'He has tried kept these meetings secret, of course, and Ensyl could not get close enough to hear what he and the rat discussed. But Mugstur will keep no promises, except possibly those he makes to the Angel of Rin.'
'What do you want us to do about all this?' asked Pazel.
'I want you to lure Master Mugstur into the open,' said Diadrelu, 'before some terrible harm is done to us all. Use blasphemy, use bribery — use your Gift, Pazel, if it gives you rat-speech, although Mugstur speaks a passable Arquali. Say whatever you must to coax that murderous beast out of his warren and into the cabin of your choice. And be sure he does not leave that cabin alive.'
'You're asking us to kill a woken animal?' said Thasha, frowning. 'The only woken rat on the ship besides Felthrup himself?'
'Mugstur's fate is sealed already,' said Diadrelu. 'He thinks himself the instrument of divine retribution. When he attacks Rose he will die, but what harm might he do with my nephew's help before then?'
'Incalculable harm,' said Hercol.
Dri nodded. 'Together they might even deal the Chathrand her fatal blow. Yes, I am asking you to commit a murder, if by that act you prevent many hundreds more. Have no illusions, my friends. We shall all of us be murderers before this voyage ends.'
'You sound like my father,' said Thasha, 'telling Pazel why he had to destroy Ormael before someone else did. Well, I don't believe anyone's fate is sealed.'
'Mugstur's is,' Dri insisted. 'He has sealed it himself, and tightens the screws every waking hour.'
'But that's the point, he's woken. You know what Ramachni told us, that when these creatures suddenly-' Thasha waved her hands '-erupt into consciousness, after years as simple animals, they're so frightened it's a wonder they don't all run mad. It must be horrifying! Like your mind-fits, Pazel, but with no escape.'
Pazel shuddered. 'What would you have us do?' he said to Thasha. 'Go down into the hold and reason with him? Tell him this Angel business is all in his head?'
Thasha looked wounded by his spiteful tone. 'We could trap him,' she said. 'In a box, or something.'
'We're talking about a rat,' said Neeps.
'Oh, just a rat!' said Thasha furiously. 'Just another vermin. Not worth the air he breathes. Where have I heard that before?'
'Everywhere,' said Hercol. 'It is the false, cursed verdict of our times. Somewhere in Alifros one resentful soul inflicts it on another, every minute of every day. Thasha, the moral point is yours, but the tactical goes to Diadrelu. Mugstur threatens the very survival of this ship — and intentionally so. He must therefore be stopped.'
'Mugstur's too smart to crawl into a box,' said Pazel.
'Oh, can't you blary concentrate,' snapped Thasha. But in fact she was finding it difficult to concentrate herself: the axe-man's cries of agony still rang in her mind. 'Listen, Hercol. I can kill if I have to. You've been teaching me how to do it for years. But I'm not a murderer.'
'I am,' said Diadrelu. 'And I dare say so is your tutor.'
'I will speak for myself, Lady Diadrelu,' said Hercol quietly.
Dri gave him a startled glance. 'I mean no insult. You come from a warrior people, and have lived a warrior's life. This is not a secret, I think?'
'There is more to the Tholjassan Dominion than warcraft,' said Hercol, 'and more to me as well. I must agree with Thasha in this matter: our fates are what we make of them.'
Dri shook her head. 'That is not what we ixchel believe. We say it is our slumbering hearts that choose for us, and that in them resides the will of a thousand years of ancestors who cannot be denied. And it has always seemed to me that this philosophy is borne out even more by your history than our own. How many wars might have been avoided but for ancient grievances, long-dead matters of honour and revenge? We at least admit this part of ourselves.'
'If that is so,' said Hercol, 'why not tell us what honour or ancestry requires of your clan, such that it risks annihilation by boarding the Great Ship on this voyage?'
'You go too far,' said Diadrelu. 'You know that I am not free to speak of such things.'
'We know that much,' said Hercol, 'and not a word more.'
