The Rats and the Ruling sea

2

7 Teala 941

In his twenty-one minutes of unbroken song the Father woke tens of thousands, and sang the holy word karishin ('purest good') exactly forty-nine times. But his first utterance of the word — the most auspicious, though few Simjans knew or cared — reached the ears of fewer than one hundred: sixty lobstermen wrestling traps from the seabed; eighteen Templar monks, already rowing for the Great Ship and their rendezvous with Thasha Isiq; five deathsmoke addicts; two lovers outside the West Gate and the callous guard who refused to let them steal back to their marriage beds; the warrior Hercol Stanapeth, who had not slept at all; a murderer hiding in the mouth of a silver mine; Lady Oggosk, plugging her ears with greasy thumbs as she sang an enchantment-song of her own; a moon falcon standing restless on a windowsill; a poet whose twelve years without a poem had led him to a clifftop but who was now, as he listened, considering conversion; a child locked in an attic — and three men on the Chathrand 's quarterdeck.

One of these was Old Gangrune, the purser, who had the dawn watch. He slouched across the lightless deck, in a temper even before he was fully awake.

'That'll be your Black Rags now,' he said aloud. 'Call that a prayer, d'ye, Sizzy? You're just howlin' like an animal, and some of us ain't surprised. Oh, yes, yes, there's no need to tell me. You're decent folk now, ain't ye? Gentlemen, honest coves. Until you whip out the knife when our back's turned and errrrgh!'

He mimed a murder, perhaps his own, then shuffled off towards the jiggermast, oaths still leaking from his lips.

He did not see the man in the shadow of the wheelhouse, on hands and knees, shuddering, naked but for a pair of ornate gold spectacles in danger of slipping from his nose. This man's eyes were pinched shut, and a cascade of expressions played over his mouth — now a smile, now a grimace of fear, now a thought so striking that the mouth froze altogether. A pale man in the prime of life, though perhaps a little thin and austere.

'Dawn is come,' said a voice beside him. 'Stand up before it's too late.'

A hand appeared at his shoulder, offering help. The naked man seemed to battle with himself harder than ever. He took a deep breath and opened his eyes.

For a heartbeat he stayed perfectly still. Then in one motion he rose, astonished, his back straightening was like rebirth after illness, his gaze above the rail like the view from a watchtower.

Beside him stood a man in a black seafarer's jacket, black leggings and a white scarf that might have stood out distinctly in a stronger light. He was tall and thickset, and his eyes had the sharp ravenous look of a spider's. He gestured at a pair of trousers and a shirt folded over the rail.

The shirt was a lustrous green. The thin man reached out and stroked it.

'That is silk,' said the other. 'And there are calfskin shoes at your feet.'

Fumbling, the man in spectacles put on the clothes. He touched them reverently. 'They warm you,' he said.

'Of course.' The man in black knelt and tied the other's shoes. 'And what is more, they distinguish you. Green is the colour of the learned, the natural leaders of men. You may walk about, now — walk, and look, and be free.'

Slow and astonished, the thin man circled the quarterdeck. Old Gangrune stood blinking by the mast, one finger digging half-heartedly in his ear. The bespectacled man stared at him, open-mouthed, three inches from his face. Gangrune neither saw nor heard him.

'Eye to eye, we call that,' said the man in black. 'It is how you will look at all men. Did I not say you would like it?'

'Like it!' The man in spectacles seemed overcome with joy. But all at once his smile disappeared. He glanced darkly at his companion and scuttled away, as if he preferred a little distance between them.

On the ladder his shoes gave him trouble and he almost fell. The man in black chuckled and followed him down to the deck. They glided forwards along the starboard rail, past the captain's skylight through which a lamp shone already, the mizzen shrouds, the stone-faced Turach soldiers with their heavy crossbows and their scars.

Then the thin man gave a squeal of terror, recoiling. A red cat had climbed from the No. 4 hatch and stood stretching its hindquarters. While the animal was undeniably huge for a housecat, the man's reaction more befitted one facing a tiger with gore-stained jaws. Before he could run the man in black seized his arm.

'She cannot touch you. Have you forgotten yourself already?'

The cat walked primly towards them. The thin man positively writhed with fear. When the animal passed them, it paused and crouched, and the fur rose along its back. The thin man squealed again. But the cat heard nothing, and though it looked about suspiciously, its eyes passed over them unseeing.

'One kick,' said the man in black. 'Your left foot, or your right.'

'I won't do it!'

The man in black took a step forward and seized the cat by the scruff of the neck. It yowled and twisted, but before it could scratch him the man flung it with all his strength over the rail. Two seconds sprawled, noiseless; then came a faint splash.

He turned on the man in glasses.

