The Red Wolf Conspiracy (42 page)

“The Shaggat Ness!” whispered Thasha, paling. “I read about him in the
Polylex!
It was strange—the book fell open to that page when I first looked at it, as if someone had left it open there a long time. What a monster! He became one of the Five Kings by stabbing his own uncle, and strangling his cousin. The other Kings were terrified of what he'd do next. He was completely mad, Ramachni. He declared himself a God!”

“And like a God, he will seem to conquer death,” said Ramachni, shaking his head. “Ingenious.”

“It all hinges on your wedding, m'lady,” said Felthrup. “The prophecy of the Shaggat's return demands a union between one of their princes and a daughter of an enemy soldier.”

Thasha turned away from them. She felt a sudden, physical ache at Pazel's absence. This still-unfolding horror felt infinitely harder to bear, now that he was gone. She had fought for his pardon every way she could think of. But something had come over her father, something vicious and unyielding: the same ruthlessness that had made him send her to the Lorg. Only this time Pazel had been the victim, not her. She felt an urge to weep, and with a great effort turned the feeling back into rage.

Why couldn't he just keep his mouth shut?

“Pazel was right, then,” she said when she could speak again. “They do want a war. But this time Arqual will sit back and watch as the Mzithrinis kill each other.”

“That is exactly the plan Niriviel boasts of,” said Felthrup.

“But Ramachni,” said Thasha. “If the Shaggat wasn't killed at the end of the last war, maybe his sorcerer wasn't either! What if the sorcerer on this ship really
is
the one you feared?”

“Arunis himself?” said the mage. “If that is so, then we face a worse peril than even I have dared imagine. But Dr. Chadfallow told me that Arunis was hanged, forty years ago.”

“Hanged?” said Thasha. “Not drowned, like the Shaggat was supposed to be?”

“Hanged. Chadfallow was a young medical cadet, and present at the execution. You do not trust him, Thasha, and I will not advise you to ignore your suspicions. But it is difficult to lie to a mage, especially if that mage is Ramachni son of Ramadrac, Summoner of Dafvni, Ward of the Selk. Chadfallow knows better than to try.”

“Well, it's not hard to lie to the rest of us,” said Thasha. “These horrid people, these conspirators: who
are
they, besides Rose?”

“Loyal subjects of the crown,” said Felthrup. “Drellarek the Throatcutter, for one. And Uskins and Swellows, Rose's top men. And Lady Oggosk, his seer.”

“But none of these is the mastermind,” said Ramachni, thoughtfully. “Nor, I think, is Rose himself. Your Emperor has often found him useful, but never trustworthy. No, there must be another conspirator in our midst—to say nothing of the sorcerer.”

“And if
all
the ship's officers are involved?” asked Thasha.

“One at least is not,” said Ramachni. “Mr. Fiffengurt is pure of heart. Too pure, maybe, to see the wickedness around him.”

“Pazel liked him, too,” said Thasha. “And, come to think of it, Firecracker Frix seems too simple to be bad.”

“Do not trust appearances,” said Ramachni. “Some conspirators have fair looks indeed.”

“Syrarys!” said Thasha. “She's part of it, isn't she?”

“If she is, you will not easily find her out,” said Ramachni gravely. “Remember that she has your father's heart in her hand. And perhaps more than his heart: he is very ill, and might not survive the shock if she has indeed betrayed him.”

“Unless he's ill
because
she's betraying him,” said Thasha, clenching her fists.

“Such villains!” Felthrup squeaked. “They've prepared for years—and we have just days! How can we possibly fight them?”

“Not with swords,” said Ramachni. “At least not unless Hercól is returned to us.”

“With tactics, then,” said Thasha.

Rat, mink and mastiffs looked at her.

“You called it a conspiracy,” she said. “Well, we're going to prepare a little conspiracy of our own.” She rose and began to pace, frowning with concentration. “They're secretive. We'll be doubly so. They have hidden allies. We'll find our own. The ixchel, to start with.”

