The Red wolf conspiracy

Running Before the Storm

2 Teala 941

80th day from Etherhorde

Druffle's ship was the Prince Rupin, but the only thing princely about her was her name. Pazel gasped at the sight. The vessel sagged at the waist like an old mule, her paint little more than a memory. Torn rigging dangled from her spars, and sailors aloft moved gingerly, as if expecting the footropes to snap. She had no gunports, but three rusty cannon pointed backward from the quarterdeck. Apparently she was used to being chased.

Her captain was a frowning, bushy-haired man with no love for Mr. Druffle, and, "Right hazardous, and a fool's waste of time!" was his greeting as the skiff drew up to Prince Rupin's side. Druffle answered with a rude gesture involving the eel.

One by one the purchased boys climbed her ladder, followed by Druffle and his Volpek thugs. The boys huddled near the bow, ignored by the surly crew. Already men were straining at the capstan, weighing anchor. Bakru, Wind-Sire, they chanted, half asleep. Do not let your lions devour us. Soon they were drifting with the river's flow, leaving the islets behind, sliding into the sea.

Dawn was breaking, and Pazel knew from one glance at the water that it would be rough sailing. A fierce south wind battered them from portside, and yellow-black clouds like bad bruises were gathering ahead.

He wrapped the old coat about himself more tightly. The waves were ragged and confused. And yet (with Druffle at his elbow, urging him on) the captain ordered the mainsails set.

"The mains?" said Neeps, as if he couldn't believe his own ears.

Pazel looked at the wind-torn sea. "Impossible," he said.

The other boys looked at them anxiously. "What's wrong? Are you tarboys? What's impossible?"

But it was happening. Sailors aloft-leechlines freed-the big square sails flashing open-

"Hold on!" Pazel shouted.

The ship leaped forward. Timbers groaned, old sheets struggled to rip bolt from frame; on the spars above men clung to anything that seemed likely to be there a moment later. The wind was soon moaning through the stays, and the waves on the bow were like men trying to kick in a door.

Pazel and Neeps had heard all these sounds before-but never all at once, and never on such an obviously ghastly ship. But if they were frightened, the other boys were terrified. One fell seasick in the first few minutes and had to lean over the rail in the lashing spray.

Druffle, however, looked almost merry. He staggered about the deck, black coat flapping scarecrow-like, gazing up with approval at the great spread of canvas.

"He's a loon!" said Pazel. "This old hulk won't take such speed!"

Neeps shook his head. "This is bad business, mate-I can smell it. But what are we to do? It's plain they don't want our opinion."

"They don't," Pazel agreed. But he couldn't take his eyes from the sails.

"Come on," said Neeps. "Let's get out of this wind. And talk, if we can."

They took shelter behind one of the Rupin's sorry-looking lifeboats. At first they could still barely hear each other. But by lying on their stomachs with their heads close together, they managed to talk almost normally. And Neeps had much to tell about the Chathrand. The mystery of the slaughtered rats was just the beginning. A rumor had also spread among the tarboys that the ship's carpenters and blacksmiths were at work on a secret project, deep in the ship. Whole decks were off-limits, night and day, except to sailors cleared by Rose himself.

"Reyast heard talk of an iron door and a padlock," said Neeps. "He thinks they're building an extra brig."

"But there's nobody locked up in the regular brig. What do they need two for?"

"Your guess is as good as mine," said Neeps.

"I can't guess at all," said Pazel. "But you haven't told me what happened to you."

"I'm coming to that. I told you it was Jervik's doing-blast him! — but it was also Thasha's. Honest to salt, that girl is a menace!"

It seemed Thasha and Syrarys had had a ripping fight. Thasha had caught the consort opening vials of Ambassador Isiq's headache medicine: vials sealed by Dr. Chadfallow back in Etherhorde. Syrarys claimed she was merely adding an herbal tonic to calm Isiq's nerves. "Tasteless and harmless," she told Thasha. "You could drink it by the glass." But Thasha didn't believe a word of it. She accused Syrarys of poisoning her father.

"But they're married-or close enough!" said Pazel.

"Well, mate, ain't that the question?" Neeps gave him a hard look. "Is it close enough for her to inherit his gold, if Isiq knocks off?"

"Are you saying she wants him dead?"

"Who knows? Thasha might be cracked. She thinks that old crone Oggosk is spying on her-ever since the woman's cat got hold of her necklace. And she also suspects Jervik."

