Part 48 (2/2)

These last days have been bitter. Storm raging again, so that we cannot dream of s.h.i.+fting either of the great timbers on the lower gun deck, although the carpenters have already cut & shaped one into a new foremast. Waves at 40 ft. & breaking on our port quarter: no danger to the s.h.i.+p provided the helm keeps us true, but lads who I've never known to be ill are heaving over the side.

Rose has called off the imprisonment of Pathkendle & Co., though he left one Turach on duty at the invisible wall, to observe who comes & goes. This presents certain difficulties for me: now that they can get their own food, what excuse do I have to visit? And if I persist, & that soldier notes it again & again, how long will it be before the captain pulls me aside & demands a report?

Friday, 1 Norn 941. I start to wonder if a gale rages perpetually on the Ruling Sea. No end is in sight; if anything the wind is somewhat fiercer with each pa.s.sing hour. Gloom among the sailors, a dangerous glint in the Turachs' eyes. And this before we have even finished the fresh food we loaded at Bramian. What is to come in the months ahead I do not like to imagine.

There were at least two hints today, however - unpleasant hints, to be sure. First thing this morning came the accusation, by a Plapp's Pier man, that three members of his gang who'd died in the battle had been stripped of their rings, knives & other valuables by the lad a.s.signed to prepare the corpses for burial at sea. The accused man belonged to neither gang, but he took the Burnscove Boys oath almost as soon as he learned of the charges, saying he feared for his life without their protection. Wish I could be certain that he was wrong.

Of course it's the worst breach imaginable of the Code to pledge oneself to anything save the s.h.i.+p & her captain, & Rose was in a holy fury when he heard of it. As I write the man hangs by one ankle from the main yard, slamming about like a loose wheelblock & lashed by the storm. If the Burnscovers take this as punishment for his stealing (a charge for which there is no evidence) we may yet escape a gang war.

Then at the strike of the noon bell I met Uskins near the tonnage hatch, just standing there in the rain. He caught my eye & for once there was no mockery or sneering, so I drew near & asked what ailed him. Uskins said not a word, just looked away south-east, & when I did the same I saw a purplish glaze on the underside of the furthest clouds, & a little bulge downwards.

'Humph,' said I, squinting, 'I can't account for that, Pidetor, but we've both seen stranger things.'

'You cannot account for it,' said Uskins, 'but Arunis can. He says it is the sign of the Nelluroq Vortex.'

'The Vortex! Oh, surely not. We can't be that that far east.' far east.'

'One can see its effects for thousand of miles. It alters the weather, makes its own winds. Arunis says that they bear down through its depths and vanish from this world. That one can watch a whole sky full of clouds being sucked into its maw, with thunderheads and flocks of birds, and even cloud-murths struggling in vain against its power.'

'But why in the bubbling black Pits are you talking to Arunis?' I demanded.

Uskins looked at me sharply, & his warthog nature came back to him. 'I bring his meals,' he said, 'as you would know if you paid less attention to those youths in the stateroom, and more to our captain's directives.'

'I know Rose is trying to keep him away from the crew,' I said, trying to ignore the provocation. 'But anyone could bring a plate to his door.'

'The captain wants him observed observed, Fiffengurt, not just quarantined. He chose me for my tact, and my gift for obtaining information.'

Your slime-craft & snooping, I thought. But I left him to his vigil & said no more. Arunis may be lying through his teeth, but that purple glint on the clouds' underbellies was plain to see, & remained so through nightfall.

Tonight Dastu pressed a slip of paper into my hand. On it were these words: Find us a safe and secret compartment. When the storm ends we're going to take some chances with trust. Pzl. Find us a safe and secret compartment. When the storm ends we're going to take some chances with trust. Pzl.

Dastu glanced back at me over his shoulder. There's one they've chosen to trust already There's one they've chosen to trust already, I thought, just as they chose me back at Simja. just as they chose me back at Simja.

I am plotting against the captain. My mutiny is now a fact.

Tuesday, 5 Norn 941. Eight solid days of storm. Nothing to do but fight it, fight it ceaselessly. Nights by far the worst, for though we stab at the darkness with fog lamps the waves are ever breaking upon us before we rightly see them. We have been close to broaching more often than I can recall, & five or six times had water over the deck. Pumps have failed, oilskins parted, and a hand run along half the walls on the orlop comes up wet: the Nelluroq is oozing through the seams, pressed in by the battering waves. There was a ghastly morning when the water in the well rose ten feet in three hours: a wad of grime and rat-hair had clogged a bilge pipe. Dawn & dusk are blurry notions, & noon is when you stand beside one mast & can see the next.