“The ixchel look at humans and see murderers, m'lady,” said Felthrup. “And they shall see the same in me after what happened in the tailor's nook.”

“Such lack of trust,” said Ramachni, “is more dangerous than all our enemies combined.”

“Maybe the ixchel will trust us when we tell them about Rose's prisoner. Meanwhile, who else can we enlist?”

“Someone your own age, perhaps?” asked Felthrup. “That young niece of the
Chathrand's
owner?”

“Pacu Lapadolma? Not likely! She's a fool, and mad for the glory of Arqual like her father the general. And she talks too much.”

“Other passengers?” the rat persisted. “The soap man, the one who saved Hercól?”

Thasha shook her head. “He's a bit strange, that Mr. Ket. I thought
he
was a fool at first, but now I wonder if it just suits him to appear that way. No, I don't trust him.”

“Commander Nagan, the head of the honor guard?” asked Ramachni.

“Yes!” said Thasha brightly. But then her face darkened. “No—not quite. I can't tell you why, Ramachni. I have more reasons to trust him than anyone aboard. He caught the man who attacked Hercól. He's guarded our family my whole life, and never asked for anything in return.”

“But he certainly wants something now. He wants your trust.”

“And I suppose he's earned it,” said Thasha. “But I'm still uneasy about him.”

“Then we must all be,” said Ramachni, shaking his head. “Our list of friends is short.”

“Short!” she said. “Why didn't I think of him first? Neeps! We can trust Neeps with our lives. Although he
is
a donkey.”

“Hooray!” cried Felthrup, for he thought she meant that yet another woken beast was aboard. His disappointment was plain when Thasha said that she had only meant Neeps could be an imbecile.

“And if he doesn't stop fighting he'll be no help at all,” she added, “because he'll be tossed off this ship.”

“Your noble father must be counted our friend, of course?” Felthrup asked, sulking.

“No, he mustn't,” said Thasha. “Not while Syrarys is with him. Even Hercól would have to agree, and he's been Prahba's friend almost as long as Dr. Chadfallow. That just leaves old Fiffengurt. But he's not fond of rich people. You can see it in the way he looks at first-class sons and daughters: he'd like to make them clean the pigsty. Why should he trust me?”

“Because you deserve trust,” said Ramachni. “Lies and false faces grow dull over time, no matter how they are painted. But truth, goodness, a loving heart—these things only shine brighter as the darkness around them spreads. Give him a chance to trust you. He still has one good eye.”

“I will speak to him,” said Felthrup.

“No, Felthrup,” said Thasha. “Most humans
still
don't want to believe in woken animals. I'm not sure I did until I heard you speak. Fiffengurt might just think he's losing his mind.”

“I will speak to him,” said the rat again, firmly. “He will remember my paw. But it may be long ere I catch him alone—Rose keeps him busier than any man aboard.”

“The three of us, Neeps and Fiffengurt, and Lady Diadrelu—if we can find her,” said Ramachni. “Six, against a whole shipful of murderers and rogues! Well, we must do what we can. For my part, I shall look for the ixchel.”

“Be careful, Master!” said Felthrup. “They are dangerous, and silent as smoke. Turn yourself into something they will not fear—a moth, a little spider—before you enter their domain of Night Village.”

“I cannot do that,” said Ramachni.

They turned to him in surprise. Ramachni shook his head. “Indeed I can do no magic at all just now, save the small continuing spell I use to conceal what we say in these rooms. My world lies far beyond the sun and moon of Alifros. I brought power with me, but most I gave to Pazel in the form of Master-Words, and the rest went in lifting Felthrup from the sea.”

“Do you mean you can't do magic until you return to your world?” said Thasha, aghast.

“None,” said Ramachni, shaking his head. “Which is why I must retreat to it for a little while now. Alas, I fear you will need me again before I have half recovered. But if I am to fight at your side at all I must go, and regain what strength I can.”

“When will that fight be?” asked Thasha.

