Big Skip shook his head slowly. 'I've been worrying over that one,' he said. 'A plan the crew might stand up and support has to do one thing. It has to keep 'em alive. You want to beat these villains? Scuttle the ship. Wreck her. Drive her onto a lee shore, if we ever see land again. Or sail her right into the Vortex. But most folk don't want to die, see? Where's the plan that gets 'em off this ship alive?'
Fiffengurt leaned forwards. In a whisper, he said, 'We could fill a crate with powder charges, and blast this ship's belly wide open. The ten of us could handle that.'
His hand shook as he drew it across his face. Pazel looked at him, aghast. Had it really come to this?
'No,' Pazel heard himself saying, 'not yet. I don't think Ramachni wants us to kill ourselves. And I think the Nilstone might be a danger to this world even at the bottom of the sea.'
'Then what is our plan?' said Neeps. 'What are we going to tell the next ten people we try to recruit for this mutiny?'
No one moved, no one breathed. Neeps had said it, the hangman's word, the word from which there was no turning back. Suddenly Pazel realised the terrible danger they were in. All it would take is one of them to panic. To get up and try to leave right now. We could stop him, but not quietly enough. If anyone moves, we hang.
The one who moved was Fiffengurt — but only to hook Neeps around the neck with his elbow, like a fond uncle. The quartermaster turned his good eye this way and that, and he smiled a mad, anxious, damn-em-all-to- the-deep-depths smile.
'Here's a plan for you, blast it. We work our backsides off for Captain Rose. We give two hundred per cent, and we're humble about it. We warm their blary hearts with our good natures, see? And we sail this Grey Lady safe across the Nelluroq.'
'All the while recruiting,' whispered Pazel.
'Bullseye,' said Fiffengurt. 'And when we've brought the Chathrand into whatever sheltered harbour awaits us on the far side, what'll we have? A fighting chance to turn the rest of 'em — or at least enough of 'em — to rush the boats. We desert, like rats. If necessary we battle our way to shore. And we refuse to come within five miles of the Chathrand until they hand over the Shaggat, nailed up tight in a crate where that damnable Stone can't kill anybody.'
'And drive off Arunis at the point of a spear,' said Druffle, 'or drive a spear through 'im. Keep talking, Quartermaster.'
'We would have to scatter across the land,' said Khalmet, 'else the Turachs could rout us with a single charge.'
'Oppo, Lieutenant, whatever you say.' Fiffengurt was growing excited. 'They can rage and spout and murder us — I'm sure they'll do a lot of all three — but they can't sail the Great Ship without a crew, now, can they? And it beats dying in gods-forsaken Gurishal.'
'We'd have to win over hundreds of men,' said Thasha doubtfully.
'Three hundred, I figure,' said Fiffengurt. 'With that many we'll have taken a big enough bite out of the crew to make handlin' the mains impossible. The Great Ship won't be going anywhere, until we say so.'
They had all leaned closer as Fiffengurt spoke. Pazel glanced from face to candlelit face, and sighed with relief. No one was backing out. The deadly moment had passed.
'Thasha,' said Marila suddenly, 'if you're going to do it-'
'Yes,' said Thasha, 'it's time.'
With all eyes upon her, she passed Marila her candle, and began to unbuckle the suitcase. What is this? the ixchel were muttering, what's she doing, mistress, what's in the case? Pazel waited just as anxiously, and just as much at a loss.
The buckles freed, Thasha looked up at the ring of faces. 'Except for Big Skip, you were all aboard when Arunis attacked,' she said. 'And except for Marila, who was still in hiding, you saw what happened.'
'Gods below, lass, we'll never forget it,' said Fiffengurt.
'You saw Ramachni. You know he's our leader, a mage as good as Arunis is evil. And maybe you've figured out that after that fight he… couldn't stay.'
'He was hurt,' Neeps interjected. 'Exhausted, like. He had to go back where he came from, to rest.'
