The Red Wolf Conspiracy (39 page)

“Not at all rat-like, Majestic Lord,” said Felthrup. “Normal rats may lie to one another, or jump out of shadows and bite. But betray they cannot, for betrayal is not possible without trust, and rats never trust. They do not understand the word.”

“He woke at that moment, as you woke in the bakery?” asked Dri.

“He did, Lady, and his waking frightened him half to death. He ran all night in the streets, and just before dawn took refuge in a temple, where the droning of the monks and the burning incense put him into a state of religious fervor, and the Angel of Rin descended from the rafters and told him his fate. He would find his way to a great mansion that moved, the Angel said, and rule its depths, while a false priest ruled above. And one day he would kill that priest and devour the part of him that lied. And in that moment a thousand eyes would open.”

“Rose is the false priest, then,” said Dri, “and his tongue is the lying part of him. But what of the thousand eyes?”

“I do not know. Master Mugstur only speaks of his prophecy because he thinks we are all normal rats, sleepwalkers, and will not remember it anyway. But he is determined to punish Rose for pretending to believe. No matter what it takes.”

“What will he try? Sabotage?”

“My lady, he would sink the ship if the Angel wished it. Or try in any case: I doubt he could manage anything so grand.”

“He could destroy us nonetheless,” said Talag. “If his mischief irritates the giants sufficiently they will gas the ship with sulphur. Every rat aboard will be killed or driven out. And every last ixchel.”

“There will still be one,” said Felthrup. “A prisoner by the name of Steldak.”

“An ixchel prisoner!” cried Talag. “But he is not of our clan! Who is he? Where are the giants keeping him?”

“I don't know, Lord Talag. I only know that he is kept in a tiny cage and forced to taste the giants' food, in case there should be poison. He is said to be the most miserable of beings.”

Talag looked at Dri, rage contorting his face. “All over, sister? All in the past? How can you be so blind? While you talk of fairness the giants keep us in cages yet, and torture us for sport. Why speak of peace with these animals?”

“Some try to build peace,” said Diadrelu. “Some make it their goal in life.”

“Like our good Captain Rose, and his peaceable mission to the west.”

“How wry, Lord Talag!” said Felthrup, happy again. “For the
Chathrand's
mission is black indeed. I know it all: a most, most …
calamitous
plan. That's the word! Shall I tell you?”

Before they could answer, noises echoed down the pipe: far-off human footfalls, a squeak of metal. A sudden breeze swept past them.

“The drain has opened!” said Dri.

“The storm must be rising!” Talag raised his head, listening. “Brace yourselves—here it comes!”

“It?” said Felthrup.

A great gush of stormwater barreled into them. Felthrup squealed piercingly—drowning of one sort or another was his deepest fear, after all—but in truth he was not in much danger. Dri, however, was knocked off her feet. She was lighter than Talag (and barely half Felthrup's weight), and the water bore her down the pipe like a twig. Her brother could not reach her, but Felthrup saw her and recovered himself. As she swept by he caught her shirt with a nimble snap of his jaws, and held fast. Ten seconds later the gush of water subsided. Diadrelu put a hand on his cheek in silent thanks.

Soaked and chilly, they descended the last length of pipe to the ixchel's escape hatch. Here Talag paused and faced the rat.

“We owe you our thanks,” he said gruffly, “for your courage, and your warnings. Now we know that it will be necessary to kill this Master Mugstur.”

“That may be harder than you imagine, Lord,” said Felthrup.

Talag actually smiled. “We shall see about that. Come! My cooks will feed you something better than rat-scrabble. And you will share what you know of
Chathrand's
true mission.”

They pulled themselves up through the hatch and into a dim triangular chamber. This was the canvas room, in the back of the tailor's nook, a cramped compartment piled floor to ceiling with pennant silks, tarpaulins and huge bolts of white, flaxen, nearly indestructible sailcloth. They were on a wide shelf about five feet above the floor.

