She had tried to make peace between them. Fulbreech had been willing; but Neeps had turned his head with a bitter laugh, and Marila’s look made Jorl and Suzyt whimper deep in their throats. After a moment Fulbreech had simply withdrawn to the other end of the stateroom. Thasha had tried to talk to them-about the attack of the dlomic army, the council meeting, the fruitless search for Arunis. Hercol and Bolutu had urged them to eat. Felthrup, in nervous agony, had babbled like a soul possessed, now and then stopping to chew his stumpy tail. At last he had burst into tears and fled into Admiral Isiq’s old quarters. Hercol had followed him inside, and emerged minutes later, shaking his head.
“Are you sure it was wise, Thasha, to indulge his request?”
“I’m not sure of much these days,” she responded, her voice suddenly hardening as she glanced at Hercol.
“What are you talking about?” said Marila. “What request?”
Thasha sighed. “Felthrup believes that he’s accomplishing something vital-in his sleep. You know he used to have those terrible nightmares, the ones he’d wake up from squealing and shaking? Well, they’ve stopped, thank Rin. But he has an idea that they weren’t normal dreams at all. He thinks they were sent by Arunis.”
“What?” said Fulbreech, touching her elbow. “Your rat friend thinks the sorcerer was attacking him through dreams?”
“That’s his suspicion,” said Thasha, “although he’s never been able to remember any details. When the nightmares were happening he was so afraid that he stopped sleeping at all-for ages. I think it nearly killed him. And now he’s just obsessed. He’s been reading about sleep and dreams and trances in the Polylex-you know, my particular copy-”
“Right,” said Marila quickly as Fulbreech raised his eyes with sudden interest.
She’s cracked! thought Neeps. She practically just told that slimy bloke that she’s got a thirteenth edition! Why doesn’t Hercol put a stop to this?
“He wanted a place to sleep in the daytime,” Thasha continued. “He asked for a dark nest, and I provided it-found an old hatbox, lined it with scarves, placed it with the open side facing the back of the closet. Then I hung a curtain over the closet door to keep light from leaking in. With all of Father’s uniforms and Syrarys’ dresses still hanging in there, I guess it’s about as dark and quiet as anyplace on the ship.”
“He retreats to that nest for hours at a time,” said Bolutu, “and when he emerges, he is strange and preoccupied, but he never tells us why.”
“I don’t like this at all,” said Neeps.
“Nor do I,” said Hercol, “but I have come to trust that rat’s intuition almost as much as my own. He often senses far more than he understands. But we must be off, my friends. The hour is ending, and it is a long walk to the forecastle house.”
“Thank you all,” said Neeps. “You’re first-rate, I mean it.”
Thasha came forward, her eyes bright, and took his hand in both of hers. “We miss you,” she said.
“Yeah,” said Neeps, glancing around, as though for someone who wasn’t there.
“We’ll go with you, of course,” she said. Then she added awkwardly, “Greysan’s going to stay here.”
A difficult silence. Marila turned to look at the Simjan. “Alone?” she said.
“Yes, alone,” said Thasha, a bit sharply. “Why shouldn’t he?”
Neeps took a deep breath, and held it. Because it’s insane, that’s why. Because you’re out of your mind if you let him poke around in the stateroom. The magical Polylex was here, and so was Mr. Fiffengurt’s secret journal, and the letters he’d written to his unborn child. There were also Bolutu’s notebooks, and Thasha’s own, and even some jottings Pazel had made in the back of an old logbook.
“We’ll go back by ourselves,” said Marila suddenly. “You can all stay here.”
Neeps quickly agreed: it was as if Marila had read his mind. The others protested, but he and Marila stood firm. Wishing their friends a last hasty goodbye, they bolted from the stateroom.
What occurred next shocked them both. Just beyond the red line that traced the invisible wall they found Rose waiting, terribly tense, fingering something in his pocket. “What kept you?” he barked. “Come along, quickly!”
“We have to get back, Captain,” said Neeps. “I can already feel the pain beginning.”
“Save your breath,” said Rose. “Come with me, that’s an order.”
He plunged across the upper gun deck, not looking back, confident of being obeyed. Neeps and Marila stood rooted to the spot.
“He’s going the right direction,” said Neeps at last. “We can start off following him, and break for the topdeck if things get strange.”
“Things already are,” said Marila.
Nonetheless they followed the captain as he barreled past the startled carpenters and gun-repair teams, around the tonnage hatch and into the starboard lateral passage. “He’s still aiming for the forecastle house,” whispered Neeps. “In fact we’ll probably get there sooner this way. No crowds to slow us down. But would it hurt him to-”
Rose stopped dead. Neeps and Marila skidded to a halt behind him, and both cried out in amazement. Just ahead, a passage intersected their own, and at its center was a huge red cat. It crouched for an instant, startled by their voices, and then with a twitch of serpentine tail it vanished down the right-hand passage.
“That’s Sniraga!” said Neeps. “She survived the blary rats! How did she manage, where has she been?”
“Nothing can kill that animal,” said Rose. “It will never leave off, never cease to plague me, until I answer for its wounds.”
He was trembling, hoarse with fear. Then he shook himself back to life and pounded on. The Holy Stair was just ahead, and it was with immense relief that they watched Rose enter the ladderway and start to climb. He moved swiftly, raising himself by the handholds as much as the steep steps.
But one flight below the topdeck he stopped again. “Have a look at these,” he said, bending down.
They leaned around his elbows. Beside the wall, a brass speaking-tube cut through the ladderway, emerging from a hole in a step and vanishing through the ceiling. And on the step beside the pipe sat a small canvas bag. Rose lifted it, and Neeps heard the clink of metal.
“What’s that, sir?” he asked warily. “Coins?”
Rose smiled curiously. “Not coins. Payment, yes, but not coins.”
Suddenly he grabbed Neeps by the arm. There was a flash of iron, a sharp click, and suddenly Neeps found himself handcuffed to the speaking-tube. He shouted and kicked at Rose. Marila screamed and struck at the captain’s face. Rose cursed, trying to catch her arms. Marila was quick and slippery: if she had obeyed Neeps (who begged her to Run, please, run away!) she might have escaped up the stairs. But she didn’t try, and in a moment the captain overpowered her and clipped a second cuff about her slender wrist. He dragged her to the brass pipe and snapped the other cuff in place around it.
Then he stepped back, out of range of their blows.
Neeps screamed at him: “You mad bastard! What in the Pits are you doing?”
Rose leaned back against the wall. Neeps threw himself downward, wrenching his arm, but the pipe did not even shake. Marila twisted her arm in the iron cuff, but it was too tight for her hand to slip through. Overhead, the ship’s bell began to peal again, urgently.
“You can’t kill us!” cried Neeps.
“Can I not?”
“You could lose the Shaggat! You will lose him! Marila’s the spell-keeper, do you hear me? If she dies-”