The Red Wolf Conspiracy (56 page)

“Sure,” said Neeps. “I heard,
Skrreee
—
glik
—
glik
—
scrreeeeeeee!”

“What?”

“Come off it, Pazel. You were speaking Murthish.”

Pazel covered his ears.
Oh no
.

There it was: the purring. His Gift had started up again, and taught him their murth-tongue. But how long ago had it begun? All these days of noisy imprisonment, buzzing insects, storms. What if these were his last few hours—or even minutes?

“Neeps,” he said, “you've got to listen carefully. I told you how my Gift works? How it always ends in a fit, where I can't talk or understand anyone, and those horrible noises blast me? Well, it's going to happen again.”

“No worries,” said Neeps, who had calmed down already. “I'll take care of you.”

“Don't let the Volpeks scream in my face! Tell 'em it's something natural, like the hiccups.”

“The hiccups. Have you seen yourself, mate? Not even those boneheads will—Pazel, look!”

Neeps pointed into the gloom. About sixty yards away, against a great black rock, stood the other half of the
Lythra
. Her shattered beam-ends anchored her in the sand. Her figurehead, an angel, spread her barnacled wings and gazed forlornly at the sky. A row of gaping cannon-shot wounds ran down her hull, straight as punches in a leather belt, as though she had been fired on at point-blank range.

And gazing from one of these holes was a young boy.

“Mintu!”

He waved, and his voice carried faintly to them. “Pazel! Neeps! They changed you, too?”

A murth-girl's shy, mischievous face appeared behind him.

Mintu laughed. “She's my friend!”

The boys were so delighted to find him alive that they forgot all about Pazel's impending mind-fit. Swimming toward the wreck, they heard the musical laughter again from inside the kelp forest. When the next spell of darkness came they saw the murth-girls glowing faintly in the weeds.

More laughter above. There were the other missing boys: dangling from the
Lythra's
main topgallant, holding a slender murth by hands and feet so that she swayed between them like a hammock.

“Why are there only girls?” Neeps asked. “Not that I'm complaining, mind.”

“Maybe because we're only boys,” said Pazel uneasily. “We'd better be careful.”

“Just
you
be careful not to insult them again.”

It was no use protesting: Neeps was positively convinced Pazel had said something nasty in Murthish. They swam up to Mintu and clasped his arms. He had a girl's silver hair-clip in his own brown locks.

“She fed me clams,” he said. “And she healed a cut on my foot. I don't think murths are half as bad as people say.”

“Your sister nearly drowned looking for you,” said Pazel. “You'd better get back to the sphere and let her know you're alive.”

“Oh! Yes, I … I will.” Mintu looked reluctantly back toward the coral arch.

“Go on,” urged Pazel, “or she'll try it again. She's in no shape for that.”

Mintu looked at his murth-girl playmate. She drew back into the ruined ship, eyes pouting, as if she knew their game was over.

“I'll come right back,” he said.

Pazel watched Mintu swim all the way to the arch. Then he turned to see Neeps sitting cross-legged on the seabed, inches from a murth-girl in the same position.

“Hello, dream,” said Neeps.

They were making faces at each other. The murth-girl laid a finger on his worm-wound—and it vanished, melting into his skin like a snowflake.

“Thank you!” laughed Neeps. “Pazel, how do you say ‘thank you’?”

Pazel didn't answer. He looked up at the two boys and their friend. They had released the topgallant and were holding hands in a circle, serenely sinking. Another murth-girl, almost completely hidden in the weeds, looked out as they passed.

“They're ready, Thysstet,”
she told the girl as she passed.

“Almost!”
laughed the other.

Ready for what?
Pazel knew how to ask the question. But what if they vanished again at the sound of his voice?

The girl in the weeds leaned out farther. Pazel's heart leaped: it was her, the one who had touched him. Suddenly nothing else mattered. He swam toward her as fast as he could. Their eyes met. She was beautiful!

She was gone.

He felt stabbed in the chest. One glance and she had fled into the weeds.

And when he looked down, Neeps had vanished, too. There on the sand lay his collecting bag, hook and ring—the latter with the rope still attached.

“Neeps! Neeps!”