“Soon,” said Ramachni. “You must work quickly. And now listen well, Thasha: normally when I leave this world I cast a holding spell upon your clock. It has one purpose: to recognize me when I return, be it in one day or ten years, and to open the clock at that moment. Tonight I must depart without casting even that simple spell. Without it I shall be powerless to open the clock from within. Therefore you must open it for me. I believe you know how?”

“Of course,” said Thasha. “I've watched Hercól do it a dozen times.”

Ramachni nodded. “Wait as long as you dare. And one last request, Thasha my champion: keep thinking about trust. We are in a nest of vipers—but even a viper may wake.”

Thasha looked deep into his black eyes. Then she nodded and turned to Felthrup.

“Well, rat,” she said, “you and I have a conspiracy to build.”

The Mad King

N. R. Rose, Captain

27 Modoli 941

The Honorable Captain Theimat Rose
Northbeck Abbey, Mereldin Isle, South Quezans

Dear Sir
,

My thanks, dearest Father, for the gift of your counsel. You know I hold your wisdom above all others in matters of the sea. I shall take us south by the route you indicate. Your orders shall be my own
.

We are now three days from Ormael City, where I shall post this letter. After that we leave Imperial waters, and I dare say this vessel will never see them again. Once His Nastiness
^1*
is delivered and the treasure discharged, and the hornet's nest is slapped and rattled into rage, my orders are to reverse course, and return to Etherhorde across the Ruling Sea—or if we are prevented, to start a fire in
Chathrand'
s hold, just beneath the
powder room, and abandon ship. That will destroy all evidence of the ship's presence in enemy waters. It will also leave us just ten minutes ere she blows like a Fifthmoon fireball
.

Of course we will not be able to return the way we came, for by that season the Nelluroq Vortex will have spread its jaws, and not even
Chathrand
has a prayer against that ruinous whirlpool. Nor can we sail home by the regular, crowded trade route: that would be the same as shouting what the Empire has done from every street corner in Alifros. So frightened of this possibility is old Magad that he has promised to sink
Chathrand,
and crucify any survivors, if we dare return by the northern route. No, we must destroy her when the job is done—a waste of this masterpiece of a ship, and some sailors, too
.

The Emperor did well in choosing Sandor Ott. He is ugly and does not properly chew his food, but as a spymaster he is without equal. One of his under-assassins botched the murder of Hercól, a servant who might have known Ott by sight and revealed his true identity. When Ott found that his man had failed he took him to an empty courtyard in Uturphe and killed him with a single blow. Of course, that was his right. The lad's mistake means Hercól was never killed, for by then nosy Fiffengurt had decided to accompany him to the hospital. So Ott found another way: he paid the hospital's corrupt nurses to whisk Hercól away through the back door and off to the city poorhouse, where he will lie in filth, and surely die as his wound turns gangrenous
.

Ott has solved another tricky problem for me: Eberzam Isiq. The Emperor thought him perfect: a war hero and an old fool. But he has not proved quite stupid enough. He is a true mariner and would never challenge a serving captain, but I saw him questioning the gunner and the midshipman. Later I sent for them and made them repeat his questions. To the gunner Isiq had said that the old cannon looked very clean and usable, and were they really just for show? And he asked the other why I had plotted such a long course to Uturphe
.

Of course, the midshipman did not know it was because I wished Hercól to die. Such questions lead to trouble, however, and I told Ott as much. “Leave him to me,” replied the
spymaster. The next day Isiq's headaches were back, and he has not left his cabin since. Headaches are perfect: they do not threaten Isiq's life, but they turn him into the helpless doll we need
.

There are other dangers. Fiffengurt is not one of us, and must be dealt with sooner or later. And certain passengers are nosy (Isiq's daughter, and that fancy savage Bolutu), or merely unsettled, as if noticing some dangerous smell. Do they detect the ghosts that clutter
Chathrand
? I do not think so. One tarboy seemed to possess the gift of hearing spirits, but he insulted Isiq and was tossed ashore. Now I wish I had contrived to keep him. The spirits flit ever about me, pecking at my arms like gulls. If the boy were here they might flock to him instead and let me rest
.