Hercуl lay still as death. Thasha stood in the cabin doorway, watching Dr. Rain poke and prod her tutor for the hundredth time. He looked terrible: gray blotchy skin, new wrinkles about the eyes, streaks of dark blood that had run from his leg to his chin while he dangled upside down in the chains. He had not moved since the attack four nights before.
Thasha had insisted that they bring him here, to her own chamber: it was warmer than sickbay, and the bed was a real bed, not a padded board dangling from ropes. But Rain was still the ship's only doctor. Thasha's anxiety grew the more she watched him shuffling about. He seemed a little mad. Talking to his instruments. Wiping his chin with a corner of her bedspread.
"There now, dear." Syrarys glided breezily to her side and touched her arm. "Let the doctor do his work. And lend me your necklace a moment. Your brave Mr. Ket has given me some exquisite silver polish."
Without a glance at the consort, Thasha removed her necklace and handed it over. They were making fast to Uturphe, supposedly. But when Thasha and her father pored over his old nautical chart (with its penciled ghosts of old war fleets, battle maneuvers, lines of attack) he showed her how far out of the way Rose had taken them. Whole days wasted, or so it seemed. Why didn't he speak to Rose about the detour? Thasha wanted to know. The old admiral's reply was stern: "Because he is the captain."
Yet her father also declared that the winds were less favorable by the hour, and that they would be lucky to reach the city by tomorrow sunrise. Would Hercуl live that long? Thasha couldn't bear to consider the question. Instead, she turned her mind to revenge.
Taking her diary and fountain pen from her room, she dropped into a grand leather chair by the fengas lamp, crossed her legs and wrote:
What I Know:
1. Someone tried to kill my best friend in the world.
2. A soap merchant named Ket prevented it.
3. The enemy is still on this ship-at least, until we land.
She paused, chewing the end of her fountain pen. Then she scribbled quickly:
1. Hercуl knew there were enemies around us.
2. Hercуl was afraid when Pazel Pathkendle mentioned a language-Nileskchet.
3. Everyone is talking about peace, but Prahba is afraid of war.
That meant he and Hercуl were on the same side-for even though Hercуl was a great warrior and served in an admiral's home, he loathed wars. So did Ramachni, of course. Once, when certain her father was not in earshot, the old mage had said: As sure as disease grows where filth lies unburied, so every war in history sprang from someone's carelessness or neglect."
Ramachni would know what to do. But there was no chance of speaking to him with that dolt doctor running in and out of her cabin. She was on her own.
She slid down in her chair.
What I Want to Know: