'Oh,' said Pazel. He could guess what happened next.
'A crowd came-sailors, steerage passengers, marines. Uskins was the first officer to arrive, and he had the marines whisk Thasha off to her cabin in a flash. She shouted: 'I started it! Don't blame him!' But Uskins never believed she'd done any fighting. Jervik, that filth-tongue, said I was the one pestering the Young Mistress. And what could I say? How could I tell 'im what we were doing on the mercy deck, when it's off-limits now? Then Jervik showed off his bruises. Said I attacked him after he caught me asking Thasha for unseemly favors. What do you suppose that means? First-class food?'
'It means kisses and the like, Neeps,' said Pazel, smiling in his turn.
Neeps blushed brighter than before. 'That scum,' he said. 'I'll kill him!'
'Don't even joke about that!' said Pazel, surprising himself with his own sharpness. 'Besides, you can't kill all the Jerviks and Uskinses in the world.'
'I'll settle for one or two.'
Pazel sighed. 'You still haven't explained how you ended up here.'
'Simple enough,' said Neeps. 'They would have chucked me ashore at the next port of call. But about the time Uskins separated us the lookout spotted the Lady Apsal-the grain-carrier, you know her, don't you?'
'Of course.' said Pazel. 'She's an Etherhorde ship.'
'She was bound back to Etherhorde, actually. We tied up to exchange mailbags. And seeing as her next stop was Uturphe, Rose asked their captain to toss us out there 'with the rest of the garbage.' How do you like that?'
'About as much as you do. What happened next?'
Neeps was working himself back into a temper. 'The final touch came from Swellows-may his tongue rot out! He told me he'd sent you to an inn on Blackwell Street. Naturally I went looking for you straightaway.'
'And found the Flikkermen.' Pazel lay down on the deck, a hand over his eyes. 'I'm sorry, brother.'
'Listen, mate, never call me that.'
'What, brother? Why not, Rin's sake? I've never had a better friend than you!'
'So call me friend. Not brother-not on your life.'
There it was again: that seething fury in Neeps' eyes. Pazel knew better than to argue the point.
'Friend it is,' he said, a bit awkwardly. Then he squinted at Neeps' collar. 'Pitfire! That's a right nasty bruise on your shoulder. It's black as ink.'
Neeps gaped. 'Kick me, mate, I forgot! It is ink! It's a message for you.'
'A message?' Pazel raised his head. 'From whom?'
Once more Neeps grew angry. 'Jervik, if you ask me. I woke up and someone had written it on my skin. Jervik knew I'd go looking for you in Uturphe. Maybe he wanted to gloat one last time. Can you believe the nerve? The oddest thing is that he used some foreign language. None of us tarboys could read it.'
'But flaming fish, Neeps, I could have read it! And what if it wasn't Jervik?'
'Who else would do such a nasty thing?'
'The ixchel!'
'Ixchel? Ixchel?' Neeps' eyes went wide. 'Are you saying Chathrand's infested with crawlies?'
'Don't call them that.'
'You mean you knew-and you let one use me for an ink blotter?'
'They're not as bad as we think.'
'Really!' said Neeps. 'And why didn't you tell anyone about your little ship-sinking friends?'
'They said they'd kill me.'
'How nice. I suppose your Gift let you hear them?'
'That's how it started. But if they want to be heard they just strain a little-bend their voices, they say-and out comes words that anyone can hear.'
Pazel tugged Neeps' collar back, revealing more of his shoulder, and gave a cry of dismay. 'It's nearly all washed off! I can't read anything but 'Simja' and 'must.' Oh, Neeps, you offal-head! What if it was important?'
Neeps looked at him over his shoulder. Then he closed his eyes. 'Relaga Pazel Pathkendle eb Simja glijn. Ilenek ke ostrun hi Bethrin Belg. So there. I memorized it, just in case. Pazel! What's wrong?'
