The Night of the Swarm

already seen that she can harness the winds.’

‘But how could she know about Stath Balfyr?’ asked Fiffengurt. ‘Did she wring the name out of someone in Masalym Palace?’

‘Impossible,’ said Olik. ‘No maid or manservant or palace guard was in earshot when we discussed the route ahead. Your destination was known only to me.’ He paused, uncomfortable. ‘Of course, there were those twenty of your crew. The ones who Red into the city, and were never found.’

‘Stath Balfyr was a secret from the crew as well,’ said Pazel. ‘They couldn’t have told her. They’d never heard of it.’

‘One of them had,’ said Myett.

The others looked down at the ixchel. ‘She means Taliktrum,’ said Ensyl, ‘but we do not know what became of him, sister. I doubt Macadra is even aware of his existence.’

‘I wonder,’ said Olik. ‘He did not strike me as a man content to end his days in the shadows.’

‘And some on this ship ain’t content to end their days in the North,’ said Fiffengurt. ‘I mean your dlomic volunteers, Prince Olik. When they came aboard they thought we’d be sailing back to Masalym in a fortnight. Captain Nolcindar, will you take ’em home?’

‘I will,’ said Nolcindar, ‘but first, Kirishgan and I would speak to you of the journey ahead. We have crossed the Ruling Sea, long ages ago, and remember something of the winds and the currents.’

‘That would be a fine gift,’ said Fiffengurt, ‘and even finer if we knew we could start for home. The Red Storm’s looking weaker off to the west, and we’ve sent our falcon scouting that way. But I won’t sail us into that Storm, unless Ramachni here tells me it’s the only choice. We need to find a gap.’

Pazel couldn’t stop himself from scanning the horizon. Somewhere out there, the Swarm was also searching for that gap.

‘The work ashore will last some hours,’ said Nolcindar. ‘If time permits, I would walk the decks of Chathrand a while, after we discuss your heading. To come aboard her has long been my dream. I remember the day I first saw the plans. I doubted such a ship could ever be built.’

Fiffengurt looked at her, puzzled. ‘What can you mean, m’lady? The Chathrand is six hundred years old, and you-’

Nolcindar raised a feathered eyebrow.

‘That is,’ Fiffengurt stammered, ‘I’m sure you’re wise and strong and full of — benefits, or rather — I mean to say, you’re young. A spring flower, or a sapling at the most.’

Nolcindar held his gaze sternly. Then she broke into a laugh of pure delight.

‘A sapling! As a child, I pruned the saplings in my father’s plot. That was far away to the west, in the green valley of Tarum Thun. A selk land, of such peace and stillness that a year might pass without words, and another when we chose to do nothing but make music, for the joy of it alone. From seeds to giants I watched those trees grow, and when they were very old and losing branches, we felled a few. Some went to ships, and the ships had long lives indeed. But today they are sleeping on the ocean floor, and some of us are still here, enjoying compliments.

‘As for Chathrand, a few of her oldest timbers may have come from my father’s wood. I always hoped to board her, and listen to them speak. But early in her life Chathrand went north, into service with the Becturian Viceroys. When she returned at last, Erithusme was her mistress, and suffered no one to board her merely to appreciate her beauty, or because they loved the shipwright’s art.’

‘Love and beauty were never the concerns of Erithusme the Great,’ said Kirishgan.

Pazel smiled bitterly. You knew her, all right. But Ramachni looked up with sorrow in his eyes.

‘Never is a place beyond our understanding, Kirishgan. Like the deepest chambers of the heart.’

While Fiffengurt escorted the selk through the Chathrand, the youths descended to their beloved stateroom. At first it seemed that nothing had changed. The invisible wall still sealed off the passage fifty feet from the door; Thasha could still permit or deny entry with a thought. The elegant furniture remained bolted down much as it had since Etherhorde. The enormous samovar still gleamed.