"Jervik, a spy? Who would be fool enough to use him?"

"Nobody, but Thasha's convinced of it. We met an hour after they took you ashore. You might as well know she was crying her eyes out."

"For her father?"

"For you, you thick stump. Days running."

Pazel thought the wind had played a trick on his ears. Neeps couldn't suppress a laugh.

"Aye, Pazel, she's a wee bit fond of you! 'Money, why didn't I give him some money?' she kept wailing-not a bad question, either. But she's in trouble herself now. Her father took Syrarys' side in that fight. 'You may want what's best for me, girl,' he told her, 'but Syrarys knows what is.' That just about broke Thasha's heart. And it was while she was telling me all this-we were down on the mercy deck-that we heard a thump a few yards away. It was Jervik, and two other tarboys what've become his bootlicks. They were crouched behind a bulkhead, listening.

"They claimed Uskins had sent them to check on a noise in the rudder-chains. But Thasha went wild on 'em. 'Do I sound like a rudder-chain? Is that why you follow me around? Is that why you pressed that ugly ear to my door last night?' Jervik said he never did. But he said it with a wink at his mates. Oh, Pazel"-Neeps grinned from ear to ear-"he should have skipped that wink."

"What happened?"

"She whacked him silly, mate. I've never seen the like. Jervik was pinned up against the wall before he knew what hit him, protecting his tender parts. One of his mates took off running. The other one grabbed Thasha's arms from behind. I got him off-clipped him two good ones in the stomach-but he, well-"

"He beat you," said Pazel.

"Only because of his rings," said Neeps, turning scarlet. "Otherwise I'd have had him. Tubsung, that smelly hulk. Anyway, I blacked out for a moment. When my head cleared Tubsung was on the deck. So was Jervik, curled up in a ball. Thasha was standing over them, shouting, calling them worms. I mean loud, mate. Like screaming. WOOOORMS!"

"Oh," said Pazel. He could guess what happened next.

"A crowd came-sailors, steerage passengers, marines. Uskins was the first officer to arrive, and he had the marines whisk Thasha off to her cabin in a flash. She shouted: 'I started it! Don't blame him!' But Uskins never believed she'd done any fighting. Jervik, that filth-tongue, said I was the one pestering the Young Mistress. And what could I say? How could I tell 'im what we were doing on the mercy deck, when it's off-limits now? Then Jervik showed off his bruises. Said I attacked him after he caught me asking Thasha for unseemly favors. What do you suppose that means? First-class food?"

"It means kisses and the like, Neeps," said Pazel, smiling in his turn.

Neeps blushed brighter than before. "That scum," he said. "I'll kill him!"

"Don't even joke about that!" said Pazel, surprising himself with his own sharpness. "Besides, you can't kill all the Jerviks and Uskinses in the world."

"I'll settle for one or two."

Pazel sighed. "You still haven't explained how you ended up here."

"Simple enough," said Neeps. "They would have chucked me ashore at the next port of call. But about the time Uskins separated us the lookout spotted the Lady Apsal-the grain-carrier, you know her, don't you?"

"Of course." said Pazel. "She's an Etherhorde ship."

"She was bound back to Etherhorde, actually. We tied up to exchange mailbags. And seeing as her next stop was Uturphe, Rose asked their captain to toss us out there 'with the rest of the garbage.' How do you like that?"

"About as much as you do. What happened next?"

Neeps was working himself back into a temper. "The final touch came from Swellows-may his tongue rot out! He told me he'd sent you to an inn on Blackwell Street. Naturally I went looking for you straightaway."

"And found the Flikkermen." Pazel lay down on the deck, a hand over his eyes. "I'm sorry, brother."

"Listen, mate, never call me that."

"What, brother? Why not, Rin's sake? I've never had a better friend than you!"

"So call me friend. Not brother-not on your life."

There it was again: that seething fury in Neeps' eyes. Pazel knew better than to argue the point.

"Friend it is," he said, a bit awkwardly. Then he squinted at Neeps' collar. "Pitfire! That's a right nasty bruise on your shoulder. It's black as ink."

Neeps gaped. "Kick me, mate, I forgot! It is ink! It's a message for you."

"A message?" Pazel raised his head. "From whom?"

Once more Neeps grew angry. "Jervik, if you ask me. I woke up and someone had written it on my skin. Jervik knew I'd go looking for you in Uturphe. Maybe he wanted to gloat one last time. Can you believe the nerve? The oddest thing is that he used some foreign language. None of us tarboys could read it."

