The Night of the Swarm

‘The clan will find him,’ said Ensyl. ‘Isn’t that right, Lord Talag?’

The old lord glanced at her and nodded briefly. His face was careworn; he had barely spoken since the death of his son. Beside him, Myett’s expression was even more distant. Her eyes were glassy; her hands hung limp at her sides. Pazel’s heart went out to her. She had expected her lover to survive his burns. It made no sense, except in the language of the heart.

Neda touched Hercol on the elbow. In the Mzithrini tongue, she said, ‘We can test Marila’s theory, Asprodel. Just put on the gauntlets and move the Nilstone to another part of the ship.’

Hercol blinked at her. ‘You’re a genius, Neda Pathkendle.’

A small crowd descended to Thasha’s cabin; Bolutu carried one of the last lamps with oil left to burn. Thasha donned the gauntlets from Ularamyth as Pazel opened the cabinet. But he could not budge the iron slab. Hercol stepped up beside him Together, muscles straining, they just managed to move it.

The Nilstone slid into the chamber. Everyone flinched and moved back a step. It had not grown, and Pazel could feel no heat or other force that he could have given a name. But he could feel its power, and its utter wrongness. Looking at it was like gazing down into a bottomless pit.

‘The slab wasn’t stuck like before,’ said Pazel. ‘The Nilstone’s gotten heavier, somehow. Much heavier.’

Thasha put her gauntleted hand on the Nilstone. ‘Credek,’ she swore, ‘I can’t move it an inch.’

‘Give me those things,’ said Hercol.

When both gauntlets covered his hands he squeezed the Nilstone between them, bent low at the knees, and lifted. He groaned with effort. Veins stood out on his neck and forearms. At last he stopped and shook his head.

‘Now we know why Erithusme made that slab as strong as a ship’s anchor.’

‘And why the stern’s riding so low,’ said Marila.

‘Can’t you make up your mind?’ said Neeps. ‘A few minutes ago you told us the Stone was pulling us deeper into the canyon. Now you say it’s pulling down.’

Again, Marila directed her reply to the others, never glancing at Neeps. ‘It’s pulling towards this “door to death’s kingdom.” Which is somewhere ahead of us and down. That’s what I think, anyway.’

‘So do I,’ said Hercol, ‘for if the Stone is truly so heavy that it can alter the balance of the Chathrand, we should not have been able to move that slab with any effort. So why could we? Because the Stone’s own forwards pull was helping us.’

Neeps was blushing. ‘Marila,’ he said, ‘you’re one smart woman.’

Marila pinned him with a glance. ‘I’m not sure about that,’ she said, and walked out of the room.

An awkward silence. Neeps, defiant and ashamed at once, could not meet anyone’s eye. ‘Let’s just get out of here,’ said Thasha at last. She left the cabin, and the others, relieved, filed after her. But at the stateroom door Pazel seized his friend by the elbow.

‘I want a word with you.’

Thasha stayed as well. Neeps looked from one to the other. ‘Save your breath,’ he said. ‘You’re not going to take my side, I can tell that already.’

‘Gods damn it, I don’t know what your side is,’ said Pazel.

‘You wouldn’t, would you?’

‘What’s that crack mean, then?’

‘It means you’re a one-note whistle,’ said Neeps. ‘You have Thasha. You don’t need anything else. You’ve got it all worked out. But then nothing’s ever mucked with your head, has it?’

‘Oh no, mate, never,’ said Pazel acidly.

‘You know what I mean!’

‘There’s no time for this,’ said Thasha. ‘Listen, Neeps, everything mucks with our heads. Living, dying, magic, hunger, falling in love, falling out of it-’

‘Who says I have? Who in the Pits do you two think you are?’

Crash.

The deck lurched, and they crashed to the floor. Howls erupted from above and below. The ship had struck, and struck badly. She was rolling, twisting on whatever rock was grinding beneath her keel. The noise! Cracking, splintering, groaning of the ancient wood. Pazel could almost feel it, like a mutilation with a dull instrument of torture.

Another lurch. The Chathrand had twisted free of the rock and righted herself. But Pazel knew what he had heard. Not damage, but a death-blow. From the lower decks men were screaming already:

‘She’s breached! She’s staved! Abandon ship, abandon ship!’

‘Marila!’ shouted Neeps. He flew from the stateroom and into the dark passageway. ‘Be careful, damn it!’ Pazel shouted, following as fast as he could.

On the Silver Stair it was pitch-black. Men were streaming upward, groping, shoving from behind. Pazel heard Mr. Teggatz sob in the darkness: ‘Lost, lost, my home is-’

Crash.

A second strike. The ladderway became a chute of bodies. Pazel was hurled backwards onto the landing, and five or six men fell atop him. Somewhere above Neeps was still shouting Marila’s name.

‘Out, out or drown!’ men were screaming. The sweaty mass of men groped upward, towards the weak starlight, the slanting deck. Many helped one another. Others trampled and fought. Pazel at last found Neeps, pushing against the tide, and shouting for Marila with rising fear.

‘Oh Gods, sweetheart-’

Pazel joined the blind search. Thasha was here as well, but all they found were more sailors, dazed and bleeding, trying to drag themselves up the ladderway. Then Hercol’s voice reached them faintly over the din.

‘It’s all right, Undrabust. She’s up here, on the topdeck. She’s unharmed.’

Pazel was glad of the darkness, for his friend’s sake. Neeps had burst into tears.

The youths crawled out through the hatch. It was very dark: the Swarm’s mouth had closed even tighter; the disc of starlight above them had shrunk. They were careening between the cliff walls, thumping over one submerged rock after another, still with remarkable speed. Most of the crew had already reached the topdeck, and were clinging for dear life to the rails, davits, hatch coaming, anything fixed and solid. The captain and Mr, Elkstem remained on the quarterdeck, but no one was at the wheel. The last vestige of control was gone.

The ship rolled, and Pazel found himself sliding back and forth like a shuffle-puck from port to starboard. He saw Lady Oggosk clinging to Thasha, wailing; Hercol with one arm hooked over a cleat and the other around Neda, who clung to him, arms about his waist. He clawed his way to where Felthrup was holding on by his teeth to the remains of a halyard, and seized him by the scruff of the neck.

‘Hold still! I’ve got you.’

Felthrup did not hold still, but he let Pazel lift him up against his chest. ‘Thank you! But you’re utterly filthy, you know, and you are bleeding from the chin. Did I ever tell you of my fondness for soda bread?’

‘Oh Felthrup, please shut up.’ Pazel flung himself over heaps of wreckage that shifted beneath his feet. The rat squirmed up to his shoulder.

‘For you I will, Pazel Pathkendle. Yes, soda bread, and the pumpkin fritters they make in Sorrophran. And higher education. I think I shall try to become a professor of history.’

‘Do that.’

‘Ah, but now you are flippant, when I am only motivated by a wish to share some last intimacies with you, before the voyage ends. And it has almost ended, Pazel. As you would know if you looked over your shoulder. In fact it is ending n-’

CRASH.

Pazel fell, and managed to curl into a ball with Felthrup at the centre. He rolled wildly across the deck, alongside countless others. This third collision was not like the first two. It was soft, but massive, affecting the whole ship at once. Pazel came to rest on the stomach of one of the augrongs, who was in turn sprawled atop his brother, who was flat against the wall of Rose’s cabin. A few feet away Neeps lay holding Marila, like a man who