The Night of the Swarm

follow a zigzag stitch across the seas. Exhausting tacks, endless reversals: but no ship could sail straight into a headwind. There was always, moreover, the danger of drifting into the Storm. Now Fiffengurt had them running straight for it.

‘Death’s Head trimming sails to match, Captain,’ boomed Fegin. ‘She’s got keen eyes, that witch.’

‘Right you are, first mate. Mr Coote, take thirty men to the cable tiers. I want extra stays on all five masts, coiled and ready to deploy. But keep ’em on the deck below, hard by the hatches but out of sight.’

‘The Turachs won’t like it, Captain — all that rope in their space.’

‘Perhaps they’d prefer six hundred enemy boarders in their space, bosun. You may enquire.’

The Chathrand sliced a clean, sharp path towards the Storm. Pazel and Thasha went below with Coote’s thirty and helped wrestle the vast, awkward ropes up to the main deck. Pazel had the uncomfortable feeling that the effort was pointless, that Fiffengurt was merely trying to appear as though he had a plan. The winds were steady, but hardly strong enough to call for doubling the mast supports.

‘About six miles to the Storm front, Captain,’ shouted Fegin. ‘And still sixteen or more to the gap, if it’s really there. Enemy holding steady behind.’

When they returned to the topdeck Ramachni was speaking with Kirishgan.

‘Your captain and his ship are as one,’ said the selk. ‘See how the men at each station look to their watch- captain, and the latter to the quarterdeck? They are speaking without words. Even Nolcindar would be impressed.’

‘Fiffengurt’s spent most of his life on this ship, the same as Captain Rose,’ said Pazel.

‘Which of them persuaded augrongs to join the crew?’ asked Kirishgan.

He nodded in the direction of the No. 4 hatch. Pazel smiled. Refeg and Rer, the enormous anchor lifters, were slouching to points on either side of the mainmast. The sailors smiled at them too, from a distance.

‘Rose found them, and they’re worth their weight in gold,’ said Pazel, ‘but I can’t imagine what they’re doing up here. They’ve never helped out with the rigging before.’

‘We’ve never been so short-handed before,’ said Thasha.

‘Quite so,’ said Ramachni. ‘We may need every advantage left to us. I too must beg your pardon, Thasha: you were right to keep the wine. For once I am glad of your stubborn-’

He broke off, his fur standing on end. His eyes snapped to the quarterdeck.

A figure stood there, facing Elkstem and Fiffengurt, who recoiled in horror. A tall woman, chalk-white of skin, so gaunt and narrow-boned that she appeared almost stretched. Her eyes were fixed on the captain, and a long, bony finger was pointing at his heart. Pazel knew at once that he was looking at Macadra.

Ramachni leaped from the cannon and raced towards the quarterdeck. Pazel and Thasha chased after him, though Pazel had no idea what they might be preparing to do. Up the ladder they rushed. The hideous woman turned her head and studied them — with recognition, Pazel thought, at least in Thasha’s case. But she’s never seen Thasha before. What does she sense?

Ramachni stood between the sorceress and the wheel, teeth chattering with rage.

‘Macadra Hyndrascorm,’ he said, ‘we have slain your Plazic servants, your devil-dogs, your Thrandal ogress and the demon for whose services you mortified your flesh. We have slain your foul brother Arunis. Do you think you will be spared, if you impede us?’

Her brother! thought Pazel.

Macadra threw her head back violently, as though her neck had snapped. High laughter rang across the deck.

‘Impede us! Do you mark his words, Arunis? I had best break off the attack and run for Bali Adro, and leave the Nilstone in the keeping of Erithusme’s mascot, and this ship of the diseased, the murderous, the mad.’ She lowered her head and pointed at Fiffengurt. ‘Turn the ship away from the Storm, Captain Fiffengurt! There need be no killing today. Strike your sails and await my vessel, and we will spare all your lives.’

Pazel had a great urge to shout at her: No you won’t! But Thasha squeezed his arm, and almost imperceptibly shook her head. Pazel shuddered at the recklessness of what he’d nearly done. For what if Macadra didn’t know that Ramachni could hear her thoughts? Why give away an advantage like that?

