Ain't you an educated man?'

Suddenly Bolutu rose to his feet. Everyone tensed: the black man's lips were pressed tight together, and his eyes were almost closed. He raised the notebook, squeezing it as though demanding some last service from its tattered pages.

'He wants something hard to write on,' said Big Skip.

Bolutu closed his hand, crushing the notebook in his fist. 'No, he doesn't.' He tossed the notebook down with a smack. 'Jathod! He doesn't want to write another word.'

There were gasps. Big Skip made the sign of the Tree. 'You can talk!' said Fiffengurt.

'And you can hear,' rasped Bolutu. His voice was dry, and his words distorted, as though he had almost forgotten how to speak. Then he opened his mouth wide, and showed them a pink and perfect tongue.

'Black spellcraft!' hissed Druffle, edging away. 'You're a conjurer! A hoojee hexman from the Griib!'

'That's ugly, Mr Druffle,' said Marila. But in fact they were all in shock. Bolutu had grown a new tongue.

Say something, Pazel! cried Diadrelu. Khalmet has his hand on his sword!

'Listen to me!' Pazel blurted. 'Whoever he is, he risked his life to save me from Arunis!'

'That's right, that's right,' babbled Fiffengurt. 'And if you are a hex-man, Bolutu — well, that's just fine with us. So long as you're our hex-man, he he.'

'I am neither hoojee nor hexman, whatever those may be,' said Bolutu quietly. 'Nor am I a Slevran, as I was forced to claim.'

'Told you!' said Neeps. 'I told you he was a Noonfirther! Didn't I?'