"But flaming fish, Neeps, I could have read it! And what if it wasn't Jervik?"

"Who else would do such a nasty thing?"

"The ixchel!"

"Ixchel? Ixchel?" Neeps' eyes went wide. "Are you saying Chathrand's infested with crawlies?"

"Don't call them that."

"You mean you knew-and you let one use me for an ink blotter?"

"They're not as bad as we think."

"Really!" said Neeps. "And why didn't you tell anyone about your little ship-sinking friends?"

"They said they'd kill me."

"How nice. I suppose your Gift let you hear them?"

"That's how it started. But if they want to be heard they just strain a little-bend their voices, they say-and out comes words that anyone can hear."

Pazel tugged Neeps' collar back, revealing more of his shoulder, and gave a cry of dismay. "It's nearly all washed off! I can't read anything but 'Simja' and 'must.' Oh, Neeps, you offal-head! What if it was important?"

Neeps looked at him over his shoulder. Then he closed his eyes. "Relaga Pazel Pathkendle eb Simja glijn. Ilenek ke ostrun hi Bethrin Belg. So there. I memorized it, just in case. Pazel! What's wrong?"

Pazel had begun to shake all over. Still he dropped his eyes. "Find something to do," he whispered. "Don't make Druffle suspicious. We're going to have to escape."

"You know what it means, do you?"

"Oh, yes," said Pazel. "It's in their tongue, the ixchel's. And it's very plain: 'Tell Pazel Pathkendle he must come to Simja. They're going to murder the bridal girl.'"

Toward midday the wind ebbed slightly. Druffle again produced his eel, soot-black after hours of roasting in the galley stove, and sectioned it with an axe on the topdeck. Inside the flesh was tender and pink. Druffle tossed each boy an eel-steak large enough to choke a bear, and with bear-like ferocity they ate where they sat, forgetting their fears. Only the seasick boy lost out.

"Clean them bones!" Druffle laughed. "We need you strong for our little job on the coast!"

"What coast is that, Mr. Druffle, sir?" asked Pazel.

"Wait and see, my Chereste heart! And don't talk with your mouth full."

Pazel and Neeps leaned back against the lifeboat, chewing steadily. Escape felt more possible on a full stomach-but only just. They looked at the raucous Nelu Peren, this Anything-but-Quiet Sea. There was a dark smudge of mountains to starboard. That would be the mainland, just two or three leagues off, but it might as well have been the moon.

"We're not going anywhere while this weather lasts," said Neeps.

Pazel nodded. "And it's going to get bad again, can't you feel it?"

"I can," said Neeps. "Worse than ever, I'd guess. There's a right storm brewing, maybe."

"The other problem," Pazel went on, "is where to escape. All we know for certain is that Chathrand's taking Thasha to Simja."

"We're heading west," said Neeps, "so I suppose those mountains could be part of Ipulia. But I thought Ipulia was a land of lakes-it's called the Blue Kingdom, after all."

"Maybe it has mountains, too," said Pazel. "Or maybe we're west of Ipulia already, and that ridge is part of the Trothe of Chereste. That's Ormael, Neeps. My home-or what's left of it."

"Didn't you say Ormael is just a day's journey from Simja?"

"Less," said Pazel. "But even if we land in Ormael, and somehow get away from these nutters, who's going to take us across the Simja Straits? We're not tarboys anymore. Simja may be outside the Empire, but it still uses the Sailing Code. All the Crownless Lands do."

"They won't know we're not tarboys in Ormael."

"Won't they? If I know Uskins, the first place he'll go is the Boys' Registry. We're probably already on the blacklist."

"That skunk!" said Neeps. "How I wish the augrong had eaten him."

The wind soon revived. They talked a little more, but the waves too were growing, and their little shelter was regularly doused with spray. The other boys were huddled as far from the sides as possible, looks of shock on their faces.

At nightfall Druffle chained them to the fife-rail. The boys themselves asked for the chain, for the sea was by this time breaking steadily over the bow, and there was a real danger of being washed overboard. Pazel and Neeps refused the chain (it carried risks of another kind), but they locked elbows with the other boys in the lee of the forecastle. Plunging, plowing, the ship kept up her hysterical westward run.

