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.
Neeps and Marila, on the other hand, were barely speaking. Marila had not forgiven Neeps for pushing her to bring 'that loudmouthed, slave-trading drunk' to the council. Neeps had objected that Druffle wasn't really a slave trader, that he had only dealt in bonded servants, but his hair-splitting just made her angrier.
'Tell me what the difference is, when you get deeper in debt each time your master gives you a rag to wear, or some little piece of garbage to eat.'
Marila's anger was something to behold: icy, soft-spoken, hard as nails. She had talked Neeps into corners three times in the last two hours. They were perfect together, Pazel thought.
'Anyway,' Neeps was saying, 'I don't think Druffle specialised in buying and selling human beings. Arunis sent him to the Flikkermen, under his spell.'
'Which is another reason to stay away from him,' said Marila. 'For all we know he's still in Arunis' power.'
Pazel shook his head. 'Ramachni set him free. We know that.'
'But what if there's some part of him that's been weakened?' said Marila. 'What did Jervik tell you? "He pick-pick-picks at me." What if Arunis picked a hole in Druffle's mind, and can read it now?'
'She's right, Pazel,' said Thasha quietly. 'Arunis managed to read your mind, and control you. Or at least put ideas in your head, and make you freeze.'
'But it cost him,' said Neeps. 'I'll bet he put a lot of eggs in that basket, trying to get rid of Pazel and his two Master-Words. And he couldn't read Pazel's mind, actually — not until Pazel touched him. Druffle won't make that mistake.'
'Druffle would make any mistake,' said Marila. 'He's an idiot. Toads and ice.'
'Stop!' Pazel pleaded, raising his hands. 'It's done, and we can't undo it, and we can't waste any more time wishing we could. Think about what Hercol said, for Rin's sake. We stand together or we die.'
Neeps and Marila glared at one another across the table. Thasha gave Pazel a private smile.
'I still want to know something,' said Marila abruptly. 'Why isn't Arunis dead? Chadfallow says he was hanged for nine days on Licherog, chopped up and tossed into the sea. That sounds blary dead. So what happened? What's he doing here at all?'
Even Pazel found himself glancing in Thasha's direction. 'I know what you want,' she said at once. 'But I told you, I can't touch the Polylex. I'm sorry. Felthrup was helping me for a while; he'd turn the pages, and read aloud. That made it bearable — just. Since then I've been trying to read it on my own, but it's too awful that way. I go too fast, I learn… too many things.'
'Like what?' said Neeps. 'Can you tell us something, just so we understand?'
Thasha put her elbows on the table, looking down at her plate of snipped-off octopus beaks. She sighed.
'There was a barge anchored on the Ool, in Etherhorde. The spy who ran the Secret Fist before Sandor Ott had it put there to terrify the Nunekkam. It had an eight-foot wooden wall instead of a rail, and shackles all over the deck. If they didn't cooperate with his spies — tell them all about their clients, hand over their business records — he'd take their families and roll them in salt and chain them there, for days. They have soft skin, the Nunekkam, they blister in the sun, birds would come and-'
'All right!' said Neeps hastily. 'Sorry I asked.'
Thasha shuddered. 'It isn't even those stories, exactly. It's that I feel like I'm remembering them. As if I used to know these things, and a few lines bring it all back. It's like going into your house after it's been sealed up for years, and tugging off the dustcloths, and finding the furniture all covered in blood.'
'Just stay away from the Polylex, then,' said Pazel. 'Felthrup thought you should, too.'
'Ramachni said she had to read it,' said Marila.
'Maybe Ramachni was wrong.'
Marila gave Pazel a sceptical glance, as if she knew very well what was behind his argument. Neeps drew patterns in the brine on his plate.
Suddenly Thasha rose to her feet. Without a word she seized Pazel's hand, making him rise too, and led him into her cabin. She marched around the bed, wrenched savagely at the latch on the porthole and flung open the glass.
The sudden wind slammed shut her cabin door. Pazel rounded the bed, studying her, more worried than he liked to admit. Thasha bent to the porthole, gulping the cold breeze, and the evening sun lit her face. There were dark rings under her eyes, and the golden flag of her hair had lost much of its shine. The blane, he thought: wasn't that where it started? Had she ever fully recovered from that taste of death?
He put his hands on her shoulders, and they lifted eagerly against his palms. Thasha sighed and let her head fall forwards. Pazel squeezed, then gave a nervous laugh. 'You're so blary strong,' he said.
'Syrarys used to beg me to be lazy,' murmured Thasha. 'She said with my shoulders no man would-Ouch! No, don't stop, that was a good ouch. Don't stop ever.'
He did not stop, but to his great vexation he could think of nothing to say. Thasha swayed under his hands. In the stateroom Marila and Neeps resumed their argument.
Talk to her. Tell her something clever and calm. Or just kiss her. Do something, fool, before you lose the chance!
He raised a hand to her cheek. At once the spark of pain flared up in his chest, but he didn't care. He leaned nearer, until he could see that her eyes were closed. Her breath came in little puffs against his fingertips.
'What are you thinking about?' he said.
'Greysan.'
He could not have pulled away faster if she had tried to give him a rattlesnake. What was he doing here? What kind of mucking game was this for her? But as he turned to go Thasha caught his arm.
'You don't understand,' she said.
'I don't think I want to.'
He tugged his arm free and lurched for the door. To his back, Thasha said, 'I was thinking that if you and Neeps really don't trust him, then I can't either. And I won't.'
Pazel glanced back over his shoulder. 'It didn't stop you before,' he said.