The Red Wolf Conspiracy (26 page)

“Right after the war,” said Ott with a nod. “But the fanatics of Gurishal made so many attempts on his life that the Pentarchy changed the seat of that kingdom to North Urlanx. Both moves only served to deepen the hatred of the Nessarim for the rest of the Mzithrini peoples. Gurishal may be contained by the armies of the Five Kings, but it is primed to explode.”

“And what of the Shaggat's mage, Arunis?” demanded Thyne. “Did he too escape the wreck of the
Lythra?
Is
he
imprisoned on Licherog?”

“No longer,” said Ott. “Arunis was indeed pulled from the Gulf of Thól and imprisoned, but he met a curious fate. It appears he tried sorcery on his guards and nearly escaped the island. But one guard regained his senses and shot an arrow into the arm of the fleeing mage. It was but a scratch, but it bled, and by the spoor of blood Arunis was tracked down by dogs, recaptured—and hanged. The guard paid a high price for his valor, though. Arunis flung a curse at him with his last breath, and within weeks the guard began to lose his mind, convinced that
he
was the one dangling from a rope. He ended up in a madhouse on Opalt.”

Rose limped back across the floor. Mr. Uskins, rigid with fear but with a new gleam in his eye, leaned forward. “And the gold we're carrying? What are we to do with all that gold?”

“Can't you guess?” snapped Ott. “The Shaggat is the blood enemy of the remaining Mzithrin Kings. We're sending him into battle, and battles require soldiers and horses, catapults and cannon and ships. Thanks to us he will have them. We are financing his war.

“But this war will be different. This time Arqual will be innocent, a spectator—and not a war-crippled spectator, either. As the Mzithrinis retreat, fighting themselves once again, we shall move in force to take their place—permanently. And why not? Why should men of the Crownless Lands buy their boots and coal and weapons from savages who drink one another's blood? Our boots fit. Our coal burns as hot. That business, those millions in profits, should be Arqual's—
will
be Arqual's, in due time. And naturally, ships full of valuable goods must be protected.”

Drellarek looked at him sharply. “You're speaking of the Imperial navy,” he said. “But would the Crownless Lands ever agree to let our ships back in their waters?”

“Dear sergeant!” said Ott. “With the Shaggat returned, and civil war to the west? They will beg us on bended knees.”

“But Sizzies are Pit-fiends in a fight!” whispered Swellows, over Ott's shoulder. “Tough, and cruel, and wicked—even to their own kind.”

“We need them to be wicked, fool,” said Ott. “Every misery the other Kings inflict on their people makes the Shaggat that much dearer to his followers, and costly to destroy.”

“What if they can't destroy him?” Swellows pressed. “Will he turn on
us
?”

A silence. “They'll destroy him,” said Ott finally. “No doubt about that. But oh, gentlemen—how it will cost them! They will be Kings of rubble when it's done! In five years' time, Arqual will own the Quiet Sea.”

“And in ten years?” asked Aken. “What of your further plans, Mr. Ott?”

For the briefest instant Ott looked surprised. Then he said, smoothly: “Nothing further. I am sworn to defend Arqual from the Mzithrin horde. That is enough.”

Thyne gathered up his papers. “Defend it with another ship, Spy-master,” he said. “You have exceeded your mandate. The Lady La-padolma never authorized such a mission for the
Chathrand
, nor would she. We are businessfolk, not butchers.”

Suddenly Oggosk laughed. The others jumped: they had all but forgotten her.

“What's the difference?” she said gleefully. “Your darling Lady buys the bones of six thousand men and horses a year from the old Ipulia battlefields, grinds and sells them to eastern farmers to enrich their soils. She takes furs by the shipload from Idhe barons who set fire to trappers who don't catch enough mink. She buys ore mined by Ulluprid slaves, sells it to Etherhorde ironsmiths and sails back to the Ulluprids with spears and arrows for the slavemasters.”

“That is different,” said Thyne. “That is buying and selling, commerce among free men.”

“Well then, so is our plan,” said Ott. “We are buying a little room for Arqual and her manufacturers, and selling a God.”