It became impossible to speak. Soaked and freezing, they watched the crew battle the storm. Pazel's teeth chattered and his feet turned a pale blue. Yet somehow he drifted into a miserable kind of sleep. He dreamed he was an eel himself, swimming at great speed around a white tower that rose from the seafloor to pierce the waves, and reached beyond them far into the sky. Around him churned fish with glowing bodies, purple gem-like eyes, dagger teeth. There were submerged windows in the tower, and even a door, still closed tight against the weight of the ocean. Then a banshee wail erupted, and Pazel woke.

The boys were leaping up-only to fall again as the Rupin plunged sickeningly to port.

"The topsail!" someone cried. "The topsail's split in two!"

Pazel groped for a handhold, trying to make sense of the chaos rushing his senses. Hours must have passed. The night was black, the wind furious-and something terrible lay dead ahead.

He didn't know how he knew. Around the ship all was heaving darkness. Torn canvas snapped above their heads with a sound like galloping hooves. Wind and waves and thunder drowned the cries of the men.

Lightning crackled. For an instant the world glowed madly bright and fifty sailors screamed like infants: a cliff towered over them, straight ahead and impossibly close. Dead! was all Pazel had time to think, and then the ship struck.

But it was no cliff: it was rain, a monstrous rain front that shattered on the bowsprit like a great glass wall. Everyone was blinded. The boys hugged the rails, the chain, one another. Somewhere the captain was screaming, "Up the fore! Up! Up!" In the next flash men could be seen already halfway to the topsail yard, axes thrust in their belts to cut away the ruined canvas. It was terrible to see them, barely supported by the rotten ropes, lashed by so much rain they seemed to be trailing icicles.

A forestay snapped like a giant bowstring. The mast tilted, a sailor screamed, and by the next bolt Pazel saw him plummeting seaward, arms flailing. Darkness took him before the sea.

Panic was spreading among the boys. Some were weeping, others screaming for Druffle to unlock them before they drowned. And they would drown, Pazel knew, if the bow dug under-as fast as that fallen man.

But Druffle was beyond earshot, or perhaps beyond caring. In the end Pazel did the job with a sailor's axe. Two boys were left trailing chain, but at least they were free.

"For Rin's sake, stay where you are!" Neeps shouted at them. "The rail won't give unless the ship herself breaks to pieces!"

Pazel could never afterward say how long they rolled and pitched through that storm. But a moment came at last when they swept out of it, quite as suddenly as they had entered. The rain blew past; they heard it hissing away eastward like a swarm of curses. The wind dropped; then it dropped further. Soon the only sounds were the pumps churning belowdecks, water jetting from the scuppers into the sea-and the hoarse oaths of Mr. Druffle.

"A racer, eh? A swift sea horse! That's what you called the Rupin, wasn't it, Captain Snaketongue? Blast you to Bramian! This ship is a disgrace!"

"Only when you drive her like a madman!" shot back the captain, miserable.

"Watch yourself, blubber-guts!"

"I've had enough!" the captain went on. "You Volpeks, there-what good's his money if we're all drowned? And how much have you seen, anyway?"

"Half," grunted one of the Volpeks, eyeing Druffle with some suspicion.

"And the rest on delivery of the goods!" snarled Druffle. "You know the rules."

"Your rules," said another Volpek. "Not ours."

"Eight feet of water in the hold!" The captain stamped his feet. "We're drinking the sea! Join with me, you fighting men! We can save this ship! And after we unload this screaming monkey we've a rendezvous with the Guild! That's right, Gregory's Guild! They'll have work for you-man's work, not sending young boys to their-"

"Silence!" boomed Druffle, raising his hand. The change in his voice was astonishing: it cracked like a whip across the deck. The captain stumbled backward, clutching his jaw as if reeling from a blow.

Druffle cackled. "You should know better, Captain! And you, you warty brutes"-here he turned to the Volpeks-"has Dollywilliams Druffle ever cheated a man? What's his reputation built on, then? Gah, you insult me."

Last of all he faced the boys. "You'll be wondering at my powers, lads. How'd I make this old muskrat behave? Well, the fact is I'm a mage by family inclination. My dad was a great enchanter, what we call a thumbaturg, as he needed just one finger to work his spells. My uncles were sea-sorcerers in the pay of the Becturium Viceroys. And my own mother had some river-weird blood. So you see, it's best not to cross me: I'm liable to blast you to jelly whether I mean to or no."

He looked down at them happily. No one knew what to say.

But Pazel was thinking Gregory's Guild?