‘Yes,’ said Ramachni, ‘you must break off the attack, and run. There is power here to destroy you. Very soon it will reveal itself, and strike.’

Macadra sneered. ‘With the Nilstone? I think not. Across the Ruling Sea you carried it. Through the wilds of Efaroc, the hell of the Infernal Forest, the snows of Urakan. And never in all that time did the Nilstone serve you. Even Arunis failed to wield it, save in his last suicidal hour. Why keep it, Captain? What a danger and a horror it has been! Give it to me, and I will heal your people and send you benevolent currents to waft you home.’

‘Aye, madam,’ said Fiffengurt, ‘and when killers creep in at my window, I’ll put knives in their hands.’

‘A killer has crept in at your window, old fool. Turn your vessel, or watch me destroy it.’

Pazel risked a glance ahead. What was Fiffengurt doing? They were flying fast towards the Red Storm: could he possibly mean to sail straight in?

Ramachni looked back over his shoulder. ‘I love an albatross, don’t you, Captain?’

‘An albatross?’ Fiffengurt was startled only for a moment. ‘Yes, sir, I do adore ’em. But where’s a rat when you need one?’

‘Here I am!’ Felthrup squirmed in a frenzy. Hercol took him from Marila’s arms and raised him to the quarterdeck, where he scrambled to the captain’s feet.

‘Felthrup here is my negotiator,’ said Fiffengurt. ‘If you want the Nilstone, talk with him.’

‘If you want to live, turn your ship around, and clear the deck of these rodents.’

‘Rodent,’ said Felthrup. ‘Singular. My lord Ramachni is a mustelid, and specifically a mink. Now pay attention, sorceress! Without my consent the Stone will remain for ever beyond your reach.’

Without a glance at Felthrup, Macadra said, ‘No place is beyond my reach.’

‘But what an immodest trickster you are! Why, the Storm itself threatens to snatch away your prize. And the seabed? Perhaps you hope you can recover it from such depths, but surely you have some doubt? Otherwise, why didn’t you burn the Promise to ashes, when the Stone was aboard?’

‘I saw no reason to kill,’ said Macadra.

‘You lie, but what of it? However great your reach, some doors are still closed to you. The door of the Orfuin Club, for example.’

Macadra froze. Slowly, for the first time, she turned her gaze on Felthrup.

‘Yes, unpleasant person!’ he said. ‘I was there, and watching you. I do not fear the River of Shadows. And within this ship are doors to lands you do not know, and will never find. Erithusme built some; others were made by the Bali Adro shipwrights, and still others were accidents, fissures opened by too much powerful spellcraft in a single place. Burn the Chathrand and you destroy the doors. Will you gamble that you can steal the Nilstone away from us before we hide it in another world? If so, you have less sense than many a rodent I could name.’

Pazel was shocked. Felthrup! When did you become so fierce?

But Macadra only laughed again. ‘Rat! You have surprised me. There may be a place for you at court in Bali Adro, if you are wise enough to rethink your allegiances. Quick wit is not something to be wasted-’

‘Oh no, no indeed! Consider the parable of the nine golden-’

‘-but we both know your bluffis empty. You cannot take the Nilstone through one of those doors. Living flesh is one thing, but death takes its leave from Alifros by one path only, and that is through the River of Shadows. Of course, that is why you are making for Gurishal. That was Erithusme’s plan from the start.’

Felthrup pinched his eyes shut, rubbed his paws against his face. He was gasping a little; Pazel feared he had been beaten. Then the rat’s eyes opened wide and he shrilled, louder than ever:

‘How gravely, grossly, wantonly you wade in error, sorceress! Have you forgotten your great-uncle, Ikassam the Firelord? He knew a thing or two about journeys by night!’

‘He taught me the art, vermin. But how did you learn of him?’

‘In a book, in a book, a special book you may not borrow. Ikassam the Firelord, the tamer of beasts. His brother was your grandfather, and said that you should be hanged, and instead you hanged him. His father crossed the Ruling Sea and married the queen of Opalt, and their grandson had the tail of a