We all froze. All except Pazel Pathkendle, who ran up to Chadfallow amp; caught his sleeve. "You can hear him! I know you can! Please, Ignus-"
The doctor turned amp; shoved him so hard the boy fell to the deck. Pathkendle jumped up amp; turned to us, pointing.
"You heard him! All of you heard him!"
But had we? The voice was silent now, amp; the sailors made the sign of the Tree amp; ran about their business. And Rin forgive me, so did I. Was ever a man given a plainer choice of bravery or skunkish fear? I chose fear, amp; whatever follows now I shall blame myself.
Later in the morning I crossed paths with the boys again. Pazel Pathkendle had a fresh black eye. "What leprous dog gave you that?" I demanded. "Who's next off this ship?"
They hung their heads. "Rose," whispered Pathkendle at last. "He said it was my last warning."
Then my shame grew stronger. I took a deep breath amp; marched to the captain's door. I knocked. In a heartbeat Rose threw the door open.
"What is it?" cried he. "Danger, Fiffengurt? I heard no cry. Are we beset? Tell me, tell me, blast you!"
When I stammered out that I had come to learn the reason for the beating of one of my tarboys (for the Code bars even a captain from striking a boy in the absence of witnesses), he looked at me as if I were mad.
"Pazel Pathkendle," he said, "is the most dangerous person on this ship. I shouldn't have smacked him-I should have put a knife in his gut. Look out!"
He flinched, staring wildly past my shoulder. I jumped half out of my skin amp; turned about: nothing. Rose slammed the door behind me.
I cleared my throat. "I won't stand for this, Captain," I shouted, not very boldly, though. He made no answer, amp; I turned amp; descended the ladderway, down amp; down, to the afterhold, seeking that mysterious voice. The augrongs were there, half dozing as always, amp; a fair number of enormous rats. But no strange men. I worked my way forward, searching for anything unusual. I was startled by how well stocked we were-enough grain amp; hardtack amp; beef chips to see us home to Etherhorde, with food to spare. Had it all been laid away in Ormael, while I was out looking for the Lady Thasha? I made a point to question Swellows.
So there I was, moving aft, when who should appear before me but that cripple-footed rat! He sat there on his haunches, waiting for me.
"Git, you!" I shouted, looking for something to throw.
And save me, Rin, the beggar answered, "No, Mr. Fiffengurt."
I nearly dropped the lamp. "You can talk!" I whispered.
Ratty just nodded, like I needn't state the obvious. Which I promptly did again.
"My name is Felthrup Stargraven," said Ratty. "You rescued me from the bilge-pipe. I am in your debt forever."
"By the buddin' branch of the blary beautiful Tree!"
"I should love to make conversation," Ratty tells me. "Nothing more so! But I am fleeing a monster. Will you kindly examine the goods stowed by the mizzenmast step?"
"You can talk!"
"Goodbye, Mr. Fiffengurt. I thank you for your idrolos, and for my life."
He turned amp; limped off into the darkness. At the edge of my lamplight, he pulled up short amp; looked back at me. "By the way," he squeaks, "everything they told you is true."
Then he was gone. And a second later Sniraga rushed past my legs. I chased after her-what if I heard 'im plead for mercy in her mouth? But she was gone in the darkness, same as Ratty.
My Annabel likes that word, idrolos. The courage to see. I stood there, worried my brain had sprung a leak. Then I made my way to the mizzenmast step.
The hold of Chathrand is like the basement of a castle. It has rooms amp; shafts, catwalks amp; tunnels. It takes a solid week just to count what's stored down there. Naturally we carry enough wood for any repairs the Great Ship might require. There's spare mastwood, wales, planking, transom knees. A spare bowsprit. Even a lump of oak for carving a new Goose-Girl, should we lose Her Ladyship. But when I crept down to the foot of the mizzenmast I found timbers that had nothing to do with repairs. They were broken, smashed amp; filthy Twisted bolts amp; snapped cleats amp; bits of rigging trailed from 'em. Some of the wood was even burned.
"Gods of fire!" I said. "It's parts of a wreck!"
But what wreck? It hadn't come from the Haunted Coast-these pieces were stowed under goods we'd taken on in Ether-horde. We'd carried this trash for months! Huge timbers, too: some of the largest I'd ever seen-except for what the Chathrand herself is made of. And what for pity's sake was it good for? Nothing at all, so far as I could see, except tossing over the side…
'Twas then I heard a rustling behind me. "Come out, whoever the blary hell you are!" I growled, spinning round. "Fiffengurt's not afraid of you!"
No one came. But now I was facing a broken beam with a copper faceplate. IMS CHATHRAND, it read. CAPTAIN'S DAY-CABIN. STRICTLY PRIVATE.
I felt a cold, murthy hand on my heart. I looked further: there was a cabin door with the Chathrand Family coat of arms. Tattered sailcloth with CHATHRAND sewn into the hem. A Chathrand life preserver, snapped in two.
This is wickedness, I thought. This is evil from the Pits.
It was our own wreck I was looking at. A simulation of it, I mean: about as much as would wash up ashore, if we wrecked nearby. Tossing over the side was exactly what this junk would be good for.
I had to sit down. Someone needed the world to think us wrecked. Someone meant Chathrand to disappear.
Ratty's voice echoed in my brain: Everything they told you is true. And the lad amp; Mistress Thasha had said we would be crossing the Nelluroq with (Rin help us) the Shaggat Ness aboard. And that his mage was alive amp; behind it all. And that the Emperor wanted war.
My knees were shaking. Who could I tell? Who could I trust, out of eight hundred souls? Only two tarboys, a rich girl amp; a rat.
Do something, Fiffengurt, I told myself. Trust someone. Form a gang. Take the ship away from Rose.
I sat down with the lamp between my feet. I let five minutes pass, then five more. And then it was too late.