Robert Redick - The Rats and the Ruling sea

'Even if we wait for nightfall?'

'Perhaps, then. But nightfall may well be too late. The moment Rose finishes his recruiting we shall weigh anchor and depart.'

'Recruiting men, is he?' asked Thasha.

'That's right, lass,' said Fiffengurt. 'The fleshancs killed twenty sailors, along with eight Turachs, the surgeon's mate — and old Swellows, the bosun.'

'Who's on this recruiting job?' Neeps asked.

For the first time that hour Mr Fiffengurt's aspect darkened. 'That would be Darius Plapp and Kruno Burnscove,' he said. 'And their thugs, of course.'

Neeps all but choked on his tea. Felthrup rubbed his face with his paws. 'Oh misery, misery,' he said.

'Should those names mean something to me?' Thasha asked.

Neeps looked at her in amazement. 'Thasha! You've lived all your life in Etherhorde, and don't know about Plapp's Pier and the Burnscove Boys?'

'Why should she?' said Fiffengurt. 'Nice girls don't muck around with that sort.'

Thasha's eyes flashed. Despite six years of thojmele battle-training with Hercol, she had lived a sheltered life; and when at last she was old enough to slip out and explore the city, her father had locked her away in the Lorg Academy. With the other nice girls. She reddened. A foreign tarboy — and a rat, apparently — knew her city better than she did.

'They're the gangs that run the waterfront,' said Neeps. 'You want your ship loaded or unloaded quickly, you've got to bribe the Plapp's Pier gang in the north end, or the Burnscove Boys in the south, where the Ool meets the sea.'

'The same goes if you're looking for hands,' said Neeps. 'You can see them hawking sailors like regular Flikkermen, in taverns all through the port district.'

'They compete for business?' she asked.

'Compete!' said Fiffengurt. 'They blary well go to war over it, every few years. It's no joke, mistress: Plapps and Burnscovers hate each other with a consuming fire, and not a few of the murders in the back-streets of Ormael have to do with that hate. I call it an absurdity that Rose brought any Plapps aboard. The Great Ship's been Burnscove territory for generations. Until this voyage, that is.' He shook his head. 'A full crew is six hundred strong, as you know — not counting Turachs, officers, passengers or tarboys. Well of those six hundred, about two hundred are Burnscovers, and nearly two hundred more are with the Plapps. That leaves a final two hundred up for grabs. Why, I should like to know? What good's a powder-keg crew like that?'

'Rose has a reason for everything — a vile reason, usually,' said Hercol. 'But I cannot decipher the game he is playing now.'

Fiffengurt was shaking his head. 'Those gang bosses will have to talk fast, and pour liquor faster, if they want men to sign with the ship that brought Thasha Isiq here to die.'

'Except that I didn't,' said Thasha.

'Yes — no — the point is, mistress, everyone believes in your death. A distinguished and a tragic death. And that makes Chathrand unlucky, don't you see? Rarer than rooster eggs are the men who can laugh off that superstition.'

'We are all Ott's fools,' said Hercol. 'Not only have we failed to nullify his sham prophecy, but we have made it easier for men to believe in the Chathrand 's sinking, when the time comes.'

'Hark!' said Fiffengurt suddenly. 'Do you hear that?'

'I hear Pazel making sick-cow noises,' said Neeps.

'No, no. Listen!'

They all fell silent. Over Pazel's moans and the general hubbub of the ship, they heard a deep, rumbling roar, such as a bull elephant might make after a nap. It came from somewhere far below. Moments later a second roar blended with the first.

'They've woken the augrongs,' said Fiffengurt. 'The captain's ready to weigh anchor.' He rose and stepped to the window, nodding. 'The tide's not with us, so it may take a few hours. But make no mistake: we sail tonight.'

At once Hercol got to his feet.

'I will watch the docks,' he said. 'Thasha, the choice is yours. If it is your wish I will quit this ship in search of Eberzam, though he will be the last to thank me for abandoning you.'

He sheathed his knife, and left the cabin without another word.

'You mustn't send him away,' said the quartermaster. Felthrup squeaked his agreement.

'But she's got to,' said Neeps.

'No, mate,' said a groggy voice from across the room. 'They're right.'

It was Pazel, leaning against the doorframe. He looked like someone arising from a three-day whisky binge. Neeps rose and went to steady him.

'Back to normal?'

Pazel nodded, shakily. 'But I'd give my eyeteeth to know why I had two fits in one week. If this keeps up I'll jump over the rail myself. Listen, Neeps, they're right. I had two chances to get the truth out, and I botched 'em both. If old Isiq fails too, then we have to stop this ship ourselves.'

'And we shall need Master Hercol for that,' put in Felthrup. 'Without his wisdom we should be lost.'

'Without his sword, too,' said Fiffengurt. 'Make no mistake: we're in deadly danger. And there will be no kings or nobles to witness what is done aboard Chathrand once we leave Simja behind.'

He reached into his pocket and took out an old, well-seasoned blackjack, its leather grip worn to the shape of his hand. 'I've had to crack some skulls with this ugly thing,' he said. 'And I'll do so again if I must, by the Night Gods. But I'm not the brawler I used to be. We need some deadly, cold-blooded swordsmen beside us, and that right soon.'

'Arunis can't kill us,' said Pazel hotly. 'None of them can go around killing. Ramachni said it in front of them all: if they kill the spell-keeper, whoever he turns out to be, their precious Shaggat's dead — for ever dead, not just turned to stone.'

'You and I understand that, Pathkendle,' said Fiffengurt, 'but we've got eight hundred men on this ship. And they're in mortal terror of Arunis, and the Nilstone — to say nothing of the Ruling Sea. Terror begets desperation, and desperate men strike out blindly. That's what frightens me.'

'Besides,' said Thasha. 'Arunis may be afraid to start killing people, but that doesn't mean he won't cast a spell to turn our hands into stumps, or blind us, or something worse. And it won't stop Captain Rose from locking us up in the brig.'

'Exactly right,' said Pazel. 'He was insistent about that — he all but promised we'd fail, if we didn't recruit some allies. That's our top job, along with figuring out what in Pitfire it means to "put the Nilstone beyond the reach of evil." '

'Allies,' said Neep sombrely. 'That's a tall order on this boat. Where do we start?'

'Where indeed!' said Felthrup. 'Who can we trust with our lives — with the fate of Alifros itself?'

The silence was unnerving. After a moment Thasha rose and went to her cabin. She returned with her notebook and a pencil. 'What about it?' she said.

They debated the question for some minutes. Names were added, only to be scratched out again. 'Too bad Marila left us,' said Neeps. 'She was an odd girl, cold as a catfish. But you could trust her. Amazing diver, too.'

Thasha drew a sharp line across the page.

'Let's try again,' she said. 'Who do we hope we can trust? Who might turn into an ally, if we're careful?'

This time the names came as fast as she could write them down. 'Dastu,' said Pazel. 'And Bolutu. I've always felt he was on our side, though he's never said anything.'

Fiffengurt snapped his fingers. 'Big Skip Sunderling! A hefty son-of-an-Arquali-brown-bear, is Skip, and fists like pile drivers. He's just signed on — went up to Burnscove and volunteered, can you beat that? He had a Simjan sweetheart, but I guess that's ended. And he knows the Chathrand too; he was my midshipman a few years back. Right, who else?'

The names came even faster. 'Coote, the old bloke from the Swan.'