Another three men lost, & reports of fever among the unhappy folk down in steerage. Chadfallow & Fulbreech handing out pills. The tarboy Macom Drell, of Hansprit, crushed on the mercy deck by s.h.i.+fting cargo. The lad was found hours after his death; he could not fill his lungs to cry for aid. Also a suicide among the Turachs. One of the guards on the s.h.a.ggat simply walked up & put his hand on the Nilstone. I saw what was left of him: bone & gristle & ash. They say he had been staring at the thing for a week.

Monday, 11 Norn 941. Wave height doubled & still we lack [illegible] [illegible] end of our voyage & this s.h.i.+p's proud history unless end of our voyage & this s.h.i.+p's proud history unless [illegible] [illegible] flooding the flooding the [illegible] [illegible] down the ladderway and broke his leg down the ladderway and broke his leg [illegible] [illegible] wind screams in the rigging with the sound of tortured animals wind screams in the rigging with the sound of tortured animals [illegible] [illegible] blary hand shaking too much to wr blary hand shaking too much to wr [unfinished]. [unfinished].

Sunday, 17 Norn 941. Something in this universe must love the Chathrand Chathrand, for she has looked her own death in the face every day for a week. Three days ago the waves reached 80 ft. Rose put her into the wind, for at that height the lower gallery windows were getting slapped on every swell & one rogue breaker could have smashed them in, flooding the deck & sending us to join the Jistrolloq Jistrolloq in minutes flat. Once we had her about with the stormsails trimmed we were better off for a while, treading in place through the daylight hours, praying & fighting for steerage through the night. in minutes flat. Once we had her about with the stormsails trimmed we were better off for a while, treading in place through the daylight hours, praying & fighting for steerage through the night.

But the day before yesterday the seas grew taller yet. Surely it has been a century or more since any man stood on the Great s.h.i.+p's forecastle & looked up up at a cresting wave, but I am that man, by Rin. Yet with Elkstem at the wheel & Rose beside him, we did all right until nightfall. Then the waves grew even larger, & the dark hours were one long frenzied struggle against obliteration, tacking up the sides of mountains, piercing the frothing crest with the bowsprit, clawing over the top & falling forwards with a hull-shaking thump, looking up again at once as the next mountain rushed us. The crew was simply breaking. No one talked anymore. No one wanted to eat, or dared to rest, or remembered the needs of their bodies. I had to order men to drink water, & watch that they did so: they were so frightened that only by working perpetually did they keep from shrieking or diving into the sea. at a cresting wave, but I am that man, by Rin. Yet with Elkstem at the wheel & Rose beside him, we did all right until nightfall. Then the waves grew even larger, & the dark hours were one long frenzied struggle against obliteration, tacking up the sides of mountains, piercing the frothing crest with the bowsprit, clawing over the top & falling forwards with a hull-shaking thump, looking up again at once as the next mountain rushed us. The crew was simply breaking. No one talked anymore. No one wanted to eat, or dared to rest, or remembered the needs of their bodies. I had to order men to drink water, & watch that they did so: they were so frightened that only by working perpetually did they keep from shrieking or diving into the sea.

So pa.s.sed that hideous night, & all of yesterday, & last night too. I don't think a man on this s.h.i.+p believed he could fight the sea as long as we did. There were lads had to be smacked to make 'em stop working the pumps, when their s.h.i.+fts ended. But no one had to be smacked awake. We worked like machines, like wind-up toys in the hands of a maniac, with no purpose but to see how much twisting our mechanisms could take.

Dawn seemed to have been abolished, the night stretched into weeks or months. In the worst of it I saw cloud-murths on feral steeds, galloping back & forth on the wave-crests, threatening us with their halberds & pikes. I shall never know if they were real; indeed I'm not sure I want to.

But at last the dawn did come, & with it a gentler wind & seas that rapidly diminished to a mere forty or fifty feet - waves that would have decimated any harbour in Alifros, yet we took them for our salvation. If my count is right we have been twenty days in storm (and without a foremast, by all the G.o.ds!). In that time how many hours have I slept? Ten, fifteen? We have all become like Felthrup: creatures who no longer shut our eyes, for fear of what will happen if we do.

