The Night of the Swarm

hands and face soaked with blood.

Night Gods. The cat. The hag’s horrible cat!

‘Who is she?’ said Haddismal. ‘A passenger? I’ve never seen that woman before.’

‘Did Rose kill her too?’ said Fiffengurt. ‘Why didn’t you mention her, Ott? Mr Ott?’

But the spymaster was already running. Their shouts exploded behind him: Commander Ott! What is it? Stop him, bring him back! For the first time since childhood, Ott felt inadequate to the moment. He had looked at that gory beauty and found himself without his best and oldest weapon, the winning story, the necessary lie.

‘She must have been mad as well,’ said Haddismal. ‘Look at her. Even her feet are soaked in blood.’

Fiffengurt just gazed at the carnage. Their captain dead, and stiffer than a week-old corpse. The steward with his head facing backwards. And a third victim, a naked woman no one could identify, though Fiffengurt began to think he had seen her before.

‘I’m not sure anyone here was mad,’ he said.

‘You calling Sandor Ott a liar?’

Fiffengurt knew better than to answer. He brought a sheet from Rose’s bed to drape over the woman. But when he drew near, she sprang to life, hissed at him, and scurried on all fours under the table.

28

Reunion

12 Fuinar 942

300th day from Etherhorde

‘That, my dear selk, is a Bali Adro exclusion flag,’ said Prince Olik, training the telescope on the bay, where the Chathrand sat at anchor. ‘A warning, in other words: Keep a safe distance.’

‘We shall do so,’ said Nolcindar. ‘Stath Balfyr is unchanged, then. A lovely bay one must not enter, an island where no landing is allowed.’

The Promise was three miles offshore, sweeping north past the mouth of the bay. It was almost noon, but the east wind was frigid, and now it looked like rain. Thasha gazed at their beloved Chathrand, and felt a stab of irony: twenty-eight days racing to meet her, and now that they’d finally arrived she was warning them off.

‘Not an ixchel in sight,’ said Hercol, who had the only other telescope. ‘Perhaps they have all gone ashore, somehow. In any case, Lord Talag has proved himself a genius — of a sort. He said he would bring the Great Ship here, and he has done it. However deranged, the plan was a strategic miracle.’

‘But a heartless one,’ said Ensyl, anger darkening her voice. ‘All of us have paid dearly for his dream. I only hope our brethren find happiness there.’

‘More flags,’ said Hercol. ‘One is white with two red bars. Another, blue with a white half-circle.’

‘Arquali pennants,’ said Pazel, taking a turn at the scope. ‘Two red bars: that’s Enemies near. And the other is — damn, I’m forgetting. .’

Thasha cast her mind back — so very far back, almost another life — to her days sitting in the family library, poring over her father’s books. ‘Ambush,’ she said at last.

‘Ambush! Right.’ Pazel gave her a private smile. He had mocked her sailing-savvy once. That too was a lifetime ago.

He looked again through the telescope. ‘She’s been in a firefight. Look at the cathead. Scorched.’

‘To the Pits with your cathead,’ said Neeps, ‘don’t you see any people?’

‘Yes,’ said the prince. ‘The deck is busy with sailors. Human beings, and a few dlomu — my loyal Masalym guardsmen, they must be. Have a look for yourself, Mr Undrabust. Perhaps you’ll spot your wife.’

Neeps pounced on the telescope. Thasha watched his face, and knew in short order that Marila was not on the topdeck. She glanced at Pazel: he looked almost sick with frustration. To be stopped this close to the Chathrand!

Still, things were much better than they’d feared. Day after day, Ildraquin had whispered to Hercol that Rose was motionless, and what was more likely to account for that than a wreck? To find her whole and apparently seaworthy should count as a miracle. The ixchel, or some other ‘enemies’, might be holding them prisoner, but at least they were alive.

‘There’s that old rotter, Latzlo,’ said Neeps, ‘and Swift and Saroo, by the Tree! But where are the officers? Where’s Captain Rose?’

‘I still say we should circumnavigate the island,’ said Corporal Mandric.

‘There is no other harbour,’ said Nolcindar, ‘and by the time we return to the mouth of this bay we may find Macadra guarding it.’ She raised her telescope again. ‘They have not been boarded, unless those who boarded have come and gone. The men on deck are not starved or sickly. But I believe they are sick with fear. Shall we try mirror-signals? If there are real sailors among your guard, Prince, they will know the Maritime Code.’

‘Look there!’ cried Neda, pointing.

From the deck of the Chathrand, flashes of sunlight were leaping: short, measured, steady as a ticking clock. ‘They are one step ahead of us,’ said Kirishgan. ‘Let us answer quickly.’

A silver platter was fetched from the pantry, and Nolcindar angled its polished face at a halfway angle between the zenith of the sky and the Chathrand. She adjusted the angle again and again, until a pause in the Chathrand’s signals told her that contact was established. She waited, and the flashes from the bay resumed. Now the pattern was more complicated. After a moment Nolcindar frowned.

‘I know codes of Bali Adro, Thudryl, Nemmoc and beyond, but I do not know this one. I expect it is a human code out of the North.’

‘It’s the Turach cypher!’ said Corporal Mandric, squinting. ‘That’s one of my mates! Here, give me that trinket, Captain. Rin help me, it’s been so long-’

Mandric was indeed out of practice, and the roll of the ship did not help matters. Time and again he interrupted the Chathrand with flashes from the silver platter, muttering: ‘Repeat, repeat, you jackass, that’s not right, it can’t be-’

Letter followed doubt-ridden letter. With excruciating slowness, words took shape.

BOULDERS — FROM — CLIFFS — REEFS — NORTH — NO — EXIT — NO — ENTRANCE — HELP

The flashes stopped. The travellers looked at one another. ‘Strange, but useful,’ said Hercol. ‘At least we know something of the nature of the trap.’

Mandric pointed at the clifftops. ‘There’s your boulders.’ Thasha saw that it was true: the cliffs were strewn with great loose stones, giving the whole ridge a shattered look.

‘And reefs north,’ said Pazel. ‘Do you know, I think they mean the north side of the inlet to the bay. Look at all that choppy surf.’

‘I fear you’re right, Pazel,’ said Ramachni, studying the waves. ‘Well then: reefs on the north side, boulders from the south. Little wonder the ship cannot escape.’

‘The Chathrand is ten times our size and draught,’ said Nolcindar, ‘but reefs are reefs, and the Promise will never clear them.’

‘What about landing a boat on the north side, there beyond the inlet?’ said Neeps. ‘You can see that the island narrows down to a strip.’

‘You may be on to something, lad,’ said Prince Olik, looking again through his telescope. ‘The spot is both low and narrow: those palms are barely above sea level.’

‘We could run that strip in minutes,’ said Neeps, ‘and be swimming to the Chathrand before anyone knew.’

‘We could swim from right here,’ said Lunja. ‘Three miles is nothing for a dlomu.’