He was none of these, of course. Once the fright left him he had realized at once what was happening. There had been something in the shot-locker shaft. Two somethings, and they had watched him in fascination. Pazel had a good idea what kind of beings they were. The mystery was what they could possibly want with him.
Finally done with his smelly task, he stepped out onto the forecastle only to see Fiffengurt backing toward him, craning his neck to study the crosstrees.
'Pathkendle!' he said. 'Head detail already? What's this about?'
'I… I don't honestly know, sir,' said Pazel. 'Mr. Uskins said we mustn't confirm his statements. I tried to obey him, but somehow I muddled it up.'
Fiffengurt looked him over (or one eye seemed to), then nodded gravely. 'Just as I feared. A born criminal.'
'Sir?'
'Never mind, Mr. Pathkendle. Step this way. I have another punishment for you.'
He marched Pazel across the forbidden territory of the forecastle. It occurred to the boy that if he dared tell any officer about the voices it would be Fiffengurt. He had nearly decided to do so when the quartermaster turned.
'Have you a sailor's grip, lad? Can you handle a bit of wind?'
'Certainly, sir!'
'Then scurry out the jib-stay, and be sure no snail or barnacle's defaced Her Ladyship. Work 'em free with your knife-haven't you got a knife?'
'It was stolen, sir.'
'Well, take mine a spell, but don't you dare let it drop! And go easy on the girl, for pity's sake! She's old enough to be your grandmam!' He smiled and lowered his voice. 'Don't rush. Some of them limpets are blary small.'
'Oppo, sir! Oh, thank you, sir!'
In a flash Pazel was over the rail and easing out along the bowsprit line. He laughed aloud, thinking, Fiffengurt's my man! For instead of being trapped belowdecks with the rest of the boys, Pazel now swayed in the wind, one arm around the Goose-Girl figurehead, forward of every soul aboard, as the Chathrand slid free of the docks on the outflowing tide. The Shipworks gleamed; a black albatross skimmed low before him. Men ashore held their caps high, not waving: the dockworkers' farewell. On the deck the sailors murmured the prayer to Bakru, and Pazel did the same:
We go to sea, to sea, small men of soil made.
Pour milk for your lions, lord of wind;
Send them not hungry to the clouds,
Lest they roar for our blood…
Over his shoulder Pazel saw the tow-boats waiting, their men fastening lines from the Chathrand's bow. Slowly the Great Ship turned in the narrow port until the Goose-Girl faced the sea. Then for the first time Pazel heard Captain Rose's thundering shout: 'Two jibs and the forecourse, Mr. Elkstem.'
'Oppo, Captain, two jibs and the fore! Spurn, Leef, Lapwing! Cast gaskets! Jump to!'
Elkstem, the sailmaster, sounded amazed to be setting sails within a stone's throw of the docks, but the men in the tow-boats grinned: Rose's haste meant their own labors would be short. Indeed, the moment the big square foresail grasped the wind the ship leaped for open water, and it was all the rowers could do to get out of her path as she gathered speed. One man laughed and pointed: 'That tarboy's found him a bride!' Pazel threw a barnacle at him, laughing too.
White sail after white sail. Sorrophran vanished behind them. The light too was leaving-in half an hour it would be dark. But away west, the headland still glowed in the evening sun. And there, what a sight! Galloping to its peak was a fine black horse, and a rider in a billowing cloak.
The rider turned his steed sharply, waving. Pazel froze.
'Kozo, who's that nutter?' said the fore watchman, squinting up at the cliffs.
Pazel said nothing. The man was Ignus Chadfallow.
The doctor cupped his hands to his mouth and shouted: '… get away, lad! Jump ship in Etherhorde!'
'A madman!' said the sailor. 'What's that language he's speaking?'
'Who knows?' said Pazel. But the tongue was Ormali, and he its only speaker aboard. As Chadfallow surely knew.
'… not what I planned… madness… jump ship!'
'Deep devils, but he looks familiar! Someone famous, maybe? You know him, tarry?'
For a moment Pazel couldn't find his voice. At last he shook his head. 'No, sir. I've never seen him before in my life.'
Chadfallow kept shouting as they rounded the headland. The wind shifted, and his voice began to fade.
Midnight Council
2 Vaqrin 941
12:02 a.m.
'The boy must be killed at once.'
Taliktrum spoke from the fifth shelf, the highest, which was where he slept. Five feet below, on the first, Diadrelu looked up at him from the clan circle and shook her head.
'Not yet,' she said.
Taliktrum sat cross-legged, sharpening a knife on the sole of his foot. Here in the bow, where the gap between the inner and outer hulls reached nearly three feet wide, they were as safe as anywhere aboard, yet his hands seemed always on his weapons. She did not like this constant fingering of blades, this stabbing at timbers and caressing of hilts. It set a bad example for the younger folk, who were busy hiding their nervousness (call it what it is: fear) behind jokes and horseplay. Survival lay in good sense, not in bravado. Yet it was easier to provoke bravado than thought.
'He must die,' repeated Taliktrum. 'And the sooner the better. He's a monster, a giant with ixchel ears. Already he knows enough to doom us all. We were lucky tonight that his punishment shamed him into silence. At dawn it will be another matter.'
'Taliktrum,' said Dri, 'come down among the clan.'
He obeyed with insolent slowness, climbing down the inner hull with his knife between his teeth. Three feet above the shelf where his aunt and thirty other ixchel stood, he jumped, and landed nimble as a cat at the circle's center.
'Sheathe your knife, and act no more the fool with it,' said Dri. 'Listen: we do not know why the boy was silent.'
'And you would wait to find out, Dri?' asked Ensyl. 'What if he rises tomorrow and guesses they were ixchel voices he heard?'
'He will have guessed already,' she said. 'Ludunte says he looked right at our crawlway. The giants know we ride their ships. And though none can hear our natural voices-none ever, before this boy-still they know we can speak.'
'They know, because some of us beg for our lives when the Arqualis catch us,' said Taliktrum, looking bored and irritable. 'Beg in the name of Rin and his Angel and the Milk of the One Tree. All those things the giants claim to worship. To no avail.'
'Most kill us, given the chance,' Dri agreed. 'Not all, however. If we are to survive this mission we must not overlook those precious few.'
'You believe he held his tongue for our sake?' said Taliktrum.
'I believe he is an Ormali as you guessed. That means he may have no love for this Empire.'
'Odd crew he's chosen to ship with, in that case.'
