They have plans, Felthrup thought for the hundredth time. And whatever those plans are-
'Give the word, Father!'
Felthrup jumped so hard he ricocheted up and down in the pipe like a rubber ball. The voice came from the opening-where four long spears pointed straight at his heart. The ixchel! They had come to him!
They crowded around the mouth of the pipe, copper eyes gleaming. All men. Three of the four were bald and bareheaded. The last, a young man in light armor, had a smile that chilled Felthrup's blood. His spear-arm twitched impatiently.
A second voice spoke: 'Let me see the creature first.'
One of the spearmen fell back, and in his place appeared an older ixchel. He was clearly their leader, gray- bearded but fierce of eye, holding a broad white knife.
'C-c-cousins!' stammered Felthrup. 'Bless your house and harvest!'
'It walked right into the pipe,' said the young man with the smile. 'We hadn't even set the bait yet.'
'Bait?' said Felthrup, trying to laugh. 'You need no bait to catch me, friends. I came looking for you! I wish to speak with you above all things.'
'It smelled the blood of the last one,' said the gray-bearded man. 'That is why it entered the pipe. Rats are all secret cannibals.'
'Cousins, dear ones!' said Felthrup desperately. 'How sad that you should think so! Even rats do not commit that sin-or only very, very rarely! And I am not like other rats! My name is Felthrup Stargraven, and I have much to tell you.'
The ixchel men glanced at one another. Rats did not have names, for they could not remember them. If one rat called to another he used whatever nickname occurred to him-whitey, wart-face, bucktooth-and forgot it as soon as the other was out of sight.
There was no time to lose: Felthrup had to prove his goodwill at once. He bowed his head and addressed their leader.
'Do you know the humans' mission, sir? I do. The moon falcon told me, and he knows-his master is the Emperor's spy. Shall I tell you? It is ghastly, abominable!'
The older man gave an irritated sigh. 'Observe, Taliktrum,' he said. 'It will now try cunning. Odd creatures, these Sorrophran rats-'
'I'm a Noonfirther!' cried Felthrup.
'Dim-witted as any of their race, of course. But when faced with death they almost appear to possess reason, like a woken beast.'
'I am awake! I have a mind and memory!'
'It is quite talkative,' said the young man. 'Diadrelu says they spout like this when rabid.'
They think me mad! Felthrup raised himself up and waved his forepaws, trying to recapture their attention. He succeeded: every spear-arm tensed. With a squeak of terror he dropped and covered his eyes. Then, making a supreme effort, he lowered his voice.
'Listen, cousins, friends. I talk this way always. I talk, I reason, I think. I cannot sleep for thinking! That is why I have come looking for you. We can help one another. Trust me, believe me, sons of Ix-phir House, I am more like you than I am a rat!'
The ixchel laughed softly. 'Amazing!' said one of the bald spearmen. 'Did you hear it, my Lord Talag?'
'I heard,' said the elder. 'But do not be fooled. In rats, thought is an emergency function. Many creatures have such tricks. They play dead, change color, drop their tails. This one's already used that maneuver!'
Felthrup hid his stubby half tail, and the ixchel laughed uproariously. He wanted to speak of his dash up the gangway, and the teeth of the wharf-rat, but the word cannibals still hung in the air. Furious and frightened, he began to cry.
'Please listen… so long… searching for you, for someone-'
'To escape the shark,' said the elder, 'certain fish leap into the air, spread fins and glide a little distance. We call them igri, flying fish. But we do not call them birds.'
'Drowning, always drowning,' sobbed Felthrup.
Then the old man laughed, and for the first time addressed Felthrup directly. 'Never fear, sir! You'll be dry enough.'
In a heartbeat the ixchel were gone. Felthrup hurled himself forward, guessing what was to come. Too late. The brass lid slammed; the latch clicked shut.
Poison
9 Ilqrin 941
27th day from Etherhorde
STRICTLY PRIVATE: SURRENDER TO THE HAND OF EBERZAM ISIQ ONLY
His Excellency Ambassador Eberzam Isiq IMS Chathrand
Your Excellency
I write in haste. Three days ahead of Chathrand have I sailed, with no safe means to send word to you, and I must depart again before the Great Ship reaches this town. In fact I am already at the docks: the mate is calling us aboard.
My news is awful, my fears and guesses worse. So bad indeed that I should not dare to write them at all were it not for this good and simple man, Rom Rulf, a chemist I trained myself at the Imperial Medical School, to whose keeping I entrust this letter.
The Lady Syrarys betrays you, Excellency. She loves another, and would kill to hide the fact. How foul the effort to write these words, how wounding that you should read them! And yet what choice do I have?
After Chathrand sailed with Rose at the helm I spent an hour on the headland, despondent. Then I came to my senses and jumped aboard a fast clipper to Etherhorde. We arrived just ahead of the Great Ship. If only I had gone straight to your door! Instead I galloped to Castle Maag. I still hoped to change the Emperor's mind about Rose, who is one of the vilest men ever to sully the name of Arqual.
The Emperor was not in his castle, but Syrarys was. She lay among courtesans in the boudoir. The room was dim. When I entered she mistook me for another, and called out, laughing: 'Again, love? Will you never let me sleep?' Then she saw me and went mad. 'Stop him! Shoot him! He cannot leave!'
She hurled a burning lamp in my direction. Had she been dressed I should never have made it from the castle alive, for many obeyed her once they heard her shouting. Someone chased me all down the mountain, and sent a falcon to dive at my face and the horse's. In the end I was thrown from the saddle and thrashed blind through the trees.
Two days I hid in the only place one may hide from the mighty in Etherhorde: in the hovels of the poor. It was my good fortune to have cured many last year of the wax-eye blindness. They remembered me, bless them, and asked no questions. But strange men-at-arms prowled the streets, and I am sure they were looking for me.
When the hunters came too near, my friends took a great risk and smuggled me in an apple-crate to the port. I was three days out of Etherhorde, on a ship bound for Tressek Tarn, before the crew dared let me out. And in Tressek I find myself little safer: the governor fears to meet with me, as do my fellow doctors. Only this morning armed men stormed my tavern-room-by good luck I was in Rulf's shop down the street. Have I lost the Emperor's favor? I cannot say; I only know that I have not fled far enough.
I never saw the face of the one who chased me-but I saw Syrarys, as plain as I see this pen and ink. She is not yours, Eberzam. Do not trust her. Do not leave Thasha in her care.
So much for my news-more bitter than any drug I ever made you swallow. But my fears! There is no time to explain them now. Beware the Nilstone! Did your mother never scare you with that word? It exists, and someone wants it, though to use it can only bring ruin on us all. You know the briny graveyard where legend says it fell. Should Chathrand near that spot, you must find a way to turn her back.
Horrors and madness. Who would choose such a moment to unearth that weapon, that malignant hole in the