Pazel had begun to shake all over. Still he dropped his eyes. 'Find something to do,' he whispered. 'Don't make Druffle suspicious. We're going to have to escape.'
'You know what it means, do you?'
'Oh, yes,' said Pazel. 'It's in their tongue, the ixchel's. And it's very plain: 'Tell Pazel Pathkendle he must come to Simja. They're going to murder the bridal girl.''
Toward midday the wind ebbed slightly. Druffle again produced his eel, soot-black after hours of roasting in the galley stove, and sectioned it with an axe on the topdeck. Inside the flesh was tender and pink. Druffle tossed each boy an eel-steak large enough to choke a bear, and with bear-like ferocity they ate where they sat, forgetting their fears. Only the seasick boy lost out.
'Clean them bones!' Druffle laughed. 'We need you strong for our little job on the coast!'
'What coast is that, Mr. Druffle, sir?' asked Pazel.
'Wait and see, my Chereste heart! And don't talk with your mouth full.'
Pazel and Neeps leaned back against the lifeboat, chewing steadily. Escape felt more possible on a full stomach-but only just. They looked at the raucous Nelu Peren, this Anything-but-Quiet Sea. There was a dark smudge of mountains to starboard. That would be the mainland, just two or three leagues off, but it might as well have been the moon.
'We're not going anywhere while this weather lasts,' said Neeps.
Pazel nodded. 'And it's going to get bad again, can't you feel it?'
'I can,' said Neeps. 'Worse than ever, I'd guess. There's a right storm brewing, maybe.'
'The other problem,' Pazel went on, 'is where to escape. All we know for certain is that Chathrand's taking Thasha to Simja.'
'We're heading west,' said Neeps, 'so I suppose those mountains could be part of Ipulia. But I thought Ipulia was a land of lakes-it's called the Blue Kingdom, after all.'
'Maybe it has mountains, too,' said Pazel. 'Or maybe we're west of Ipulia already, and that ridge is part of the Trothe of Chereste. That's Ormael, Neeps. My home-or what's left of it.'
'Didn't you say Ormael is just a day's journey from Simja?'
'Less,' said Pazel. 'But even if we land in Ormael, and somehow get away from these nutters, who's going to take us across the Simja Straits? We're not tarboys anymore. Simja may be outside the Empire, but it still uses the Sailing Code. All the Crownless Lands do.'
'They won't know we're not tarboys in Ormael.'
'Won't they? If I know Uskins, the first place he'll go is the Boys' Registry. We're probably already on the blacklist.'
'That skunk!' said Neeps. 'How I wish the augrong had eaten him.'
The wind soon revived. They talked a little more, but the waves too were growing, and their little shelter was regularly doused with spray. The other boys were huddled as far from the sides as possible, looks of shock on their faces.
At nightfall Druffle chained them to the fife-rail. The boys themselves asked for the chain, for the sea was by this time breaking steadily over the bow, and there was a real danger of being washed overboard. Pazel and Neeps refused the chain (it carried risks of another kind), but they locked elbows with the other boys in the lee of the forecastle. Plunging, plowing, the ship kept up her hysterical westward run.
It became impossible to speak. Soaked and freezing, they watched the crew battle the storm. Pazel's teeth chattered and his feet turned a pale blue. Yet somehow he drifted into a miserable kind of sleep. He dreamed he was an eel himself, swimming at great speed around a white tower that rose from the seafloor to pierce the waves, and reached beyond them far into the sky. Around him churned fish with glowing bodies, purple gem-like eyes, dagger teeth. There were submerged windows in the tower, and even a door, still closed tight against the weight of the ocean. Then a banshee wail erupted, and Pazel woke.
The boys were leaping up-only to fall again as the Rupin plunged sickeningly to port.
'The topsail!' someone cried. 'The topsail's split in two!'
Pazel groped for a handhold, trying to make sense of the chaos rushing his senses. Hours must have passed.