“Madness!” repeated Thyne. “There will be no profit in this for the Company, only the loss of her good reputation—”

Oggosk cackled again.

“—and this very ship, her flagship, the pride of the seas.” He looked at his companion, and his voice grew shrill. “Aken, why do you just sit there? Speak up, man!”

“I can't think what to say,” said Aken.

“Well, I can,” said Thyne. “Take your war games elsewhere, Ott. As Company Overseer for this
trading
voyage, I hereby revoke your lease on the
Chathrand
. You all know I have that power under the Sailing Code, section nine, article four: Gross Misstatement of Mission.”

As Thyne finished speaking, the spymaster turned to Drellarek and gave a small nod. Thyne saw the look and grasped its meaning instantly. “Wait, wait!” he cried, springing backward. But Drellarek's eyes had glazed over, and a knife had appeared in his hand.

Then Rose moved. With one lurch he seized Aken by the lapels, wrenched him from the chair and clubbed him brutally across the face. The small man fell like a sack of grain at Drellarek's feet.

Thyne stumbled back from the table, his mouth agape. Rose waved Drellarek off.

“Don't harm him,” said the captain. “He will see reason yet. Aken here is the dangerous one, who would have betrayed us at the first chance. He sat quiet while that ninny prattled and whined. But I could hear the wheels turning in his head.”

Speechless, the others watched Rose drag the unconscious man to the gallery windows. “Shutter that lamp, Uskins,” he said.

Uskins closed the lamp's iron shade, plunging the cabin into darkness. The men at the table heard curtains rustle, and the squeak of a hinge. A cold finger of sea wind probed the room. Then, far away, so faint they could deny it to themselves, they heard a splash. “Leave my cabin, all of you,” said Rose in the darkness. “We shall talk again in Uturphe, weather permitting.”

Indiscretions

12 Vaqrin 941

Was he awake or dreaming? Had the fit marooned him somewhere in between?

Pazel lay on his back at the foot of a plump, lacy bed. Still aboard C
hathrand
, for his limbs knew her gentle rocking, and the bed's feet were nailed down. He smelled lavender and talcum powder, and thought suddenly of Neda's room, at home in Ormael. Under his head (which still hurt and spun badly) was the softest pillow he had ever touched. And on the edge of the bed, looking down at him, was a small, strange animal. It was rather like a weasel, but jet-black, with huge, dark eyes that froze him with their gaze.

“How's this?” it said cheerfully. “A tarboy on the floor!”

“What!” croaked Pazel (his mouth was very dry).

“They are all gone away and left you,” said the creature. “And I must leave you as well. Can you really understand my words?”

“How did you … I mean, yes! What?”

“You do understand. Remarkable! You'll make her a very fine tutor indeed. Tell me, was a black rat here a moment ago?”

“You're not a rat!”

“My dear boy, are you ill? Not everyone who
seeks
a rat must
be
one.”

The creature sprang lightly from the bed to the top of a dresser. Pazel arched his neck: upon the dresser stood a lovely mariner's clock, the kind rich captains kept screwed down tight on their desktops. Its round face was painted to resemble a gibbous moon. Even stranger, Pazel saw that the face—hands, numbers and all—was hinged on one side, and stood slightly ajar. Behind it, within the body of the clock, was a round darkness: somehow it felt cold and strange.

The animal nudged the clock face nearly shut, then glanced over its shoulder at Pazel.

“You won't touch this, will you?”

“W-wouldn't dream of it.”

“And if I were to ask you a favor, to help me with your Gift to do a very great and dangerous thing—to prevent a war, in fact—how would you answer me?”

“What?”

“We must talk again, Mr. Pathkendle. Goodbye!”

Pazel shook himself. He was in the same place, resting on the same satin pillow. The little animal was gone; the light through the portholes had dimmed. And directly above him, sticking over the end of the mattress, were a girl's bare feet.

He turned his head to one side, and found himself nose to nose with a blue dog of terrifying dimensions. It lay with head on paws, drooling gently.
Try something
, begged its eyes.
Let me eat you
.