'You mean he got off the boat in Simja?' said Druffle.
'No, Mr Druffle,' said Thasha. 'He's from farther away than that.'
She raised the lid of the suitcase, and there, packed carefully between folded sweaters, was the mariner's clock. The instrument was standing upright, the second hand sweeping noiselessly over the exquisite mother-of- pearl moon that was its face. Pazel started from his crate. Neeps and Marila looked at him and laughed, and Thasha's smile said Serves you right, bastard. Pazel didn't care. They could laugh at him for the rest of his life.
'Thasha!' he gasped, euphoric.
His self-discipline had vanished. She was looking into his eyes and knew everything — or knew at least what he felt for her, despite all the weeks he'd spent trying to deny it.
Fiffengurt too appeared light-headed with joy. 'Sweet Heaven's Tree! Does this mean-'
'Yes,' said Neeps, 'it does.'
'What they're so happy about,' said Marila, 'is that it's time for Ramachni to come back.'
'You knew!' said Pazel. 'All three of you! How?'
'I'll only know when he jumps into my arms,' said Thasha, but her eyes were shining with confidence. 'I've had this feeling for weeks. A feeling that someone was coming, someone different from any of us, and that everything would change when he got here. It's just like the feeling I got when Ramachni sent me the message in the galley. But this time instead of needing an onion, I need to open that clock.'
'What for?' said Dastu. 'It doesn't look broken to me.'
Thasha grinned at him. 'No,' she said, 'I don't think it is.'
With that she bent down and opened the clock's glass cover. Around and around she spun the minute hand, until the clock read precisely 7:09. 'Now we wait three minutes,' she said.
'What are we waiting for?' asked Big Skip.
'Deliverance,' said Fiffengurt. 'Just watch, and trust the lady!'
They all watched the second hand. As it swept through its third revolution, Thasha bent even nearer to the clock face. And just as the hand reached twelve, she whispered, 'Ramachni!'
There was a sharp pop, and the clock face sprang open on its hinge. Thasha sat back, glowing. But no whirl of black fur emerged from the clock. Nor did Ramachni step out with royal dignity, as Thasha had sometimes described to Pazel, giggling. He did not emerge at all. The only thing that emerged was a breeze — a sudden, cold breeze that extinguished Pazel's candle, and made the others quickly shield their own — and a little of the dark sand that always blew from the magic tunnel between the worlds. Thasha knelt down before the clock, and Pazel, on an impulse, dropped beside her. Thasha tugged the clock face wide.
'Sorcery,' muttered Druffle.
'Hush up, man!' snapped Fiffengurt.
The breeze became a wind, frigid and gusting. It tugged at their ankles, and blew Thasha's golden hair away from her face. 'Ramachni!' she said again, as loud as she dared. 'Ramachni, what's the matter? Where are you?'
She tried to look into the tunnel, but grains of the black sand stung her eyes. Another candle blew out. The wind began to moan from the clock face.
This is madness! Diadrelu cried from above. Pazel, close that thing, before you wake the ship!
Pazel moved to obey — but Thasha caught his hand tightly in her own.
'Wait,' she said, 'please.'
The newcomers were backing against the walls, trying to get farther from the clock — all save Bolutu, who stared at it as though at some frightful revelation. Even Fiffengurt looked anxious. Thasha's grip tightened; Pazel wondered if he would still be sitting there, holding her hand, when the Turachs kicked in the door.
If this continues your fight is over, said Dri.
Pazel turned to Thasha, but as if she guessed what he would say she shook her head fiercely. Please, she mouthed. The wind grew stronger, louder; the door of the vault began to shudder in its frame.
Pazel pressed his lips to Thasha ear. 'I'm sorry,' he said. He reached down and closed the clock.
Perfect silence gripped the room. The wind had vanished; the watchers uncurled their bodies, listening. No pounding feet, no bellows or cries. The immensity of the ship, or the crew's exhaustion after weeks of storm, had
