Cries of scorn and disbelief from the Jistrolloq. The doctor pressed on: 'We mourn with you, for our beloved Treaty Bride lies dead as well. And no sane man among us blames-'
'Chadfallow,' cut in Rose. 'You'll speak for this ship when I say so, and not a moment before.'
The doctor bowed to Rose. But at the same time he shot Pazel a look full of desperate supplication.
All at once a voice rang out from the Jistrolloq — in broken Arquali. 'Great Peace you are promising! Not real! Not a real thing!' It was one of the sfvantskors, an enormous young man with a hard, pinched face. 'You are the liars, the old way, the old world that is finished! Bad faith, false doctrines! These will die out everywhere, and better men-'
'Malabron, it is not your place to speak!' snapped the older sfvantskor. The younger man fell silent, abashed. Then Admiral Kuminzat spoke again.
'In the darkest hour of the night a beast attacked our Father when he stepped from the shrine. An unnatural creature, an abomination with wings. There was a terrible battle, with fire and spells. In the end the Father slew the thing with the help of his aspirants, but it killed one of them-'
Kuminzat choked on the last words. He drew a sharp breath and continued.
'-and gave the Father his death-wound. His disciples could not save him. But before he died, he pointed across the water — at your ship.'
At his last words the Mzithrinis erupted again, and the Arqualis followed suit. It was all Pazel could do to shout a rough translation into Rose's ear.
'Tell him-' boomed Rose, in a voice used to carrying over gales. 'Tell him that even we expected the Mzithrin to keep the treaty longer than a day. And then tell him to take his ship off our bows, before we take offence. And to the Pits with his crackpot stories!'
The Arqualis roared approval: ' Tell 'im, tell 'im, tarry!' Pazel winced. He could not imagine something he'd less like to say. Inadvertently he glanced at Chadfallow: the doctor was urgently shaking his head.
'Do it!' snapped Rose.
Pazel felt suddenly nauseous. All around him sailors and marines were bellowing encouragement.
'The captain says,' he began, instantly silencing the crowd, 'he says, ah, that he expected the treaty to last longer than a single day-'
'The boy's Mzithrini is rusty!' Chadfallow cried. 'Allow me to take over, sir-'
'Is lie,' said the young sfvantskor called Malabron. 'Boy speaking fine. Less fine is this doctor.'
'Carry on, Pathkendle,' said Rose. 'Chadfallow, interrupt again and I'll have you in chains.'
Suddenly an idea came to Pazel with the force of revelation. He had to tell the Mzithrinis everything, in their language, before they sailed away. Thasha's father might not succeed, and if he didn't there would be no one else. It had to be Pazel, and it had to be now. But why was he so dizzy?
'That Ormali runt,' sneered Uskins. 'He's stalling!'
Neeps put a hand on his arm, steadying him. Pazel bent over, hands on his knees. The noise, the heat, the stink of angry men: was it making him ill?
And then all at once he knew better. He looked up at Neeps. 'Oh gods above, mate,' he whispered, covering his ears.
Neeps understood in a flash. 'It can't be! It's just been three days!'
'I feel it,' said Pazel. 'Oh credek, not here, not with so many people-'
'Captain!' shouted Neeps. 'My mate's sick! Let Chadfallow translate, Pazel can't-'
'Sergeant,' said Rose.
Drellarek barked an order. Suddenly Turachs were dragging Neeps and Chadfallow away. Rose took Pazel by the shirt with both hands and hoisted him bodily atop the Chathrand's inverted longboat. His huge hand closed like a vice on the back of Pazel's neck.
'Speak!' he thundered.
'Lie!' shouted Neeps in Sollochi, as he vanished down the ladderway.
Rose was no fool, Pazel thought. He would know Pazel was twisting the message, just by the Sizzies' reaction to it. I'll have to get away from him first. Otherwise he'll choke me before I can explain a thing.
But how long would his own mind obey him?
Pazel cleared his throat, and shouted: 'Captain Rose says there's a treaty in place, and no reason to feel offended, because after all, one of you married one of us, and we're happy and glad and expect the most honourable — babies.'
Kuminzat stared at Pazel in disbelief. Some of the sfvantskors were shaking their heads.
'Tell him we didn't kill his bleedin' Father,' said Rose.
'He's very sorry the Father bled. To death.'
'And we can settle this with cannon if he doubts my word.'
'My word, those are unsettling cannon.'
'And there's no demonology practised on the Chathrand.'
'There is no demonology practised on — S QUAAAGH! CHATHWA! GRAFMEZPRAUGHAAAAA!'
Rose leaped away from him, aghast. Pazel fell writhing from the longboat, his voice an inhuman wail. The mind-fit was on him, and he was trapped in the centre of a furious mob, and the noise tore at his brain like a thousand shrieking, stabbing birds. There were stomping feet, flying bottles, blood. Uskins and Drellarek closed in, bellowing in Pazel's face. They seemed to think he was faking — or that faking or not, they could beat him into silence.
Suddenly a figure interposed itself between Pazel and Drellarek. It was Hercol, grave and terrible. Pazel saw him standing eyeball to eyeball with the Throatcutter, both of them poised to draw swords.
More Turachs fell in on either side of Drellarek, but Hercol stood his ground. Pazel rose to hands and knees — just in time for Uskins to kick him hard in the stomach. If the first mate had kept his balance a little better, the kick would have finished him. As it was Pazel fell gasping, and Uskins, spitting with hate, drew his foot back for another.
The blow never fell. Uskins spun sidelong, as though struck by a hammer. Mr Fiffengurt was there, brandishing his fists at the first mate and clearly challenging him to come back for more.
Uskins took no persuading. Larger and younger than Fiffengurt, he picked himself up and lunged. Pazel groped to his feet as the two men collided. Hands at each other's throats, they strained against one another. Then Uskins' greater height prevailed, and he threw Fiffengurt down against the carronade. The quartermaster gasped as his head struck the potbellied cannon. Uskins raised his fist to strike again.
Without a thought Pazel dove at him. Uskins swung with all his might, but the force of Pazel's collision brought his fist down just left of Fiffengurt's cheek — where it struck the cannon dead-on.
Uskins howled with pain, and the sheer ugliness of his distorted voice snapped Pazel's last vestige of control. As the first mate lurched away cradling his fist, Pazel ran, fingers in his ears, biting his lips against the scream inside him. The mob fell back, as if from a rabid dog. Pazel hurled himself down the ladderway to the main deck, where to his indescribable horror he found three real geese pursued by Frowsy the tarboy, all of whom ran before him down the length of the ship trailing noises so painful they seemed to leave red welts in the air, and then through an open hatch he saw Arunis and Jervik, huddled like two men at dice, gazing at him with crafty smiles from the deck below.
10
Q. How long have you worked for the Trading Family?
A. Thirty-six years, my lords.
Q. And in that time, how many inspections of the Chathrand have you conducted?
A. None, my lords. Inspections are the duty of the Yard Manager.