'Imbecile. Where is the intelligence you're so proud of? Any such creature you may now drive off, or kill, or punish as it deserves. Savour the fact. Taste that new joy. We have a word for it, incidentally.'

'Wh-what word is that?'

'Safety.'

They went below. Even one deck down it was still very dark. Soldiers groped for boots and helmets. A pair of tarboys brought their ration of water; they gargled and spat. The man in spectacles knew they could not see him, and in truth felt his fear of the soldiers melting away. But one of the boys, tall for his age with a finger-sized hole in one ear, gave him such a fright that he ducked behind the shot garlands. His bright eyes peeped timidly between the rows of cannonballs. The man in black shook his head.

'Why can't you act like a man?'

'That boy tried to kill me!' squeaked the other.

'If he touched you now he'd get a dozen lashes.'

The thin man raised his head and gave a tentative smile. 'Oh yes, lashes. He deserves lashes. A dozen lashes, boy!'

'That's better,' said the man in black.

He took the thin man's arm. 'Notice, my friend, how great ships resemble great houses: each deck with its open central compartment, its courtyard. Each with its brighter rooms and its darker. Grand airy spaces for the masters, cupboards for those who serve. Most beings in this world cling to the place where fate has dropped them, even if that place is a stinking hold, where they scrabble about on hairy bellies, cursing and cursed. You must be strong indeed to change your fate.'

The thin man looked to his right. Beside the shot garlands lay a row of corpses, wrapped in shreds of canvas and tied up with twine. Another row lay between the cannon on the starboard quarter.

'Killed yesterday,' said the thin man. 'Killed by your fleshanc ghouls. I didn't realise there were so many.'

The man in black turned him away. 'The dead are none of your concern. Look here! A man after your own heart.'

A sailor had found a patch of light beside an open gunport. He had a sheet of tattered paper and a pencil stub. With the sheet spread flat on a 24-pounder, he was writing in a quick, clumsy hand. Now and then he glanced up at his shipmates, but few of them met his eye.

'He's writing a letter, you see? Touch it, take it from him!'

'Is it a love letter?' asked the man in spectacles, drawing near despite himself.

The man in black laughed aloud. 'What else? Go on, read it to me. I know full well you can read.'

He snatched the page from the sailor's hand, and gave it to the thin man. The sailor appeared to forget the letter the moment it was taken from him: he merely crossed his arms and looked out of the gunport. On the back of his hand was a tattooed K.

'It may make you blush,' said the man in black.

The other adjusted his spectacles. Dear Kalli, the letter began. He could not make himself read it aloud. There was something wrong about the letter, anyway, for although it began as one thing it soon became something else.

Dear Kalli how are you how's my one true love? Are there peaches in Etherhorde are you canning some for me? Have you fattened up a bit Kalli sure enough the men are courtin' you now I'm away. Kalli you had best choose one and marry. Write me off won't you sweetheart as I can't see surviving, tell your dad tell your uncles tell the whole blary world what a great crew of monsters is Chathrand 's they seem like men but they'll kill us like insects the Swarm's to be set free Rin help us the SWARMThe man in black grabbed the page and crushed it, then tossed it with a snarl through the open gunport. He looked accusingly at the thin man.

'Satisfied?' he said.

In the galley, the morning chill was replaced by smoky warmth. The smells were intoxicating. All sailors dined like kings — the thin man had known that for years. The man in black made him lift the ladle and taste the breakfast gruel. It was glutinous and barely salted. It was manna from the gods.

'And this,' said the man in black, 'is the worst you shall ever taste again.'

The thin man emptied the ladle with a slurp. Gruel on his lips, tears in his eyes.

'It's not fair,' he said.

'But it is,' said his guide. 'You help me, I help you.'

They did not knock at the captain's door: they pushed it open and stepped right in. Captain Rose stood before a dressing mirror, fastening his cufflinks. He had combed out his great red beard, and a new dress coat hung on a stand beside him. His steward was in the after-cabin, polishing his shoes by the window.

'So much room!' cried the thin man, spreading his arms and turning in a circle.

The man in black looked contemptuously at Rose. 'The fool. He's loathed in these islands. He won't be allowed anywhere near the wedding ceremony.'

They looked on as Rose took something from his watch pocket. It was not a watch but the head of a woman, carved from a pale white stone. The captain put the head in his mouth, where it bulged between his cheek and gum.

'A twisted man,' said the visitor in black.

The thin man suddenly found his courage. He bolted across the cabin to the dining table and snatched at Rose's breakfast with both hands. Orange slices. Kidney pie. Three round raw eggs the size of cherries. A boiled radish. A wedge of soda bread with butter, still warm from the stove.

He ate everything before him, then sucked his fingers, and finally lifted the platter and swabbed it spotless with his tongue. Neither the captain nor the steward turned him a glance. He looked at the man in black with amazement.

