should have put a knife in his gut. Look out!'
He flinched, staring wildly past my shoulder. I jumped half out of my skin amp; turned about: nothing. Rose slammed the door behind me.
I cleared my throat. 'I won't stand for this, Captain,' I shouted, not very boldly, though. He made no answer, amp; I turned amp; descended the ladderway, down amp; down, to the afterhold, seeking that mysterious voice. The augrongs were there, half dozing as always, amp; a fair number of enormous rats. But no strange men. I worked my way forward, searching for anything unusual. I was startled by how well stocked we were-enough grain amp; hardtack amp; beef chips to see us home to Etherhorde, with food to spare. Had it all been laid away in Ormael, while I was out looking for the Lady Thasha? I made a point to question Swellows.
So there I was, moving aft, when who should appear before me but that cripple-footed rat! He sat there on his haunches, waiting for me.
'Git, you!' I shouted, looking for something to throw.
And save me, Rin, the beggar answered, 'No, Mr. Fiffengurt.'
I nearly dropped the lamp. 'You can talk!' I whispered.
Ratty just nodded, like I needn't state the obvious. Which I promptly did again.
'My name is Felthrup Stargraven,' said Ratty. 'You rescued me from the bilge-pipe. I am in your debt forever.'
'By the buddin' branch of the blary beautiful Tree!'
'I should love to make conversation,' Ratty tells me. 'Nothing more so! But I am fleeing a monster. Will you kindly examine the goods stowed by the mizzenmast step?'
'You can talk!'
'Goodbye, Mr. Fiffengurt. I thank you for your idrolos, and for my life.'
He turned amp; limped off into the darkness. At the edge of my lamplight, he pulled up short amp; looked back at me. 'By the way,' he squeaks, 'everything they told you is true.'
Then he was gone. And a second later Sniraga rushed past my legs. I chased after her-what if I heard 'im plead for mercy in her mouth? But she was gone in the darkness, same as Ratty.
My Annabel likes that word, idrolos. The courage to see. I stood there, worried my brain had sprung a leak. Then I made my way to the mizzenmast step.
The hold of Chathrand is like the basement of a castle. It has rooms amp; shafts, catwalks amp; tunnels. It takes a solid week just to count what's stored down there. Naturally we carry enough wood for any repairs the Great Ship might require. There's spare mastwood, wales, planking, transom knees. A spare bowsprit. Even a lump of oak for carving a new Goose-Girl, should we lose Her Ladyship. But when I crept down to the foot of the mizzenmast I found timbers that had nothing to do with repairs. They were broken, smashed amp; filthy Twisted bolts amp; snapped cleats amp; bits of rigging trailed from 'em. Some of the wood was even burned.
'Gods of fire!' I said. 'It's parts of a wreck!'
But what wreck? It hadn't come from the Haunted Coast-these pieces were stowed under goods we'd taken on in Ether-horde. We'd carried this trash for months! Huge timbers, too: some of the largest I'd ever seen-except for what the Chathrand herself is made of. And what for pity's sake was it good for? Nothing at all, so far as I could see, except tossing over the side…
'Twas then I heard a rustling behind me. 'Come out, whoever the blary hell you are!' I growled, spinning round. 'Fiffengurt's not afraid of you!'
No one came. But now I was facing a broken beam with a copper faceplate. IMS CHATHRAND, it read. CAPTAIN'S DAY-CABIN. STRICTLY PRIVATE.
I felt a cold, murthy hand on my heart. I looked further: there was a cabin door with the Chathrand Family coat of arms. Tattered sailcloth with CHATHRAND sewn into the hem. A Chathrand life preserver, snapped in two.
This is wickedness, I thought. This is evil from the Pits.
It was our own wreck I was looking at. A simulation of it, I mean: about as much as would wash up ashore, if we wrecked nearby. Tossing over the side was exactly what this junk would be good for.
I had to sit down. Someone needed the world to think us wrecked. Someone meant Chathrand to disappear.
Ratty's voice echoed in my brain: Everything they told you is true. And the lad amp; Mistress Thasha had said we would be crossing the Nelluroq with (Rin help us) the Shaggat Ness aboard. And that his mage was alive amp; behind it all. And that the Emperor wanted war.
My knees were shaking. Who could I tell? Who could I trust, out of eight hundred souls? Only two tarboys, a rich girl amp; a rat.
Do something, Fiffengurt, I told myself. Trust someone. Form a gang. Take the ship away from Rose.
I sat down with the lamp between my feet. I let five minutes pass, then five more. And then it was too late.
'Man adrift! Man adrift! Two points off the starboard bow!'
The voices reached me faintly. I thought, What now, blast it, how can things get any-*
* At this point Mr. Fiffengurt's journal is torn in two: the remaining pages are lost.-EDITOR.
The Calm
6 Teala 941
84th day from Etherhorde
'A man it most certainly is,' said Isiq, peering through his telescope. 'But how did he get there? He has no sail, no mast, even. There are oarlocks, but no oars. How did that boat get so far from land?'
It was a fair question. The Chathrand was six hours south of Ormael now, almost exactly halfway to Simja. Hundreds of men, sweating in the midday sun, gaped at the sight: a forlorn little lifeboat two miles off, with one ragged occupant, seated and barely moving, nagged by shrieking gulls. There was a fighting shield propped in the stern, and some large, lumpy shape beneath a canvas at his feet. They could see no more from this distance.
On the quarterdeck, Captain Rose was speaking to his gunnery officer. Lady Oggosk and Sergeant Drellarek waited at his side.
Isiq and Hercуl stood at the mizzen, with Pazel, Thasha and Neeps beside them. Chadfallow stood a little apart, brooding, wrapped in silence. Pazel had not spoken to him since the doctor shoved him to the deck.
'It is a Volpek lifeboat,' said Hercуl. 'And that is a Volpek war-shield in the bow, I think. But the man is small for a mercenary. I wish I could see his face.'
Thasha took the telescope from her father, and winced a little as she raised it to her eye: Sandor Ott's fist had left a wide purple bruise on her face. The man in the boat had his back to the Chathrand. He was gesturing wildly, as if carrying on an excited debate. His feet rested on a black mound of some sort.
'Those hands of his,' she said. 'All skin and bones. I've seen them before, I-'
Boom.
Smoke rose from a forward gunport: the Chathrand had fired a signal-shot. The gulls scattered briefly, but the man did not even look over his shoulder.
'He's deaf, or mad,' declared Eberzam Isiq.
'May we look through your scope, Your Excellency?' Pazel asked.
Isiq nodded and Thasha handed over the instrument, and the boys passed it back and forth. Then they looked at each other and nodded.
'No doubt about it,' said Neeps.
'It's Mr. Druffle,' Pazel said.
And so it was. The freebooter was thinner and more ragged than ever, which Pazel would have thought impossible were he not seeing it with his own eyes. His feet were bare and sun-blistered, and his black hair was snarled in dirty knots.