Overall it was better looking at the feet. In another moment, astonished, Pazel realized whose they were.

“Lady Thasha?” he whispered.

The feet jerked back, the bed creaked and the face of the ambassador's daughter appeared. Her golden hair fell almost to his nose.

“You can talk!” cried Thasha. “Hercól! He can talk!”

She leaped to the floor and pushed the dog aside. Just as when she boarded the
Chathrand
, she was dressed in a man's breeches and shirt. He was startled anew by how pretty she was, and how clean. Under his new coat and cap he remained a grimy tarboy. It had never bothered him much, until now.

“Thank the Gods!” she said. “You made such
awful
sounds! What's the matter with you, anyway?”

“I'm fine now, Mistress,” said Pazel, blushing. He sat up, a little unsteadily, and tried to fasten his coat, then remembered the missing buttons and crossed his arms over his chest.

He struggled to his feet, and nearly stumbled. He put a hand on her bed, then pulled away quickly as if he'd touched something fragile. Thasha caught his arm: the strength of her grip was startling.

Don't stare
, he thought. She had such pale skin. She wore a necklace beneath her shirt: ocean creatures in solid silver, astonishingly fine. The thought came to him unbidden: that necklace alone could pay off his bond debt, three or four times over.

“You were very kind to shelter me,” he said.

They stood there, eye to eye, and for a moment he thought she looked as uncertain and confused as he felt himself. Then she laughed aloud.

“You don't talk like any servant I've ever met,” she told him. “You don't even have an accent. You sound like my cousins from Maj District. Why, you could pass for an Arquali if I closed my eyes!”

“I could never do that,” said Pazel at once, freeing his arm from her hand. “Even if I wanted to. And I don't, Lady Thasha.”

“Don't be prickly,” she said. “I didn't say you
should
be an Arquali. And stop this Mistress-Lady nonsense. I'm the same age as you.”

Pazel just looked at her, irritated now. Age had nothing to do with it, of course. They were not equals. If she were a toddler and he a man of sixty, he would still be obliged to call her
Lady
.

“Hercól thinks you're under a curse,” said Thasha. “Is he right? How often does it happen?”

“Two or three times a year, Mistress.”

“You must be rather clever to survive. In the Lorg a girl with a curse like yours would be put in a barrel of icewater—to cool her evil thoughts, you know. I wonder what evil thoughts you have, Pazel Pathkendle?”

“That's not why it happens!” he said fiercely.

“Of course not. I was being ironic.” She smiled, but Pazel flushed again, because now he looked like a bumpkin who took everything seriously. He longed to show her that he knew what
ironic
meant, but no words came.

Then all at once his mind took in the significance of the objects around him: bed, heaped clothes, wardrobe and mirror, writing table with stationery and quill.

“This is your cabin,” he whispered. “I can't be here.”

“Oh, blow!” she said. “Don't you start as well.”

“You're the Treaty Bride,” said Pazel. “I've got to get out of here.”

“Don't call me that,” said Thasha in a warning tone.

Pazel bent to look out the porthole. “What time is it, m'lady?” he asked.

“Almost dinnertime. My father's having a drink with Captain Rose.”

“Who else knows I'm here? Who saw me come in?”

Impatiently she sketched the missing hours of his life. His encounter with Jervik had been loud. Thasha and her tutor Hercól had left the stateroom to investigate just as Pazel rushed into the corridor. Thasha did not seem surprised that Hercól had seized him at once, dragged him to her private room and put him to sleep with a gulp of liquor, all in a matter of seconds. Her tutor, she said, moved faster than anyone on earth.

“I saw your father,” said Pazel.

Thasha nodded. “He didn't see you, fortunately. Syrarys closed the washroom door, and Prahba's a little hard of hearing. Syrarys saw you, though, and nearly had you thrown out again.” Thasha put on a face of mock outrage, and a strident voice: “‘You put that boy in her
bedroom
, Hercól? What are you
thinking?
What will people
say
?’”