“The attack was well planned, well organized, well coordinated,” said Seremides. “That is not the way of crazed, unthinking men.”
“My esteemed colleague, the noble Rutilius of Ar,” said Cabot, “is well aware that a handful of uncrazed, thinking conspirators, men of malice and cunning, may organize, coordinate, and direct, the actions of others, men on the brink of despair and panic. It is my suspicion that this act was an attempt to conserve rations, to prolong the life of some by ending that of others, perhaps an attempt, even, to thin your forces, so as, eventually, to seize the ship.”
“Absurd!” cried Seremides.
“It is not clear, of course,” said Tarl Cabot, “who it might be who organized and arranged this mutiny.”
“It seems they are slain by now,” said Seremides.
“Perhaps, perhaps not,” said Tarl Cabot.
“I was unaware,” said Lord Okimoto, “that Tarl Cabot, tarnsman, had requested permission to speak.”
“I speak as I will,” said Cabot. “It is the way of my caste.”
“He is of the scarlet caste,” explained Lord Nishida.
“Ah,” said Lord Okimoto.
“Lords,” said Cabot, “I do not know our destination, nor your purpose, but the destination seems remote, and the purpose important. I think then that practicality, if not mercy, if not honor, should urge lenience in this matter.”
“May I speak?” asked Tajima.
Lord Nishida, with a slight motion of his head, granted this permission.
“Many months ago,” said Tajima, “we had been sorely defeated, and driven to the edge of the sea. Surely there are those of us here who remember that well. It was the fall of night that saved the few of us, no more than seven hundred, not even that, from the thousands with which we had begun. Never had there been such a battle. We were weary, and far outnumbered. Many were wounded, sick, and hungry. We waited for the morning, on the beach, to die. Then, by the will of whatever gods there be, by whatever names be theirs, we found ourselves, and gold, on a far shore. Now we would return. Those arrayed against us are many and formidable. I do not think we can spare one tarnsman, one spearman, one swordsman, one archer. I, too, speak for lenience.”
“There has been disloyalty,” said Lord Okimoto.
“I speak for lenience,” said Lord Nishida.
Suddenly many eyes turned toward the top of the ramp, to the open deck, where, now beside Lord Nishida, there stood a silent figure, clearly of the Pani. He wore a short robe, with wide sleeves. He was of medium height, but square in the shoulders. His ankles and wrists were thick. His hair was bound back. He carried a sword, which seemed almost a part of his hand. He was one of those who would not sleep lest such a blade lay at his side. His face was broad, his eyes bright. I could read no expression on his face, no more than upon a rock.
“Have you heard?” inquired Lord Okimoto of the figure.
It nodded, quickly, abruptly, and then, again, it was still, as still as if it might have been formed of rock, or carved of wood.
“It is Nodachi,” said one of the Pani.
I gathered from his observation, that it was not usual for this individual to be about, amongst them.
“What shall it be, honorable one?” asked Lord Okimoto.
The figure thrust his sword beneath his sash, and turned away.
“It is lenience,” said Lord Nishida.
“What does it matter,” cried Seremides. “We shall die on the ice anyway!”
The mutineers who had been on the ramp did not survive. There was not one who had not been struck by at least two arrows. It is not well to be the target of a Pani marksman. Cabot’s interposition, at the risk of his own life, had won at best a few moments more of life for those he had sought to protect. The tethered mutineers, some sixty or so, were taken below, in the custody of Pani, and put in chains.
“Those of the cavalry,” called Cabot, “return to your quarters.”
There were probably some twenty or thirty fellows there who were in his command.
Other officers, too, dismissed men.
Pani, too, began to file from the tarn hold. Lord Okimoto and Seremides had already departed.
I had understood little or nothing of that of which Tajima, the rider, had spoken, that about night, a battle, the waiting at the beach, and such. I did understand, and well, his concern to conserve men. In battle each man on one’s side is precious. Who, when the enemy appears at the horizon, would be willing to spare even a single slinger, in rags, with his sack of absurdly engraved lead pellets, let alone a spearman, or swordsman?
Cabot climbed up the ramp, to the open deck.
The fellow, Nodachi, was gone.
Hundreds of fellows were still below, either sealed in their quarters, or remaining there, given the instructions of Pani corridor guards. Many of these fellows would probably not even know, until later, what had been going on.
I trusted that Philoctetes had sought the care of a physician.
“Lord Nishida,” said Cabot, respectfully.
“I would have regretted losing the commander of the tarn cavalry,” said Lord Nishida.
Cabot smiled. “I, too,” he said.
“There was war here, on the deck,” said Lord Nishida.
“Clearly,” said Cabot, looking about.
The battle on the open deck had surged back and forth, for more than an Ahn, but then, obviously, in the end, the ship’s forces had triumphed.
“There were mutineers who fled to the deck, late in the war below,” said Cabot.
“Many had seized food, and there were ropes,” said Lord Nishida. “They went over the side, to the ice. Some fell to the water. There were sea sleen at the ice. Many succumbed. But most made it to the ice.”
“They hope to reach land, over the ice,” said Cabot.
“They will die on the ice,” said Lord Nishida.
“I fear few knew of the Stream of Torvald,” said Cabot.
“The Stream of Torvald?” asked Lord Nishida, curious.
“Yes,” said Cabot, “it is a warm current, a river in the sea, so to speak, pasangs wide, which keeps Torvaldsland from being ice locked in the winter.”
I shuddered. The ice, then, even in winter, would not reach Torvaldsland.
“I must attend to things below,” said Lord Nishida.
“Callias fought with us, and well,” said Cabot, indicating me.
“Of course,” said Lord Nishida. “He has, as I recall, what you speak of as a Home Stone.”
“Yes,” said Cabot, “he has a Home Stone.”
Cabot then took his leave and Lord Nishida went down the ramp to the tarn hold.
I followed him, as I thought to return to my quarters.
I stopped to examine one body. It was that of Aristodemus, he of Tyros. He had fought with the mutineers.
Lord Nishida stopped to regard two trussed mutineers. They were in the keeping of tarnkeepers.
“Why are these men not below, with the others?” he asked.
“He, and he,” cried a tarn keeper, “killed tarns.”
“I see,” said Lord Nishida.
There was then a shrill scream, of a raging tarn, angry and wild, in a nearby cage.
“Free them,” said Lord Nishida.
The tarnkeepers did this, with much reluctance.
The mutineers regarded one another with triumph.
“Now,” said Lord Nishida, “cut away their clothing, bloody them a little, and put them in the cage with the bird.”
“No!” cried the mutineers. “No!”
Eager tarnkeepers rushed upon them.
I exited the tarn hold through the same door through which the eight Pani and I had entered it earlier. Outside in the corridor, I heard hideous screams behind me.
I returned to my quarters.
Chapter Ten
I lay in my bunk, weak with hunger.
From day to day, usually at night, one fellow or another had left the ship, following in the wake of mutineers, from weeks ago, descending to the ice.