But at second glance Pazel saw damage aplenty. The escape from Stath Balfyr had done more harm even than the assault by the Behemoth. Flying objects had smashed many windowpanes. Admiral Isiq’s crystal bookcase had shattered, disgorging antique volumes in a heap. And where the heavy armchair should have been, two long, narrow holes gaped in the floorboards. The chair had ripped free of the boards and careened about the room, smashing lesser furniture, and lodging finally behind the table, like a stout skier upended in a snowdrift.

Felthrup apologised so profusely one might have thought he had personally ransacked the chamber. ‘Oh fool! Never, never again will I ignore a squeaky floorboard! I tested every screw, twice daily when I could. But what good is a screw if the board needs replacing? Look at this place! And Marila worked so tirelessly — cleaning, repairing, fighting dust and mould. She wanted your homecoming to be splendid.’

Awkwardly, Marila took Neeps’ hand. ‘I just wanted you back,’ she mumbled. It was the most affectionate thing Pazel had ever heard her say, but Neeps seemed not to be listening: his eyes were on the windows, and the cold water beyond.

They all fell to cleaning. ‘Tomorrow we’ll patch windows — there’s plenty of spare glass laid away,’ said Marila. ‘Fiffengurt showed me how it’s done — nothing difficult, but the cutting takes time. And I’ll get my things out of your cabin, Thasha. I tried the master bedroom, but it was too huge and empty, with the three of you gone.’

‘Stay where you are,’ said Thasha, taking Pazel’s hand. ‘We’ll sleep in my father’s room, at least for tonight.’

Pazel was aware of the tightness of her grip. They had not made love since Ularamyth and he was not sure that they should do so now. She was fighting a battle inside, fighting for all of them, for the world. To turn her away from that in any way, to distract her: that couldn’t be right.

‘I wonder if there’s any food in the galley,’ he heard himself say.

Thasha looked at him as if he’d just spoken in the oddest language he possessed. She drew him into the master bedroom and closed the door. Backing him up against it, she put her hands over his eyes. He could feel her scars, healed and healing. When she kissed him he tasted the sea.

Her fingers parted. He looked between them, and laughed. Thasha looked over her shoulder, and she laughed too. One more casualty of their escape: Isiq’s brass bed. The rear legs were cracked but still bolted to the floor; the front legs had snapped clean off. Pazel knew it had been her parents’ marriage-bed: where the admiral and Clorisuela Isiq had tried and tried, failed and failed, to bring new life into their home. Only magic had let that good woman conceive. Erithusme’s magic. It had been there at the start of Thasha’s life. No doubt it would be there at the end.

‘Undress me,’ said Thasha.

‘What?’

It was not the reaction she’d hoped for. Thasha waited; Pazel didn’t move. Something would happen if he surrendered; the task would grow harder, success further away. But in another moment he would not care about that. He let their fingers touch. He reached for the top button of her blouse. She was breathing like someone who had just run miles.

Voices in the outer stateroom: Hercol, Ramachni, Fiffengurt. Pazel began to kiss her wildly, nothing could prevent this, nothing, as long as he was left alive-

She stepped back, startled. ‘Gods,’ she said, ‘that silver thing, that rod. I know what it is.’

What was she talking about? Why was she talking at all? He pulled her close again, but her hand was already on the doorknob. ‘Let go,’ she whispered, and slipped out of the chamber.

He stood there, gasping. He was ashamed of his weakness. The broken bed leaned towards him, plush and ruined, a sensuous ramp ending at a wall.

Hercol had brought the Nilstone and the wine of Agaroth. Mr Fiffengurt for his part had a bottle of Westfirth brandy. ‘Compliments of Mr Teggatz, the devious lout. Where he hides his brandy is anyone’s guess. He also begs to be told what delicacies you long for — if it’s in the larder he’ll cook it up for the returning heroes. But for now, what shall we drink to?’

‘Too many choices,’ said Pazel. ‘Absent friends? Our own good luck? Thasha’s deed with the Nilstone?’