Somewhere in the outer compartment the tailor was humming a flat little tune beneath his swaying lamp. Diadrelu squeezed the water from her shirt.

“Felthrup,” she said, “how did you learn about the ixchel prisoner?”

“And the mission of the
Chathrand
, for that matter?” put in Talag.

“The same way he learned about this tunnel of yours, crawly,” said a low, rasping voice overhead. “I told him.”

The two ixchel flew like arrows, dodging, rolling, drawing their swords even before they regained their feet. They were not a moment too soon. Five enormous rats pounced on the spot where they had stood a split second before, knocking Felthrup aside like a bowling pin.

“Hold that door!” snapped the voice. “Two die for every crawly who escapes!”

Out of the mounds of sailcloth they came, dozens of rats of all shapes and sizes and hues. Many squirmed about the doorway. Others appeared at both ends of the shelf and advanced toward Dri and Talag, white teeth snapping.

“Well done, Felthrup!” said the rasping voice. “I am glad of your service.”

On the shelf above them appeared the largest rat Diadrelu had ever seen. He slouched forward to examine them, attended on either side by formidable guards. He was stark white with purplish eyes that bulged like overripe grapes. The hair had fallen or been worn away from his head and underside, revealing long scars and thick rolls of fat. But despite his belly dragging in the dust it was clear he was immensely strong.

Felthrup gazed at him with loathing. “I do not serve you!” he cried.

“Of course you do,” said the big rat. “All rats on this ship serve Master Mugstur, just as he serves our holy Emperor in the Keep of Five Domes, and through him the Angel Most High. I'm not surprised you kept it from these two, of course. Yes, it was
very
well done. They were so caught up with your chatter they did not even notice the missing guard.”

Dri and Talag exchanged looks. It was true: an ixchel guard should have been standing by at the mouth of the escape hatch. The rats snickered, and several of the biggest licked their lips.

“Lies!” screamed Felthrup. “You told me nothing! It was the bird, the moon falcon, who told me what I know! I hate you! I would never do your bidding!”

Master Mugstur shook his head slowly. “Lying is a sin,” he said.

There were now a hundred or more sleek, strong rats crowded together in the nook, all watching the ixchel.

“Lady! Lord Talag!” squeaked Felthrup. “Don't listen! Run back up the pipe!”

Master Mugstur laughed. “By all means, do! One way leads to the sea; the other to the clerk on his stool. And we shall follow close behind you.”

Talag caught Dri's eye a second time. With the greatest caution he signaled her: two fingers on his sword-hilt and a lifted shoulder. Dri answered with the tiniest nod.

“Tell them the truth ere they die, Felthrup,” said Master Mugstur. “They tried to kill you, brother! Why shouldn't you lead them into my trap?”

“Monster! Fiend!” Felthrup was hopping up and down on his three good legs, tearful and snarling at once. “You used me to trap them! You followed me!”

“Where is our kinsman, the one we left on guard here?” Talag demanded.

For an answer the big rat spat at one of his aides. There was a shuffling noise above and then something ragged fell onto the shelf in front of them.

It was the hand of an ixchel, nibbled almost to the bone.

“Rats of
Chathrand,”
said Master Mugstur, “you heard the crawlies' words: they planned to kill me, as they tried to kill Brother Felthrup. But thanks to my agent's courage and the mercy of Rin, their wickedness ends here. Let us pray before we dine.”

Mugstur raised one long-nailed paw. The rats grew still.

And the ixchel sprang.

Talag leaped straight up, grabbed the lip of the shelf above him and swung onto it. Even as he landed he beheaded the rat lurching toward him, jumped over the corpse and slit the throat of another. Dri meanwhile ran up the side of a heap of sailcloth. The mound tipped, and as it did so she leaped high into the air and landed on the shelf beside her brother.

