amp; troubles me at some deep level I do not yet understand.
Mr. Hercуl lost much blood before we fished him from the chains. He has not stirred these 27 hours, amp; I fear he may die before we reach Uturphe. The young Lady weeps at his side, amp; even seems a bit out of her head, calling for a certain Rawmanchy (?) although there is no one by that name aboard.
Myself, I do not pray. The Gods have better means of deciding this world's fate than by taking requests from an old quartermaster. But skies! May the man live! One senseless death on a voyage is tragic. Two could mark the beginning of a curse.
Could that be why I spared the rat?
I feel quite silly, but here is what happened: six or eight days out of Ulsprit I climbed down to the mercy deck, looking for bootblack. Just past the foremast I saw a bilge-pipe with an ill-fitting cap, amp; when I opened it to set it right I found myself looking into the eyes of a black rat. Of course I made to smash the creature with my crowbar. What stopped me was the sight of his little foot.
It was crushed. The beast had jammed it between pipe amp; lid, no doubt at the exact moment one of us slammed the lid home. The foot will never be a foot again, but it let enough air into the pipe to keep this plucky fellow alive. He was skinny amp; trembling-in that pipe for days, I'm sure. We gazed at each other, ratty amp; me, amp; before I could get over my shock amp; kill him he skedaddled away on his three good legs. I still could have slain him with the crowbar, but instead I found myself wishing him luck. What a ridiculous old softy you've become, Fiffengurt! Luckily I was quite alone.
* Plapp's Pier and Burnscove are two port districts of Etherhorde. The gangs Mr. Fiffengurt mentions control most of the dock work in the city and are bitter rivals.-EDITOR. Granted, quite a few of our Burnscovers deserted in Sorrophran, perhaps (as Mr. Frix thinks) because they recall the first captaincy of Nilus Rose amp; would rather starve than serve under him again. But well over a hundred remain aboard.
Good Intentions
4 Modoli 941
52nd day from Etherhorde
Hercуl lay still as death. Thasha stood in the cabin doorway, watching Dr. Rain poke and prod her tutor for the hundredth time. He looked terrible: gray blotchy skin, new wrinkles about the eyes, streaks of dark blood that had run from his leg to his chin while he dangled upside down in the chains. He had not moved since the attack four nights before.
Thasha had insisted that they bring him here, to her own chamber: it was warmer than sickbay, and the bed was a real bed, not a padded board dangling from ropes. But Rain was still the ship's only doctor. Thasha's anxiety grew the more she watched him shuffling about. He seemed a little mad. Talking to his instruments. Wiping his chin with a corner of her bedspread.
'There now, dear.' Syrarys glided breezily to her side and touched her arm. 'Let the doctor do his work. And lend me your necklace a moment. Your brave Mr. Ket has given me some exquisite silver polish.'
Without a glance at the consort, Thasha removed her necklace and handed it over. They were making fast to Uturphe, supposedly. But when Thasha and her father pored over his old nautical chart (with its penciled ghosts of old war fleets, battle maneuvers, lines of attack) he showed her how far out of the way Rose had taken them. Whole days wasted, or so it seemed. Why didn't he speak to Rose about the detour? Thasha wanted to know. The old admiral's reply was stern: 'Because he is the captain.'
Yet her father also declared that the winds were less favorable by the hour, and that they would be lucky to reach the city by tomorrow sunrise. Would Hercуl live that long? Thasha couldn't bear to consider the question. Instead, she turned her mind to revenge.
Taking her diary and fountain pen from her room, she dropped into a grand leather chair by the fengas lamp, crossed her legs and wrote:
What I Know:
1. Someone tried to kill my best friend in the world.
2. A soap merchant named Ket prevented it.
3. The enemy is still on this ship-at least, until we land.
She paused, chewing the end of her fountain pen. Then she scribbled quickly:
1. Hercуl knew there were enemies around us.
2. Hercуl was afraid when Pazel Pathkendle mentioned a language-Nileskchet.
3. Everyone is talking about peace, but Prahba is afraid of war.
That meant he and Hercуl were on the same side-for even though Hercуl was a great warrior and served in an admiral's home, he loathed wars. So did Ramachni, of course. Once, when certain her father was not in earshot, the old mage had said: As sure as disease grows where filth lies unburied, so every war in history sprang from someone's carelessness or neglect.'
Ramachni would know what to do. But there was no chance of speaking to him with that dolt doctor running in and out of her cabin. She was on her own.
She slid down in her chair.
What I Want to Know:
1. Who did it.
2. Why.
3. What's going to happen to that stupid boy, Pazel Pathkendle.
4. Where Syrarys goes after dinner-it is NOT to the first-class powder room.
5. How Hercуl and Ramachni planned to get me out of this wedding.
6. Whether P. P. hates all of us or just Prahba.
7. If P. P. has ever been-
'Polished!' said Syrarys, draping the necklace around Thasha's neck. 'Doesn't it shine!'
Thasha grunted.
'Is that your Mzithrini lesson, dear?' asked the consort, peering over her shoulder.
'Why, yes.'
Puzzled, Syrarys drifted back to her needlepoint. Despite all her fears and worries, Thasha felt a moment's pride. She was writing in code: her own mad code, invented to outwit the Lorg Sisters. Odd words she spelled backward. Every third, fifth and seventeenth letter was a decoy, as were all the spaces and half the vowels; and of course the whole thing was read from the bottom of the page to the top. It was not the code itself she was proud of, exactly: rather it was that she could both read and write it at almost normal speed. That was the skill that had taken years.
Were codes a kind of language, too? Would Pazel be able to read her diary as plainly as she could?
And why on earth did she keep thinking of him? Hercуl's attacker was the one to concentrate on. She would find him, she promised herself. And the first person to speak to was Ket. Thasha slipped into her cabin, locked her diary away in her desk, glanced once more at Hercуl (he had not moved an eyelash) and left the stateroom.
The ship was chilly and dark. Sailors tipped their hats as she passed. Mr. Ket was not in the dining room, and the lounge was empty but for Latzlo the animal-seller and the veterinarian, Bolutu. They were locked in an argument about walrus-hunting. Bolutu seemed to think one could run out of walruses; Latzlo said the seas could never be emptied. The very notion appeared to irritate him.
'I know animals,' he said, stroking his pet sloth with such force that its fur shed in a cloud. 'Animals are my business. Do you think I would put myself out of business?'
'A grocer may run out of cabbages and not close his store,' said Bolutu.
'I have no interest in vegetables!'
When Thasha finally got their attention, they told her Ket was enjoying Smoke Hour on the forecastle. Thasha set off at once, climbing to the topdeck and running in the open air. The waves were taller now, and the wind had a bite. Away to starboard the gray mountains of Uturphe looked no closer than at noon.