Pazel flew toward the sole remaining murth-girl. She saw him and cowered behind the two boys.

“Stop!” they growled at him. “What's the matter with you! She's ours!”

“It's a trap!” he cried. “They're separating us! And you've lost your ropes!”

“Who needs ropes?” laughed one boy. “Who needs them blary Volpeks and their bath-a-spear?”

“But how will you get back to land?”

“Swim! Walk! Who cares? Maybe I'll wait a week. All I know is that I'll go ashore far from Arunis! Ha! We can even say his name down here. What's he going to do about it?”

“Arunis! Arunis!” shouted the other boy.

The murth tickled him from behind. But she still watched Pazel with fear.

He begged the boys to help him find Neeps, but they called him killjoy and swam away. Pazel shouted for Neeps again. How far did his voice carry underwater? And where should he search?

Quite at random he circled the bow of the
Lythra
and the massive rock. No Neeps, no murth-girls. Only fish, a few spiny lobsters, and in the distance a red, swift shape like a flying carpet: a scarlet ray. Pazel had never seen such a huge one—it was easily twelve feet from wing tip to wing tip—and he kept his distance. Scarlet rays were not aggressive, and they had no teeth, but the stingers in their whip-like tails were notorious. In Besq, Pazel had seen a fisherman stung on the hand by a scarlet ray tangled in his net. He had passed out from sheer agony.

He set off among the rocks and weeds. Shouting for Neeps, but thinking despite himself of the girl, the girl, the girl. Of course she would be frightened to hear a human speaking Murthish. But so frightened? And what had she meant by
Mine
?

His rope went slack. He reeled it in, more alarmed by the second. Something very sharp had cut the rope, and he hadn't felt a thing. Not one of them was tethered to the bathysphere. And only he was aware of the danger.

What could he do? He rose. At thirty feet below the surface most of the reef was below him. A little farther and the kelp closed around him too. He could see nothing at all until his head broke the surface.

Where was he? The wind had risen and the waves had grown. The sun was bright as ever, but the shore seemed to have changed shape. Then he caught sight of the barge and realized he was much farther north than he had guessed. He could see the Volpeks on her deck, and in the smaller craft around her, looking anxiously at both shore and sea. Far out in the Gulf of Thól the heavily armed brig still waited, brooding. He turned to face the shore—

—and dived, just in time. A longboat was driving straight at him, making for the barge. Pazel watched as it passed a yard above his head, four pairs of oars pulling swiftly. Then he rose until his eyes just cleared the water.

Arunis was standing upright at the prow, in a dark cloak, his tattered scarf flapping in the wind. The white dog stood beside him, motionless. The sorcerer waived irritably at his men.

“Faster!” he shrieked. “Can't you see that fog bank, Druffle, you louse?”

Mr. Druffle was indeed among the rowers. Looking miserable and cold, the wiry man glanced southward. Pazel looked, too: there was indeed a broad mantle of fog upon the Gulf, two or three miles off. Like the shreds of mist he had glimpsed from the dunes, it was thick as white wool, an unnatural sight under the gleaming sun. But this fog bank stretched in an unbroken line from the southern shore deep into the Gulf. And it was creeping relentlessly their way.

Arunis screamed at the rowers again, and they increased their speed. Pazel flipped over and swam straight down.
One calamity at a time
.

Below, he found no sign of man or murth. Clownfish darted; the scarlet ray swept by near the wreck. Otherwise the sea was still.

A hunch came to him suddenly. Before he sank any farther, Pazel moved well into the ribbon kelp. Then, hand over hand, he pulled himself into the depths. If the weed could hide murths it could hide him, too.

After descending another thirty feet he held still. He could see the whole clearing, from the
Lythra
to the coral wall, but it would take a sharp eye indeed to spot him.

No one came. No silver laughter reached him. But strangely, the scarlet ray kept up its circling of the wreck. What was it up to? Not feeding: scores of fish passed right under its nose, and the giant ignored them all.

Long minutes passed. Then the ray did something odd. It stopped, pivoted its huge, flat body left and right and dived behind the wreck.

Pazel burst from the weeds.
That
was no normal behavior for a ray. He swam low, hiding behind the wreck as long as possible. When he could go no farther he shot upward, across the topdeck, and peered down along the side of the ruined hull.