When ixchel train together, the battle-dance they learn becomes so quick and flawless it seems almost like mind-reading, and Dri and Talag had trained as a pair from birth. Not even a glance was needed for Dri to fall to hands and knees, and then push with all her might when she felt Talag's foot upon her shoulder. In this way she helped him sail over the heads of five rats and land upon the back of one of the two great bodyguards of Mugstur himself. The beast rolled and struck, but only succeeded in helping Talag to chop off both its forepaws with one swing. When the second rat-guard snapped at his leg, Talag did not even look: he had seen Dri move from the corner of his eye. The rat died with her throwing-knife in its skull before it could tighten its jaws.

About six seconds had passed.

But there were more rats now. They came on with idiot fury, biting at Talag and Dri as Mugstur fell back, roaring. The ixchel pressed after him, spinning like lethal tops through a spray of blood and fur. Then came a great crash as something heavy, a toolbox or a pair of sail-shears, crashed from a high shelf to the ground. Twenty feet away they heard the tailor bellow,
“Ho there! What moves?”
Lamplight swung toward the room.

The ixchel were fortunate. Mugstur had ordered so many rats to guard the door that they could not all hide themselves before the tailor arrived. One rat would have startled him; dozens made him erupt in an incoherent yowl. As he stomped and cursed at the fleeing rats, Dri and Talag slid down one side of the door frame and escaped the room.

Neither had been so much as scratched. But what of Felthrup? Dri risked one backward glance: she could see no trace of him among the living or the dead.

Bad Manners

6 Modoli 941

54th day from Etherhorde

The tailor never reported the incident.

Rats in his corner of the ship could only be explained by one thing: food. No sailor was allowed to store food of any sort in his work area—and Rose, as the tailor well knew, hated hoarders above all things. A famous story involved a sailor on lookout who had once taken three apples with him to the crow's nest. Rose found out inside an hour, docked him a week's pay and forbade the crew from addressing him by any name but
hog
for the rest of the voyage. He had noticed an apple seed on the deck.

The tailor had no doubt that
someone
had brought food into the canvas room, and he delivered a blistering warning to the tarboys on the evening watch.

“Get this into your brains right now: food means crumbs. Crumbs mean rats. Rats mean nests and nibblin'. You want holes in the sails when a storm blows up, or when pirates have us in their sights?”

Among these boys was Jervik. He was angry at being assigned to what he called
girly work
and behaved with extra savagery the next morning at breakfast.

“What you know about sailing ain't worth a gull's thin spit,” he told the boys at his table. “Food in the canvas room! Who did it? Speak up, you useless ninnies! You!” He pointed at Reyast. “Always the slowest eater! I'll bet you slipped leftovers into your pockets and munched 'em on the sly.”

“L-l-leftovers? N-n-n-n—”

“You calling me a liar, stutter-slug?”

Reyast looked down at his boiled beef. He nodded vigorously.

Amazed, Jervik reached out and slammed Reyast's face into his food. Neeps erupted. He leaped from the bench and hit Jervik three times before the other boy knew what was happening. When he recovered from his shock he lifted Neeps with one hand, cuffed him on both cheeks and threw him over the table. Neeps bounced to his feet and would have rushed Jervik again, but the other boys held him back. It took all their strength.

Hours later, his calm restored, Neeps put Jervik's words together with some information of his own. His day had begun with a disgusting chore. The ash dump, which carried cinders and bones and other refuse from the galley to the sea, was blocked. Mr. Teggatz had ordered Neeps, as the smallest person aboard, to crawl inside with a plunger and solve the problem. What had Neeps found but rats! Scores of dead rats! And not dead from disease or traps but from severed heads and stabbed stomachs. Weirdest of all, they were wrapped up in sailcloth. It was as if someone had crept into the galley and pushed the whole bundle down the chute on the sly.

Slaughtered rats from the canvas room: what was happening here? Could it have anything to do with those secrets Pazel hadn't wanted to share?

Pazel!
thought Neeps.
Couldn't you have held your blary tongue? What's become of you now? And what will become of the rest of us?