The Night of the Swarm

effort could have the opposite effect. He has, perhaps, done them the greatest turn of any Arquali in history.’

‘You said that to Ott, did you?’

‘Not for gloating’s sake. I merely needed him to see how things had ended.’

‘What did he do?’

Hercol took a thoughtful sip of wine. ‘He called me a traitor, as he always does. Then he sat down and wept.’

Thursday, 25 Teala. My worst fear is realised: the keel has cracked a second time. I can hear the rasping, the splintering, feel the shudder in the keelson when we crest. I do not know if the repairs in Masalym have failed, or the Nelluroq storms have broken her along some other part of her spine. Perhaps this is why her stern rides low? Who can tell? In these waters there’s no hope of an inspection, let alone a patch. We must simply pray that her strength does not give out before the mission’s end. Oh dear Grey Lady, what we’ve asked of you.

Friday, 26 Teala.

The lamp oil is running out. We are freezing, groping about in the dark like human moles. Stiff-Neck frowns and paces the forecastle. He’s in an odd fix: surrounded by enemies in his Empire’s home waters, escorting a ship launched to destroy his people, guarding a corpse that could heal their divisions, racing with his foes against a common doom.

And there’s more. At five bells today we passed an islet no larger than a castle and shaped like a broken tooth. The Sizzies took one glance at it and starting muttering afresh. Pazel listened in and reported to me: they knew that barren rock, and did not understand how we could be anywhere near it without encountering patrols.

Even with the damaged keel I have pushed the Chathrand to her limits, and we have left the other ships in our flotilla behind — all save Stiff-Neck’s own vessel, and the warship Nighthawk, with Darabik at the helm. But just where are we? Stiff-Neck responds to my question with a stare, as though perhaps I don’t deserve to be told. Then he grits his teeth and says, ‘Close to Gurishal. Within days of her, in fact. They must have disbanded the wide-perimeter guard, to add more ships to the battle at Serpent’s Head. But the inner guard still awaits us.’

Perhaps, but his men still gaze fearfully into the distance. And tonight there were strange lights to the north: bright flashes, orange and green. To my mind they were obscurely familiar.

Saturday, 27 Teala.

Another black dawn, another day on sunless seas. No land, no stars. Among the men, no talk or smiles or appetite. Felthrup and Marila are tearing through the pages of the Polylex, for what aid I cannot fathom. Thasha sits in her room facing the wall, Pathkendle says, with her face clenched in furious concentration. Lady Oggosk is praying on the quarterdeck.

In short, despair, and Captain Fiffengurt has no special immunity. But when I retreated to my cabin this evening I found a gift beneath my pillow, and I record it here as the day’s token source of hope — and a peace offering, maybe. I know who brought it, though it came with no card. It is a great blue pearl.

Sunday, 28 Teala.

Another glimpse of the sky: miles off to westward, and receding. It was night, but a little moonlight bathed the sea. How many has the Swarm killed, now? How many shiver beneath it, waiting for the end? And the animals: pity the creatures, mad with fear, running from the writhing mass above and never escaping. Off with this lamp now; my oil ration too is spent.

Monday, 29 Teala.

I stood on the (slightly aft-tilted) quarterdeck and made a speech about the ixchel. How many are left alive (besides Ensyl and Myett) we do not know, I told them, but we must show forbearance if they appear again. The world is dying, I said, and I’ve reason to think they know it too. Let us be practical, I said. We may find they’re a help to us in the final hour.

It was not a brilliant speech: I lack Rose’s gift for rousing a crew. Mutterings and murmurs swept the topdeck. ‘They have a talent for ship-sinking, Captain,’ someone growled.

‘Who do you think you’re educating, damn you?’ I fairly shouted, on the point of telling them about the Adelyne, my drowned uncle and his babe of three. Instead I just dismissed them, with a warning that the man who harmed an ixchel would answer to me.

An utter fiasco. If Talag was offering peace or help with that gift of a pearl, his spies will warn him now to keep his distance. I am a weak captain and a fool.

Wednesday, 1 Freala.

Horror, horror. Very well, let it come. Annabel, you’re the keeper of my heart; I close this journal until I hold you again, in this world or the next. We have reached Gurishal, but we are not the first. Macadra’s ship is here, guarding the entrance to the Arrowhead Sound, and a demon crouches on the burning wreck of a Mzithrini patrol. They are waiting. They are daring us to approach.

35

Last Actions

‘Just bring it, Hercol.’

Thasha plunged down the Silver Stair, not once looking back. From her tone Pazel knew she expected to be obeyed. He and Neeps raced after her, fighting through the press of sailors dashing to their stations. Over the drums and the bellowing of the officers, Neeps said, ‘She’s right this time. We all wanted her to drink off the wine, save herself from the poison. She said a day might come when we needed her to use the Nilstone again. Well this is the day, mate.’

Just before they entered the ladderway, Pazel felt Neeps grip his arm. The tarboy was gazing off to starboard at the dark shape of Gurishal. Or rather, above it.

‘By the Pits, mate: those are stars!’

Pazel’s heart leaped at the sight: ten, no, twelve stars, exquisitely normal, unbearably lovely, from a patch of naked sky. After a moment Pazel’s eyes could make out the edge of the gap, round and ragged, in the fabric of the Swarm.

‘That’s a big hole,’ he said. ‘More than a hundred miles, I expect.’

Neeps looked at him soberly. ‘It’s big. . unless it’s all that’s left. Unless the rest of the world is already under the Swarm.’

Pazel snorted, incredulous. Then he looked at the gap again, and shivered. Neeps could be right. But if that hundred-mile hole was all that remained, why would it just happen to be here, so close to them? Could the Swarm be avoiding Gurishal by some sort of instinct? He remembered how it had leaped from the River of Shadows in the heart of the Forest, at the moment Arunis brought it into the world. And there on Gurishal the River surfaced again, before it poured into death’s kingdom. Could that portal be exerting some force that actually pushed the Swarm away? And if so, what effect might it have on the Nilstone?

Such questions would have to wait, he knew. They fought their way down the Silver Stair to the upper gun