Robert Redick - The Rats and the Ruling sea

She looked at him warily, as if he might be mocking her. 'I made a hash of it,' she said. 'I almost got us killed.'

'Not your fault.'

Thasha flushed. 'I was so certain he would come when I called him. Ramachni, I mean. But I was dead wrong.'

In the brig, the guard was bickering with Chadfallow. You want to what?

'Thasha, you and Ramachni have some sort of… bond,' said Pazel. 'And Bolutu says he's a follower of Ramachni. You sensed him instead of his master. Anybody could have made that mistake.'

Her eyes were unmoved; she didn't believe he meant it. 'You know I don't blame you,' she said.

'For what?'

'Giving me the cold shoulder. I'd do the same thing if I were you.'

'Would you?' The idea made him feel a little better.

'I drank before the wedding ceremony,' she said. 'I got myself trapped in the stateroom while you were being dragged off to Bramian. I'm afraid to read the Polylex, afraid of learning too much. And then last night, the clock… no, I don't blame you one bit.'

'What are you afraid of learning?'

'That I'm not… who I'm supposed to be. Who Ramachni was counting on me to be, from the start.' Her voice quickened nervously. 'That no matter what anyone says to make me feel better, I'm going to be the reason we fail, the reason Arunis gets the stone and learns to use it and destroys everything, and it will happen because I'm broken inside. Which is to say crazy. I'm afraid I'm going crazy.'

'Well you're not,' he said firmly. 'You're just rattled, like all of us.'

Thasha shook her head. 'You closed the clock, before it was too late. You cleaned up the mess I caused, again. Oh Pazel, the dreams, the noises. The things I keep seeing. Words painted on the anchors. Doors, where there aren't any doors. And all those ghosts — nobody sees them but Rose and me. Do you think I've caught whatever he has?'

'You're not crazy,' he said again, taking hold of her shoulders. 'You blary well ran the show down there in the liquor vault, even after things went so wrong. And Captain Magritte sees ghosts as well.'

'I see a light in your chest, Pazel.'

'What?'

Tears were welling in her eyes. She was looking at the spot below his collarbone, where Klyst's shell lay embedded beneath his skin. But it was not glowing; it had never glowed; there was nothing to see but flesh.

'I am crazy,' she said, trembling. 'I see a little shell inside you.'

'Listen,' he said, tugging down his shirt collar. 'I don't know why you can see it, but the shell is real. The murth-girl put it there.'

'Oh come on.'

'You're not crazy. You can feel it with your hand.' Pazel took a deep breath. 'Touch it. Go ahead.'

She looked at him. He nodded, and guided her hand with his own. She moved slowly, fearfully — and stopped, her fingers not an inch from his skin.

'It will hurt you,' she said, as if the knowledge had just come to her. 'Rin's teeth, Pazel, it will hurt like Pitfire. And you knew that, and you didn't mind.'

'No,' he said, breathless, 'I don't mind.'

Thasha looked at him with a warmth he knew Oggosk would never forgive. 'I mind,' she said, and dropped her hand.

They stood, holding each other's gaze for the first time in weeks. And Pazel knew it was over. The farce, the poor acting job he'd tried to make her believe in for the sake of the ixchel. He would hide what he could from Lady Oggosk, but there was no point in lying to Thasha any more. Not when she could see right through his skin.

'All right,' he whispered. 'You've got to listen to me carefully. Will you do that?'

Before Thasha could answer a noise erupted from the brig. It was an animal's screech, blood-curdling, over the shouting voices of the men. Hercol was urging someone to be careful; Magritte wanted something killed; the guard was swearing; Chadfallow was crying, 'I'll get him, stand back!'

'He's killing Felthrup!' cried Pazel. He tried the door, but the guard had locked it behind him. 'Kill it!' Magritte was shouting. 'Stick it with your spear!' Thasha tried to draw Pazel away, but he ignored her, pounding the door and shouting, 'Ignus! Stop it! Leave him alone!'

Felthrup's cries ceased as suddenly as they had begun.

The door opened at last, and there stood the outraged guard — and Chadfallow, wiping blood from his hands.

'You mucking bastard!' cried Pazel, leaping at him. This time, however, Thasha caught him tightly around the chest. Chadfallow looked at him sadly. Then Pazel saw the hypodermic needle clutched in his hand.

'Felthrup was dying of thirst,' he said, as Pazel relaxed in Thasha's arms. 'He was too far gone to absorb water by drinking alone. I injected him with saline — clean water, just slightly salty, as it is in the body.'

'He bit you,' said Thasha.

'You're all blary cracked!' said the guard. 'And this doctor's a liar! He didn't want to give the Tholjassan no pills! And the Tholjassan himself's the maddest of the lot. Says that drooling rat in there's his pet — his pet! Out of here, all of you! The captain's goin' to hear about this!'

'Where's Felthrup?' asked Thasha.

Chadfallow examined his bites. 'I could not… persuade him to leave,' he said.

'You'll be comin' down with whatever that rat has, now,' groaned the Turach.

'Very possibly,' said Chadfallow.

'Ignus,' said Pazel. 'I'm sorry.'

Chadfallow smiled dryly. 'Long time since anyone called me a bastard.'

'Yer a bastard,' said the Turach. 'Now get away from my post.'

Through all this the Chathrand was making fair speed to the south. The morning clouds had vanished, so there were no telltale disturbances to help them locate the Vortex. But there were other signs. The waves, uniform these many days, had lost their shapeliness, and were a bit collapsed on their eastern side. And the east wind, when it came, was strikingly cold, as if it had blown over some expanse of frigid water, churned up from the depths.

In mid-afternoon, one such cold gust reached in through the porthole of the chart room. Elkstem felt it, snapped his drafting pencil in two, and stormed out to the quarterdeck. 'Let go the wheel!' he said. 'Just let it go, boys, that's right.'

The baffled sailors looked at one another and obeyed. The wheel spun like a giant fishing reel, the bow of the Chathrand swung quickly to windward, and Elkstem shook his head in dismay. 'Catch her, catch her, gents!' he cried, then snapped his fingers for a midshipman. To the thin-lipped Sorrophrani who answered the summons, he dictated: 'A memo to the captain: my compliments, and be aware that the bow's leeward drift is approximately ten degrees. I can comfortably assume therefore that we are in the outer spiral of the Vortex, and that without intervention, our course will decay. Your servant, etc. Put the message in Rose's hand, lad, wherever he may be.'

About this time, Pazel, Thasha, Neeps and Marila found themselves together in the stateroom for the first time in days. Syrarys' dressing-table had been screwed down in place of the one destroyed. It was small, but then so were their meals, lately. Thasha had opened one of their few remaining delicacies: a jar of tiny octopuses, pickled in brine. Her father had always kept several jars of the rubbery pink creatures in the pantry at home, and Nama had seen that a dozen were laid away before they sailed from Etherhorde. Thasha had grown up hating them. But after months of galley food she ate octopuses with a will, as did the other three: spearing them with their knives, slicing off the beaks, chewing them whole. They tasted of home, and were gone in five minutes flat.

The four friends sat gazing at the empty jar. They had changed roles since yesterday, Pazel thought. He had his bare foot atop Thasha's own, enjoying the dusty warmth of it, the trust. Somewhere deep inside him a voice still protested: take it away, take it away. Was it fear of what Oggosk would do to the ixchel, or Klyst's jealousy? Whatever it was, he felt powerless to obey. He simply could not be cruel to Thasha any longer. And then, he thought, as her dry, calloused toes slid restlessly against his own, there's this.