Of Felthrup himself there is no sign.

Tuesday, 19 Norn 941. Someone must list the dead: we owe all human beings that minimum courtesy. But the bookkeeper's an oathsworn Plapp & may 'forget' to mention the losses among the Burnscove Boys; & by the Sailing Code his tabulation goes first to Uskins (Stukey), who so detests lowborns like Uskins (Stukey) that he may abbreviate the list even further. I don't know why this strikes me as part & parcel of the wickedness being done on this voyage, but I will scribble names as I think of them & hope this book falls into the hands of some who loved these unfortunates: [here follows a list of 37 dead]8 May Bakru bring them all to tearless rest, edalage. edalage.

Wednesday, 20 Norn 941. As fine & innocent a day as one could hope for. Swells of an easy 25 ft., wind behind us & powerful instead of crippling, very much the conditions the Great s.h.i.+p was built for. We've had an easy run these past three days, though a state of nervous collapse followed the storm - men afflicted with flux, vomiting, chills & nightmares; fights breaking out between the cursed gangs; drunkenness rampant beyond anything possible on their small rations of rum. The G.o.ds only know what sort of s.h.i.+p-brewed rotgut they're drinking.

Managed to raise a guide spar on the stump of the foremast: the best we can hope to do until we reach still waters. Cazencian whales, of all things, spotted a quarter-mile to windward, on a parallel run. Told Mr Latzlo & got a snarl for thanks. He does not look normal, Latzlo. He used to shave & primp & perfume himself each day for the Lapadolma girl; now he resembles something escaped from one of his cages.

Monday, 25 Norn 941. Little lad or la.s.s, asleep yet in Annabel's womb: how I should love you to grow up knowing these four youths. If the dream of the rain of ashes should prove true somehow - if my kin disowns me for the choices I've made - still I must believe that you and your dear Mother will accept me. Lady Thasha, Pathkendle, Undrabust, Marila: we'll call them your honorary aunts & uncles, & you will scarce believe the tales they tell.

The good weather holds. Somewhere it is winter; the first frosts are surely etched on your mother's window, but here fungus is blooming in our footlockers & tar bubbles out of the deck seams at noon. The whales still with us. The Vortex gone from sight.

Last night I brought food once again to the stateroom. Undrabust & the stowaway girl, Marila, were the only ones I saw at first. Then a whirling swept across the floor at ankle-height. It was Diadrelu, of course. The crawly woman was dancing a kind of ballet with her sword in the middle of the chamber. She moved so quickly one could not tell where flesh ended & steel began. If she were human-sized she'd be a match for any Turach who ever drew a blade.

'Where are--'

Marila raised a finger to her lips. Undrabust, meanwhile, came forwards and asked loudly, 'Did you bring it, then?'

For once he meant something other than food. Undrabust had slipped me a second note, asking for the weirdest thing: my old mandoloro,9 which I'd not played or even thought about since my commission began, nigh two years ago-- which I'd not played or even thought about since my commission began, nigh two years ago-- (Had I known then who was to be my captain, I should have left the mandoloro behind. How sad to recall what I imagined then: nights on the Nelu Peren with a happy s.h.i.+p, a crew of contented Burnscove gangsters under my command,10 & one scant year before I handed the honour over to a fresh face & settled down with my own sweet 'Bel. Oh Anni, don't hate me, none of this was my choice.) & one scant year before I handed the honour over to a fresh face & settled down with my own sweet 'Bel. Oh Anni, don't hate me, none of this was my choice.) 'How in the putrid Pits did you know I had a squeezebox?' I'd asked Undrabust. The tarboy replied that Felthrup had mentioned it, weeks ago. Which is odder still, as I'm sure I never discussed music with the poor little rat.

I'd no sooner taken it from its case than Undrabust s.n.a.t.c.hed it up & began to play. Or rather to squeeze & mash b.u.t.tons. He might have been attempting The Lighthouse Girl The Lighthouse Girl. It does not matter; I have seen men flogged for less. Undrabust himself frowned at the bleating & honking, but that did not stop him from grinding away. Marila took my hand & led me to one side.

'They may be listening,' she whispered. 'Neeps is just drowning them out.'

'Who are ”they”?' I asked.

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