Chadfallow said no more, but he could not stop himself from pacing, and his footsteps rang out clearly on the stones around the ruined fountain. Marila was awake now, too; standing silent and fearful, hugging herself against the chill.
Neeps looked at Pazel and whispered, “The sun’s coming up. Twenty minutes, thirty at the most, and there won’t be any darkness left to hide in.”
“You think we should go over the wall?” Pazel gazed at it, desperate. “Just climb out and run, all of us?”
“I think that’s better than waiting for them to notice that two of us disappeared in the night. But I’m worried about the dog.”
The guard animal lay curled on its platform, looking rather cold. Pazel could not tell if it was awake or asleep.
There came a soft noise from above. Thank the Gods, thought Pazel. It was Thasha, sliding down the rope. And after her, a far less welcome sight, came Dastu. They rushed across the courtyard, and Thasha squeezed Pazel’s hand.
“No sign of Hercol?” she asked.
“Haven’t you seen him?”
“They missed the rendezvous,” said Dastu. “Blast! Some turmoil has erupted near the shipyard-and it’s spreading faster than fire. Even here in the Middle City the streets are waking. Something is very wrong. And I’d swear Arunis is behind it.”
“Ott’s other little helper turned out to be working for Arunis,” said Pazel coldly. “How do we know you’re not?”
“Judge for yourself, Muketch,” said Dastu with equal venom. “As for me, I’d gladly leave you here. But alas, Sandor Ott is my master, and he commands otherwise.”
“For now,” said Thasha, “all we need to think about is getting out of here. We didn’t find a way out of Masalym, but we learned one thing: if we don’t want to be captured again immediately, we have to make for the Lower City. It’s dangerous, but at least there are hiding places. Here in the Middle City there are dlomu everywhere.” She stiffened. “Aya Rin, he’s seen us.”
The dog was sitting up and watching them. Its eyes fixed on Dastu, as though quite aware that he didn’t belong. But it did not make a sound.
Suddenly Pazel noticed how well he could see the dog’s face. Night was over, and daylight was growing by the minute. “Right,” he said, “if we’re going, we have to go now. But let’s not wake Uskins and Rain until some of us are up on that wall. They’re too unpredictable. They might make any sort of commotion.”
“There’s plenty of flat roof to stand on,” said Thasha. “We can get everyone up, then choose our moment to slip down to the street and make a run for it.”
“Whatever you do, make it fast,” said Dastu. He walked to the dangling rope, planted his feet against the wall and pulled himself swiftly to the rooftop. The others glanced apprehensively at the dog, but the animal sat silent on its platform, alert but motionless. “Something strange about that animal,” muttered Chadfallow.
Thasha climbed next. Crouching beside Dastu on the roof, she beckoned Marila. “Come on, you’re light, you can help us pull from up here.”
Marila seized the rope, and Thasha and Dastu hauled her upward. Again Thasha tossed down the rope. Pazel caught it, passed it to Neeps. “Same reasoning, mate,” he said. “For Rin’s sake, don’t argue with me.”
“I won’t,” said Neeps, “but you’d better start waking the others now.”
As Neeps climbed and Chadfallow steadied the rope, Pazel went to rouse the three remaining men. Uskins had bedded down in his patch of weeds; he gave a bewildered snort when Pazel shook him, and his eyes seemed reluctant to open. Druffle was instantly alert, and rose to his feet as though he had been waiting all night for a signal. That’s a smuggler for you, Pazel thought. Dr. Rain muttered to himself, frail and disoriented.
“I’ll hurry the doctor along,” said Druffle. “Get old Chadfallow up that wall if you can manage it.”
But “old Chadfallow,” as Pazel knew, was strapping for his age, and climbed with ease. The trouble came from Uskins, who looked frightened by the whole procedure. As Pazel steadied the rope for Chadfallow, the first mate stared at him, lips a-tremble. “Muketch,” he said at last, “I have no desire to return to the ship.”
Pazel turned his head, astonished. “Mr. Uskins,” he said, “we don’t know where we’re going yet. The important thing is to get out of here, while we can.”
Softly, the dog began to whine.
“Not important to me,” said Uskins. “I’ll follow orders, thank you very much.”
“Orders? Who ordered you to sit in a blary asylum?”
“Sir,” corrected Uskins.
“Sir,” repeated Pazel, increasingly confused. “Listen, you don’t want to stay here. They could lock you up forever, or experiment on you, bury you alive-anything. Don’t you realize who’s in charge in this city? Arunis and his gang, that’s who.”
At the mention of the sorcerer, Uskins recoiled, as though Pazel had struck him in the face. “You scoundrel!” he exploded. “You’ve had it in for me from the start! I told Rose to put you off the ship back in Etherhorde, that day you tormented the augrongs. And now you’ve provoked the sorcerer!”
“Mr. Uskins-”
“You’re insolent and clever, and you won’t stop until we’re dead. This is what Arqual’s coming to-you, you’re the face of the future. I can’t bear it. To think that you’ve served on Chathrand herself. In my grandfather’s day you’d not have been allowed to speak to a gentleman sailor, let alone serve under him.”
The dog whined louder, and even began to paw at the glass. “A gentleman sailor,” said Pazel, seething now. “Mr. Uskins-Pitfire, that’s not even your real name. You’re Stukey Somebody, or Somebody Stukey, from a guano-scraping village west of Etherhorde, and the only reason I’m trying to save your damned pig-ignorant hide is because I think you’re ill, actually ill, and I feel a bit-Oh credek, never mind, just get up the blary wall, for the love of Rin. Now, sir.”
Uskins froze, clearly shocked by the tarboy’s vehemence. Pazel thrust the rope into his hand. Slowly a look of understanding crept into Uskins’ eyes, and with it came a new, sharper fear. He put his feet against the wall and began to climb.
The dog gave an anxious yip. Pazel looked at it: the creature was dancing on its pedestal, turning in circles. On an impulse, Pazel dashed across the courtyard to stand before it. “Hush!” he whispered. The dog glanced down the corridor and cocked its head. Then it looked Pazel in the eye, whining pitifully. Its breath clouded the glass.
“Shhhh,” said Pazel, “good dog, good dog.”
Suddenly the dog pressed its nose to the fogged-over glass between them. It moved sideways, dragging its nose, struggling for balance. “Mr. Druffle,” said Pazel aloud, “I think this dog is awake. I mean woken. Because, Gods below, it’s… writing.”
The dog was writing. With its nose. One scrawled and desperate word.
RUN.
Pazel jumped. And then he heard it, soft but certain: the rumble of angry voices. Many voices, shouting, and growing nearer by the second.
He backed away. The dog wiped out the word with its forehead. Mystified, Pazel raised his hand, a gesture of thanks.
“Deserters! Faithless deserters!”
Pazel whirled about again. It was Dr. Rain, in the doorway of the bedchamber. He was staring at the figures on the rooftop, his shouting like crockery hurled at a wall. “Leave your shipmates, leave an old man behind in this human zoo! Villains! Backstabbers! Cold, mean, monstrous-”
Pazel had to hand it to Mr. Druffle: the freebooter did exactly what was called for. He silenced the doctor with one humane, swift thump to the stomach, then lifted him and ran to where Pazel stood clutching the rope.
“Under the arms, lad! Tie him quickly!”
Shouts echoed from somewhere down the corridor-many voices, loud and even menacing. They’re in the north wing! Get that door open! Which of you has the key?
The dog raced back and forth. “Haul him up!” begged Pazel, and the others complied. Rain kicked and struggled; the poor man simply had no idea what was being done to him.