For a moment Diadrelu was speechless. Neither she nor Hercol seemed to trust themselves to continue. At last the ixchel woman turned to look at Thasha.
'If you do not believe that fates can be sealed,' she said, 'I suggest you look to the mark all five of us carry on our skin. A wolf can mean different things to different people, but all wolves are predators.'
'We got these scars to help us save the world from the Nilstone,' Thasha countered, 'not to let us kill anyone who gets in our way.'
'Mugstur is not just anyone. He is a lethal zealot, a depraved and dangerous rat.'
'Felthrup's a rat, too,' said Thasha. 'What if he somehow threatened our safety? Would you kill him, just like that?'
'Yes,' said Dri. 'As I killed the son of the Shaggat Ness — just like that. No ixchel would be alive today if our people had not answered such questions in their hearts long ago.'
'But you spared me,' said Pazel.
The others looked at him in surprise.
'You fought your whole clan the night we met,' he went on. 'They wanted to stab me dead in my hammock, but you wouldn't let them. And come to think of it, you spared Felthrup too — didn't Talag want to kill him after he blocked your escape down that storm-pipe?'
For the first time in many days Thasha looked at him fondly. Pazel dropped his eyes. 'I think I know how the Red Wolf chose us,' he said. 'I think it wanted people like you, Dri. People who can do whatever it takes — even kill — but who hated the idea of killing so much that they'd even fight their friends to avoid it. Because we all do hate it, don't we?'
A long silence. Diadrelu would not look at Hercol. The swordsman, for his part, sat back against the wall. His eyes took on a distant look, as though he were quite alone in the passage, or in some other place altogether.
'Shall I tell you how I broke with Sandor Ott?' he said suddenly. 'It is a dark story, and too long to tell in full, but at the heart of it was my refusal to kill a mother and her sons. They were the lever that has moved my life: had I not faced that choice, to murder innocents or join them in exile, I would today perhaps be serving Ott rather than fighting him. I do not know if you are right about the Red Wolf and its choices, Pazel, but you are surely right about us.'
'What happened?' asked Thasha in a whisper. In all her life Hercol had never spoken so openly of his past.
'We fled together,' said Hercol simply, 'from the Mindrei Vale in Tholjassa over cold Lake Ikren, and thence by the Pilgrims' Road into the icewalled maze of the central Tsordons. And Ott's men pursued us, village by village, peak by peak. For eleven years I gave myself to their protection, and used all I knew of the spymaster's methods against him. It was not enough to save the children. Ott tracked them down and killed them, and took their bodies back to Etherhorde on slabs of ice.'
'And the mother?' asked Diadrelu.
'The mother survives. And with her survives the hope of a better world. She is old, now, but her hand is steady, and her mind is tempered steel. Have you not guessed, Pazel? She was the woman you saw in the garden, and we are far enough from that garden now for me to speak without breaking my oath. Her name is Maisa, Empress Maisa, Daughter of Magad the Third, aunt and stepmother to the current usurper, and sole rightful ruler of Arqual.'
The agitation his words caused can barely be described. Pazel alone knew of Maisa from his school days — Neeps' village had had no history teacher, and Thasha's own had never breathed a single word about such a woman — but they all understood that Hercol was denouncing the Emperor, and even speaking of his overthrow.
'Hercol,' whispered Neeps, 'you sly old dog!'
'My mother used to talk about her,' said Pazel. 'As if she knew her, almost.
'Just a minute,' said Thasha. 'If Maisa's the daughter of Magad the Third, who's that woman they call the Queen Mother? The one who hardly ever leaves Castle Maag?'
'That one?' said Hercol. 'A blameless impostor. An old royal cousin, who somehow survived the Twelve Days' Massacre in Jenetra, and who Magad the Third brought to court as a widow. She has lived there ever since, half- mad but peaceful. I believe she really thinks herself a queen. His Supremacy has made good use of her. When
