The Rats and the Ruling sea

'Let us have topgallants, Mr Alyash. But stand by to clew up the moment we clear the rock.'

Alyash looked at the cove's western headland. 'Oppo, sir. I can hear that wind. Not that it's doing us any good.'

'Full parties to the braces nonetheless,' said Rose. 'We're going to have to swing the mains about like a lady's parasol to scrape out of here.'

The anchor went by the board: Frix and Fegin, wielding a two-man hawser saw, cut through the tree-thick line in a few dozen strokes. Thasha felt the sudden kick as they floated free, and turned just in time to see the mainsail flash open, like a white castle wall suddenly raised in their midst. The forecourse and spanker-course followed: the odd-numbered mainsails, far enough apart not to fight one another for the meagre wind. Thasha raised her eyes even higher and saw men bending topsails. The upper canvas might catch a wind that the lower sails missed, but would all of them together give them speed enough to escape the cove in time? Between the stone cliffs the Chathrand stood nearly becalmed — even as the Jistrolloq raced towards them on the open fetch of the westerlies.

Suddenly a vast noise erupted to port, followed by the screams of ten thousand birds. All eyes whirled towards Sandplume. From the highest point on the island, a column of scarlet fire was rising heavenwards. Taller and taller it grew, until it resembled a great burning tree, while around it the seabirds rose in one contiguous mass of flapping terror. Many of the birds collided, or wheeled out of control into the fire itself, where they blazed for an instant and were gone.

'Silence, fore and aft,' boomed Rose over the cries of the sailors. 'Mr Coote, I want fire hoses ready at the bilge pumps.'

Even as he spoke the tree of flame blinked, trembled and was gone. But smoke still rose from the hilltop, and Thasha saw that the flame had set the brittle underbrush alight. She winced. All those blary nests.

Then Rose's hand closed on her shoulder. In a growl meant for her ears alone, he asked, 'What in the Nine Pits is happening, girl?'

'I don't know anything about that flame,' she said, leaning away from him. 'But there's a man on Sandplume — a priest, maybe. He has the sceptre that belonged to the old Mzithrini Father. Sathek's Sceptre, it's called. I don't know what it's for.'

'That's it?'

'That's all I know, Captain.'

Rose bent even lower, drawing her into a huddle that shut out the deck. In a throaty whisper, he asked, 'Which one of them told you?'

Thasha dared not say a word. Did he know about the ixchel after all? Then Rose glanced surreptitiously down at their feet, and Thasha's skin went cold. There were other feet beside their own, other men, pressing close as if trying to listen in. Their boots were old and battered and darkly stained. Thasha felt the same whirling disorientation that came to her when she opened the Polylex, the same desire to turn away.

Rose flashed her a knowing look. 'You can tell me,' he said. 'Was it Captain Mauloj, with the facial tic? Or old Levirac, with the bad teeth? Or Farsin, maybe — the one with raw meat on his breath?'

Stiff with amazement, Thasha murmured: 'N-no, sir. It was… someone else.'

'Doesn't matter. You keep them away from me. Say whatever you like, just order them to keep their distance. Only if Kurlstaf appears, you listen to every word he says, and share it with me instantly, do you hear?'

'But which one is he?' Thasha pleaded.

'Kurlstaf, Captain Kurlstaf!' said Rose, exasperated. 'The pansy with the lipstick and painted nails!' With that he released her and bellowed for Fiffengurt — only to find the quartermaster already at his elbow.

'That flame was a signal to the Jistrolloq, Captain, or I'm a knave.'

'Aye, Quartermaster,' said Rose. He turned forward and boomed again: 'Tactical team to the quarterdeck. Mr Alyash, have a look at the gun decks before you join us. Mr Uskins, I want a report on the doings of the sorcerer: beat on his door until he opens it. And you-' he jabbed a finger at Thasha. '-close the shutters in that private palace of yours, then return to my side.'

I'm going mad, Thasha told herself, running for the stateroom. My mind 's coming to pieces; I've always wondered what it would feel like and now I know.

She was seeing the dead, seeing ghosts. They had vanished when Rose released her shoulder, without her ever catching a glimpse of their faces. But before she left the topdeck she had looked back at the captain, and there they were, milling about him like flies. They did not look monstrous — or rather, they looked monstrous in the same way Rose did: hard-bitten, brutal, weathered by years at sea. One was dressed like her great-uncle, in the old regalia of the Merchant Service. Two others wore the blue sash and high collar of the old Imperium: a uniform instantly familiar from the portraits that had adorned her father's study, portraits of naval captains of the First Sea War. A fourth was dressed in brown, like the axe-wielding men who had chased her belowdecks. Yet another wore a frock coat with outlandish tails, and grimaced with muscle spasms.

Why do they terrify us so? she couldn't help thinking. But the Polylex had provided one answer. She could still hear Felthrup, reading aloud two nights before: A ghost is one thing by daylight and quite another in the dark. At nightfall would they become the faceless people she had seen in the blane-sleep? Did that sort of creature visit the captain night after night? It would be enough to drive anyone mad.

Rose was trying studiously to ignore the spirits, as if they were beggars ready to mob him at the least encouragement. No one else knew they were there. Except for me, she thought. Why me? Was she being punished, or warned perhaps? Is my father dead, and calling me from the land of the dead, and giving me a way to see him? Is he searching for me right now? The thought was like a bone in her throat.

And still she sensed them around her: a soft tug at her sleeve, a moving shadow that vanished as she turned, a voice murmuring on an empty stair. We have him, it seemed to say, he's lost to you forever, he's oursClenched against the voices, she stepped out of the ladderway onto the upper gun deck and collided with Pazel, who was running in the opposite direction.

At the sight of Thasha his face lit up. He seized her arms, grinning, whirled her around — and then, just as suddenly, his eyes became guarded and evasive, and he banished the smile from his face.

'You're — different,' he said.

'Oh,' she laughed. 'Yes. And so are you.'

It was her first glimpse of him since the night of the dancing. His gaze slid to the deck. 'Made it back alive, anyway,' he said.

'So Fiffengurt told us,' she said pointedly. 'And I suppose it's good luck that we bumped into each other, since we may not be alive an hour from now.' Her anger with him was already rising to the surface. 'Excuse me, I have to close the storm-shutters.'

'Beat you to it,' he said. 'The stateroom's secured. Neeps is just finishing up.'

'How is Dri?'

'Worried. The ixchel girl Felthrup sent has never flown before.'

Thasha glanced nervously about the passage: they were still alone. 'Is it true, what Fiffengurt says?' she asked quietly. 'That you saw the scar on Rose's arm, I mean?'

He nodded. 'It's true, but that doesn't mean we can trust him. He's still the craziest man on this ship, and one of the nastiest. Thasha… what's happened to you?'

She knew he wasn't talking about her nicks or bruises, or anything as simple as that. But how could she explain, when she didn't understand herself? 'I stayed up late, reading the Polylex. What happened to you?'

'A giant lizard breathed on me.'