Dawn revealed a ship in ruins. From bow to stern lay a tangled mass of rigging and ribboned sails. The foremast sprawled in pieces across the deck. The main topsail yard, a thirty-foot timber, had fallen through the quarterdeck and split the captain's bed neatly in two.

But they were still moving west. A pair of trysails had survived the night, and together they just managed to keep the floating wreck in motion. It was a gentle, sunny morning. Neeps slept like a stone. But Pazel felt an odd excitement in his chest. On skinned knees and rope-burned hands he crawled to the starboard bow. And there he saw an image from his dreams.

Sandstone cliffs. Lush meadows at their heights, bold black rocks in the surf below. A pencil-thin waterfall, dissolved to spray by the wind before it touched the waves.

"Ormael!" He leaped up, forgetting his pain, forgetting everything. "Ormael! Ormael!"

He would have gone on shouting for the next five leagues, but a hand seized his elbow and yanked him down. It was Druffle.

"Get off there, you hullaballoonish clown! You trying to wake the whole shore?"

"But no one lives there, Mr. Druffle!"

"I know that. Ain't good for a thing, Quarrel's Cliff."

"It's good for kite-flying, Mr. Druffle! And my father says it's good for a stealthy approach to the city. Is that why we're sailing so close, Mr. Druffle, sir?"

"He he."

"Mr. Druffle, what is Gregory's Guild?"

"You're an Ormali. You must know about Captain Gregory Pathkendle."

Pazel's heart leaped in his chest. And in almost the same instant it occurred to him that Druffle had never once asked his name.

Before he could find his voice, one of the other boys chimed in: "Pathkendle the Traitor."

Pazel whirled, clenching his fists. Druffle raised an eyebrow.

"Now, now," he said. "That's none of our concern. Why he joined up with the Sizzies no one rightly knows. But he left 'em, see? Found himself better mates among us freebooters, and that was our lucky day. Yes indeed! To us Captain Gregory was a prince. And old Snake-tongue over there is lying. Gregory never dealt with scum like him."

Freebooters meant smugglers, Pazel knew. "Are you part of Gregory's Guild, Mr. Druffle, sir?"

"You ask a right heap of questions."

"Thank you, sir! Is Captain Gregory still alive?"

But Druffle only wagged a finger, none too angrily, and turned away.

They crept nearer to Ormael. Pazel watched Quarrel's Cliff give way to the four named rocks (the Stovepipe, the Old Man, the Monk's Hood, the Hound). He saw goats in a high meadow where he'd picnicked once with his mother and Neda, and green bulges that he knew must be the crowns of the tallest plum trees. My father isn't with the enemy, he thought. He's a smuggler. Is? Was? Then the ship rounded the point, and he saw Ormael.

The city as he knew it was gone. Half the proud wall lay in ruins, and looking up, he could gaze-as no one at sea level should have been able to-right into neighborhoods where he had run carefree and thoughtless, five years before. They were like ash dumps. Ormael Palace itself was crumbled along one side, poorly patched with new stones and surmounted by the Arquali fish-and-dagger flag in place of the Ormali sun. Everywhere rose the black sooty skeletons of old towers, temples, shops.

Without a word, Neeps stepped up beside him.

"My house is still standing," said Pazel numbly. "See there on the ridge? It's the one with the vine-covered wall. The Orch'dury. I wonder who lives there now."

"Quite a job they did on the city," said Neeps. "On Sollochstal they just burned our shipyard. And drafted the men, of course. And fed our Queen to the crocodiles."

"I didn't know that."

"How could you? Not as if it was printed in the Mariner."

"Thasha's father did this," said Pazel. "He commanded the fleet."

"And do you know what I think?" said Neeps. "It's going to happen to them. To Arqual. To Etherhorde itself, one day. Things will get out of control, and somebody, somewhere, is going to take revenge."

Pazel looked at him. For once Neeps' voice was not fierce: he took no joy in his prediction. Then Pazel's gaze slid past his shoulder. And he froze.

The Chathrand was anchored in the Bay of Ormael.

"Neeps-"

"I see her!"

For a moment every eye on the Rupin seemed to be locked on the Great Ship. As always she looked too big for her surroundings: the Ormali cargo boats streaming back and forth from shore were like ants beside a watermelon. They would need a week to unload her, Pazel thought. But he doubted she would linger so long.

"Our luck's turned at last," said Neeps. "We'll have to sail right past her to dock in Ormaelport. Close enough to shout, anyway."