'I have just eaten Rose's breakfast!'

'Next time leave the eggshells. Go on — see what a captain's bed feels like, while you're at it.'

The sheets were newly laundered; the pillow beneath his head brought back dim memories of fluff and mother's warmth. There were books in a shelf built into the headboard. The man in spectacles reached behind his head and took one. He caressed the leather, then drew the volume reverently to his chest.

I cannot give this up, he thought.

'Nor need you,' said the other, as if he had spoken aloud. 'Well, then, do we have an agreement?'

'I — You see, sir, there are obligations-'

The man in black crossed the room in four strides.

'Obligations?' he said venomously. 'Only to me, henceforth. What obligations can your kind feel, save bestial urges?'

'Please,' rasped the thin man, clutching the book even tighter. 'Don't misunderstand me. That is the horror of my life, being misunderstood.'

'The horror of your life is what you are,' said the other. 'You're a freak, an abomination. I alone can change that. And all I ask in return is that you tell me what goes on in that stateroom. Thasha Isiq's stateroom, the place I cannot see.'

The thin man pinched his eyes shut and rubbed his hands quickly together, a spastic gesture of nerves. 'But I am only dreaming this, dreaming you and these people and that lovely food. None of it is real.'

'You talk like a simpleton,' said the other, 'but that is not your fault. Most beings see consciousness as no more than a coin: heads you're awake and busy, tails you sleep and dream. But reality is not so flat. It is more like a die of many sides. You toss it, and live with whatever it reveals. A mage, however, can read all sides of the die at once. I have shown you this day's beginning as the men of Chathrand are living it. As you will live it, when you become a man.'

'But in plain fact? Am I not there in Thasha's chambers, safely asleep?'

The other's patience was fraying again. 'A body lies there. A maimed and vile organism. Your mind is with me — and what is a body without a mind? Which part is really you? And if your very soul longs for a human life, and I offer it to you forever — have I not understood you, Felthrup? Have I not grasped the very dream you live for?'

'Yes, you have,' said the thin man, avoiding his eye.

'Good!' said the man in black. 'Then let us shake on it, like men. I will give you this body forever. And you will be my eyes and ears.'

The thin man felt his sweat on Rose's pillow. Slowly, fearfully, he shook his head. 'They are my friends,' he said.

'They are nothing of the sort. They have toyed with you from curiosity, and for their own gain. Men befriend other men, not craven things like you.'

'They have been so kind.'

'What of it? What are their little kindnesses, beside the world I have opened to you?'

'Not opened, sir.' The thin man's voice shook. 'Expanded is perhaps the better word. The world opened to me just once, in a house in Noonfirth, when the dumb brute in me died and I became a woken being, reasoning and aware.'

The man in black stared at him a moment. Then his face contorted with such pure hatred that the other scrambled away from him across the bed.

'Reasoning and aware!' he shouted. 'You cesspool filth. Go, then, return to what you were. Run and hide and eat dead things, and be hunted by all creatures. Oh, see!'

He pointed, feigning shock. The thin man looked at his own left arm and gave a wail. From the elbow down it was lifeless, withered, crushed. The man in black reached forward and tore the glasses from the other's head.

'Gold spectacles,' he hissed derisively. 'A scholar, Felthrup, is that how you picture yourself? How fine, how truly noble — but what is this?'

A tail! The thin man had grown a tail, leathery and short and ending in a stump, as if long ago bitten in two.

'Arunis,' he said, 'please, I beg-'

The sorcerer struck him across the face, and when the thin man raised his right hand to his aching cheekbone, the hand was a long pink paw.

'Down, vermin!' bellowed the sorcerer. 'Crawl and whimper and weep! And pray that Arunis is merciful when he comes again — for I will come, and you will do my bidding, or by the Beast in the Pit I'll see you broken and mad.'

He was gone. Rose's cabin was gone. The thin man lay on gritty planks in the bowels of the ship. And when he tried to stand he toppled over onto his three good feet, and was himself again, the black rat with the soul of a scholar, caged in the nightmare that was his body. There were eyes in the darkness — his rat-brethren come to kill him, under orders from their lunatic chief — and he leaped up and ran.

'Wicked Felthrup!' they hissed, giving chase. 'Unnatural rat! Friend to men and crawlies, slave to thought! Let us eat you and end it!'

Such temptation. The deck was endless and foul. Ixchel voices laughed on his right, He only thinks he thinks, and he turned and barely saw the little figures in the shadows before their arrows began to pierce him like needles of glass. He ran on, bleeding. Walls and stores and stanchions flashed by, and there was nowhere safe from his persecutors, and from the crates above him the red cat (deathless like all his demons) purred for his blood, and ahead loomed the shapes of men deadliest of all, and he ran and dodged and prayed but there was no salvation for those cursed by the gods.