He arched his back against the wall, at his ease once more. 'Shall I tell you what fascinates me at present? The Nilstone. I did not believe it existed, and I laughed at Dr Chadfallow, who did. But as we both know, the Stone is terribly real. And it seems that long before Arunis took the Red Wolf from the depths, and melted it to reveal the artefact, someone else aboard the Chathrand knew as well.'
Ott took a scrap of parchment from his vest pocket, unrolled it, and passed it casually to Isiq. 'That came from the ship's hold. My man took it from the jaws of a rat, if you can believe it. Probably getting set to make it his dinner.'
Isiq tilted the parchment towards the candlelight. The scrap was crumbling, and burned on two sides, but he could still make out a spidery hand.
'-call't it DROTH'S EYE, or en Arqual fe NIL-STONE, a cursed fing t'be sure, es it slays whoms'ever shel touch it, with a swiftnef hideous to bihold, all save fe littlest vermin, who furst suffer grotesqueries of change.
Fis stone yur Wizardess hath entombed in fe WOLF OF SCARLET IRON, lately taken by fe arch-heretic NESS, and lost in fe havoc of his fall.
'The language is a mystery,' said Ott. 'Almost Arquali, but not quite. One might think it simply an antique variant, except that it speaks plainly of the Shaggat's theft of the Red Wolf, just forty years ago. It is not Arunis' hand: we have samples of that in the purchase-orders he wrote out as Mr Ket; nor is it like the sorcerer to commit any of his secrets to writing.
'Here we have the strangest of circumstances, no? Someone aboard the Chathrand knew what was to come — not only that we were bound to find such a thing as the Red Wolf, but also that said Wolf contained a horror called the Nilstone.' Ott gave him a sudden direct look. 'You wouldn't have any thoughts as to who such a person might be, would you?'
Isiq returned the parchment. 'Now you wish me to bargain for the liberty you will never grant.'
'Ah, but can you be certain?' said Ott. 'I discard nothing that is of use to our Emperor. Help me see you again in that light, as I have these several decades, and anything is possible.'
'Really?' said Isiq. 'Can you bring my daughter back to life?'
Ott gave a noncommittal shrug. 'Close your mind to nothing, Admiral. But for today let us speak no more of women. What of Ramachni? Who or what is he?'
There it is, thought Isiq. Your real blind spot, the one that scares you.
'A woken mink, wouldn't you say?'
Ott just looked at him. The question clearly did not merit a reply.
'Well,' said Isiq after a moment, 'perhaps he's a mage at that. The wizard who served the Becturian Viceroys could turn himself into a golden eagle, if you believe the-'
'Is he comatose, or just deeply asleep? Can he be relied upon to kill the sorcerer?'
Isiq felt his heart sink. Ramachni had answered that question clearly enough. Arunis was the stronger, at least in this world; Ramachni was a visitor, forced to crawl back to his own world in exhaustion. Isiq thought of the mage's departure, of the melancholy that had settled over them all. Ramachni had trusted them to find a way to keep Thasha alive, and they had failed. And now Ott was trying to play him again.
'Ramachni is an angel,' he heard himself say, 'one of Rin's golden angels, like my Thasha and her mother. Go ahead, recruit him if you can. But he may prove harder to deceive than I was.'
Ott shrugged again, then rose lightly to his feet. 'As you will. But don't look so morose, Admiral. You did anger me, and that is not easily done. You're not one to give up — in that sense we're very much alike. Perhaps that is why we are among the last men of our generation left fighting for His Supremacy's cause.'
'What cause? Dominion over the whole of Alifros? That is no cause of mine.'
Ott's eyes grew cold; he turned and walked to the table, where his face glowed ghastly in the candlelight. Then he opened the drawer and removed a pen, an inkstand and a sheet of linen paper.
'Speak no words of treason in my hearing,' he said. 'Tell me, does anyone have a cause you believe in? The group who meet in your stateroom, for example?'
Isiq looked up at the spymaster. In his mind's eye he saw the scars etched on the skin of his daughter and her friends: the mark of the Wolf that had safely hidden the Nilstone for a millennium.
'Yes,' he said, 'they do.'
'Then come here and write them a letter. It will be delivered, I assure you.'
He slid the blank page across the table. For a moment Isiq did not move. Then, slowly, he got to his feet and approached the table.
'Anything I want?'
'Once you've explained that you will not be returning to Etherhorde on the Chathrand — yes, anything you want. You may give such reasons as occur to you. But if you tell them that you are being held, you should expect a rescue attempt. Of course they could not find this tomb with a thousand men, but how are they to know? They will try to leave the ship, and will die with arrows in their backs. There will be no one to watch over Thasha's body on the journey home, or to see that she is buried honourably beside her mother.'
'If I'm really to go to Etherhorde, why not let me return on the Great Ship?'
Ott smiled. 'There is no hurry to assume your new post. Besides, I can't guarantee that you're ready to shape the minds of future officers, just yet.'
'You never mean to let me go, do you?'
Ott tapped the paper. 'Come, sir. If you wish to write, you must do so now. I am to meet Drellarek within the hour.'
He sat back, waiting. After another pause Isiq lowered himself in the opposite chair. He stared at Ott, his body rigid with hate. Then he took up the pen and began to write very quickly. He wrote in a kind of fever, filling the page in minutes, and signed his name with a last earnest stroke.
Ott lifted the sheet and waved it gently, drying the ink. Then he gave a sharp whistle. Light from a doorway gleamed suddenly, fifty feet or so away, and the same men who had taken Isiq from the carriage walked into the room.
This time they did not hide their contempt. They took hold of Isiq and roughly pulled him to his feet. Ott looked at the page again.
''Comrades fall, but the mission endures,'' he read, and nodded. 'I couldn't agree with you more. Indeed your letter is quite satisfactory' — he looked up at Isiq and smiled — 'except that you neglected the star.'
Isiq grew very still.
'The star,' Ott repeated. 'That tiny, seemingly accidental ink blot that you always, without fail, let fall on the third line of your letters, and tease vaguely into a star with the tip of your pen. A sign that you are safe, and not being forced to write against your will. Leave out the star, however, and Hercol Stanapeth will know at a glance that you're a prisoner.'
Isiq felt the hope that had supported him dissolve. He was falling into darkness, and who could say where the fall would end? Ott pressed the nib of the pen to the letter, leaving a droplet, and with great care scratched it into a star. Then he looked up at Isiq and smiled.
'Years ago the Emperor commanded all his high officers to take such precautions. At my insistence. Syrarys made it a point to learn your method, of course.
'Now then: the eighth and ninth levels of Queen Mirkitj's prison are intact, along with their statues. I wish you to spend some time there, among the dead. You will have water and food but no light. Get to know them by feel; I assure you they are fascinating. Only, if you find a broken limb, move quickly away. The rats nibble at them, you see. The dry marrow, the powdery flesh. They are quite territorial, and vicious in the dark.
'When the time is right, we will return and present you with a choice. You can die at once, painlessly. Or you can return to public service, doing the Emperor's work. But know that you will forever be observed. And should you dream of mentioning what you like to call a conspiracy, then Hercol and those two tarboys and Nama your cook and any other you esteem will die by the queen's technique. And I will see you obtain souvenirs that prove it.'
His smile was gone. He nodded to his men, and they began to drag Isiq away. But then with a quick gesture Ott detained them again.
'I did not kill Syrarys, nor would I ever harm her. The years she spent with you were a misery, but she endured them out of love.'
'Love — for you?'
'And duty, Isiq.' The edge of rage was back in Ott's voice. 'To Arqual, our mother- and fatherland, the one
