The first name was neatly painted in red. The second, like the line through Chadfallow's name, was a messy blue scrawl. Pazel had to steady himself on the doorjamb. Chadfallow had meant to serve on the Chathrand. But why had he changed his mind, and told Pazel to jump ship? I intend to see them, he had said of Pazel's mother and sister. Was that the reason he had planned to be aboard-or the reason he wasn't?
In the sickbay he found Neeps, slung in a hammock, with a split lip and an oilskin bag of cool water over one eye. The small boy was furious, grinding his teeth, swearing he'd teach Jervik to keep his distance.
Pazel hushed him: the new doctor, Rain, was bustling by, white eyebrows knitted. As he passed they heard him muttering to himself: "Undrabust, Neeps Undrabust, ha ha, almost broke his neck, you boys shouldn't fool about the hatches…"
"Let him come near me again," said Neeps when the doctor was out of earshot. "Jervik, I mean-the cowardly rat."
"But how did he end up on Chathrand?" said Pazel miserably.
"Said he'd just gotten rid of some tarboy he hated on his old ship," growled Neeps. "Boasted how he 'smacked 'im round fer a year, and the blary fool never hit back.' And then he helped some fat bosun strand the tarboy in Sorrophran. His captain overheard and threw a fit such as nobody'd ever seen, and chucked Jervik ashore with his own hands."
"That was me!" Pazel cried. "The one who got stranded!"
Neeps' unbruised eye fixed on Pazel. "I'll smash 'im," he said. "I'll knock that gold tooth down his throat. I'll wring him out like my turban."
"Neeps!" said Pazel, gripping his shoulder. "Don't fight him! Rose'll throw you to the sharks! Besides, Jervik's huge, and a dirty fighter! He'll flatten you, mate!"
"Let him try it!"
It came out twy it, because of Neeps' swollen lip. His tiny fists clenched at his sides.
Pazel rose slowly and set his forehead to the wall. "Everyone on this ship is insane," he said.
"Hello!" said Neeps. "Where'd you get that coat?"
And then, like a plunge into the sea, it happened. Two sailors passed the sickbay door, chatting lightly about a woman, and suddenly their voices changed-mutated, ballooned-and became a monstrous squawking.
"No!" cried Pazel, leaping up.
"Pazaaaaaaak?" said Neeps.
Dr. Rain, turning, cried, "Squa-qua-quaaaak?"
There it was: the pressure on his skull. And filling the air, the smell of custard apple, worst odor in the world. His mind-fit had begun.
Leaving Neeps wide-eyed, Pazel ran from the sickbay into a horror of a ship filled with deafening, predatory bird-noises. He couldn't think where to hide-hide for four hours or more!-but hide he must, immediately. If they thought him mad he'd be tossed out with the bilgewater, or worse.
The lower gun deck was filled with newcomers, soldiers of some sort, busy, laughing, squawking. They gestured at him, wanting something. He ran. The hold, he thought. Get to the hold. Maybe the ambassador wasn't really expecting him just yet. Maybe no one would miss him.
He reached the No. i ladderway and began racing down the stairs. But at the berth deck Fiffengurt suddenly appeared, blocking his path. He smiled up at Pazel: "Bachafuagaaaak!"
Pazel made a helpless face and began climbing again, which made Fiffengurt squawk the louder. Pazel leaped out at the next deck, the upper gun deck, and fled down the long row of cannon. Men were all around him, malicious and terribly loud. It's never been so bad, he thought. And then he saw Jervik, dead ahead.
Both boys froze. Jervik's eyes grew wide; he squeezed the deck-mop in his hands like something that might fly away. Pazel had the sudden idea of trying to be friendly-they'd had to work together sometimes on the Eniel, after all-but how exactly was he to do that? He couldn't speak, so he tried a smile and a little wave.
Jervik threw the mop at him like a spear.
So much for friendliness. Pazel dodged the mop and tried to do the same with Jervik, but the big tarboy caught him by the shoulder.
"Gwamothpathkuandlemof!"
Jervik tore at Pazel's new coat; brass buttons popped. Hit me, you imbecile! thought Pazel. Fiffengurt would surely evict him if he did. But Jervik merely gushed with noise, his grip tightening. And Pazel realized that in another moment Fiffengurt would appear and catch them both. That can't happen. They'll lock me up.
He turned and faced Jervik. "Let go!" he cried, gesticulating madly. "I'm Muketch, the mud-crab sorcerer of Ormael, and I'll turn your bones to pudding if you don't!"
Of course nothing but bird-babble came from his mouth. Usually talking during a mind-fit was the worst tactic imaginable, but today it saved him. Jervik was terribly superstitious. He froze, wide-eyed. Pazel pointed at his disfigured ear and cackled. "When I'm done that'll be the handsomest part of you left! Now GO!"
Terrified, Jervik released him, stumbling backward, and slipped on one of Pazel's lost buttons. Pazel ran for his life.
Screeches, hoots, a wet stretch of floor. He smashed into one crewman after another. Grown men leaped away as if he might bite them. This is ending badly, he thought.
Then a hand much stronger than Jervik's seized his arm, and Pazel felt himself whirled around. For an instant he saw a man's face-gray temples, bright eyes that tapered to points-and then he was shoved bodily through a doorway, into warm smells of coffee and perfume and talc.
Little of what followed was clear to him afterward. The ambassador's face appeared in a dressing-mirror, half shaven, mouth agape. A beautiful woman swept into the room with arms outstretched, shrieking, her voice demonic. And from somewhere the golden-haired girl from the carriage appeared and looked at him with astonishment but no fear.
Then a flask was pressed to his lips, and his head forced back, and he knew no more.