The ray was hovering beside a gunport, its deadly tail writhing. Pazel heard its voice, like that of a weird overgrown bird:
“Gone-gone-gone, Lady Klyst! Come out, find your kin, land-boy loses, murth-friends win.”

The ray withdrew slightly and the girl's face appeared—his girl. Timidly she pulled herself halfway through the gunport. The golden joy coursed through Pazel again. He could not be silent.

“Klyst!”

She looked up in horror. And vanished back into the wreck. The ray, however, turned with a furious roar.
“Land-boy! Land-boy! Kill you! Kill you!”

Pazel knew he was no match for a humiliated scarlet ray. He kicked off the broken gunwale and shot down the length of the
Lythra's
topdeck with the beast howling behind him. He would never reach the kelp beds: the wreck itself was his only hope. Under the broken foremast he swam, dodging a skeleton snagged on the pinrail. The foreward hatch was blocked with debris. He swam on desperately. The ray's fleshy horns brushed his toes.

He jackknifed through the main hatch. The ray roared and stabbed with its tail, missing Pazel's head by an inch. Pazel seized at timbers, dragging himself farther inside as the ray tried to squeeze in after him. It succeeded, but it could not spread its wings in the cluttered wreck, and only managed to beat the algae, sand and debris into a whirlwind. Pazel choked (he was breathing it, after all) but pushed on, slamming a rotted compartment door behind him.

He passed dark cabins, broken ladderways. One of the fanged fish that had so alarmed him before rushed out of the gloom. Heedless with longing, Pazel smacked it away.

She was still there on the gun deck, her body glowing behind a mass of broken beams. She saw him and turned to flee.

“Don't go!” he cried out, and his words froze her where she stood. Amazed, Pazel swam a little closer. “Come out, Klyst, if that's your name. Why are you so afraid of me?”

She stepped out, hugging herself, literally shaking with fear.

“You could be miles away by now, if I'm so frightening. Why did you stay? Please explain all this to me!”

Her sharp teeth were chattering. She shook her head. “Can't go. Can't disobey. I love you.”

“You love me! Why on earth? I mean … that's extremely …
Why}
”

“You used
ripestry
. Humans shouldn't! Humans never could!”

Pazel's Gift told him that
ripestry
was Murthish for “language.” But then he started. It was also telling him the word meant “magic.”

“What! Are they the same thing, to sea-murths?”

“They}”
she said.

“Ripestry
and
ri
—
”
Pazel stopped. Even his Gift couldn't provide another word. It was true: language and magic were one notion to her.
To speak was to enchant
.

“But for Rin's sake,” he said, “you were the one doing love-
ripestry
to me. Weren't you?”

“Yes, yes,” she said. “But when you said my name you turned it back on me. And since I'd already touched you I … I—”

She leaped forward and wrapped her strange arms around his legs. She pressed her face to his knees and wept—“Hoo-hoo-hoo-hoo!”

Her tears glowed luminescent as they left her eyes, in the instant before the sea diluted them.

“Why are you crying?”

“Land-boy! Land-boy! I love you!”

Her charm had backfired: he was free, she was madly in love. He tried to make her stand up.

“I'll release you,” he said. “Just tell me how.”

“HOO-HOO-HOO!”

“Klyst!” he said as gently as he could. “Please stop crying. We'll find a way out of this.”

At once she made an effort to hold in her tears.

“That's grand,” he said. “Now tell me, why did you give us water-breathing, and make us love you?”

“Can't help it,” she said. “We have to drive you away.”

“Well, that's a blary strange way to do it!”

She shook her head. “It always works.”

“But why not just talk to us?”

“Because you're monsters,” she said. “Your people, I mean. Wherever you go the
ripestry
dies. And then so do we. Starved for
ripestry
, starved to death.”

Her silver eyes stared into his, beseeching, and Pazel stared back without a word. The Volpeks were right, in a sense: the murths
were
dying out in the Quiet Sea. And if he understood her, mankind was the reason. Men dispelled magic; and her people could not live without it.

“But you have
ripestry,”
she said at last, smiling. “You can stay! You can stay with me!”

Darkness. She began to kiss his hands.