"Hush a moment!" said Pazel. Neeps obeyed, mystified. For nearly five minutes they stood in silence. Then Pazel caught his eye and led him a few paces aft.

"Those two sailors at the rail," he whispered, glancing in their direction. "They speak Kepperish to each other, and they don't think anyone else understands. I've been listening all morning with half an ear, and they finally said something useful."

"Something about us?" said Neeps softly.

Pazel nodded. "'A lovely ship, by damn,' said the tall one, and the short one answered him: 'Chathrand? Aye, and rich men aboard her, brother. Oh, what rich and powerful men! One gentleman's paying for this whole excursion.' 'You mean he's Mr. Druffle's boss?' said the other. The short man said: 'Druffle calls him the Customer. He's the one who sent us after these little divers, too.' That was all."

Neeps stared at him. "Someone on the Chathrand… bought us?"

"It sounds that way," Pazel agreed. "But who can it be? Not Rose-he had us, and didn't give a pig's whiskers. No, I'd bet my left hand it's that sorcerer Ramachni warned us about."

"And Druffle's working for him," Neeps said. "I'll bet that's why he's got a magic charm or two up his sleeve-something on loan from the mage. But why did they ever let us get picked up by the Flikkermen, if we're so blary important?"

"Because we're not," said Pazel. "The Flikkers didn't say a word about us coming from the Chathrand, and Druffle didn't ask. And he almost didn't buy me at all, remember? It's divers this sorcerer wants-any divers, not us in particular."

Neeps looked again at the Chathrand. "You must be right. But there's something else, mate. We're not landing at Ormael."

Pazel jumped. It was true. In the last few minutes they had passed the near approach to Ormaelport and were already drawing away. The Rupin was limping on.

"We should have known," said Neeps. "They can't sail into port with Volpeks aboard. I'm surprised we're passing this close."

"Neeps," Pazel whispered urgently, "could you swim as far as Chathrand?"

Now it was Neeps' turn to be startled. "I think so," he said. "But it's broad daylight! And the wind's so low they'd hear us jump. And besides, Druffle's got his eye on you. Don't look! Maybe he's been nice to you, since you're both Ormali, but he's not taking any chances."

"We'll have to risk it!" Pazel started unbuttoning his coat.

Neeps gripped his arm. "It's not a risk, it's a Volpek arrow through the shoulder blades. Slow down, mate. I know you want to go home."

"That's not why! It's for Thasha!"

"You can't help her from the bottom of the sea."

Furious, Pazel shook off his hand. But Neeps was right. Helpless, raging soundlessly, he watched his ship and city fall away.

By noon Ormael was out of sight, and the spruce-covered hills of Cape Cуristel were all they could see of land. The day was bright and calm. The boys were put to work mending ropes while the sailors braced the surviving mast and spread a patchwork mainsail on its listing spars. They gained a little speed. But the captain ran frequently to the lower decks, returning each time with much anxious shaking of his head. He cast hateful glances at Druffle, and more than once was heard to mutter the word emergency. Pazel wondered what new disaster awaited them.

Cape Cуristel was famously easy to round from east to west, and today (fortunately) proved no exception. The great surprise was what happened next. As soon as the cape's wave-battered point fell behind them, the captain shouted orders for a starboard tack. Men hauled at the makeshift sail and the Rupin heeled painfully around. They were going to follow the north shore. And that was simply not done.

Pazel's father had told him many stories about the Nelu Peren. One thing Pazel recalled perfectly was that no one, from the ancient Cherestцn sailors onward, turned north from Cуristel. There were many perils: a maze of rocks, riptides, a pestilential swamp called the Crab Fens that choked the mainland. But one threat overshadowed them all: the Haunted Coast. Pazel wasn't sure what it was: his father would not speak of it, and the schoolyard rumors were so many and mixed he could never make sense of them. But they all agreed on one point: any ship unlucky enough to enter those waters would never escape.

Even Neeps, who had never been anywhere near Ormael, had heard of the Haunted Coast. "That's where we're going?" he cried, when Pazel told him. "And do you suppose that's where Druffle wants us to dive?"

"Not Druffle," said Pazel. "His 'Customer.'"

Neeps just looked at him.

Pazel raised his hands to his forehead. "I can almost see it," he said. "The whole game, the lie. Chadfallow was trying to tell me, back in Sorrophran. And now… now-"

"Give me a crack at it," said Neeps. "What did your blary doctor say?"

Pazel closed his eyes. "He hinted that Chathrand was heading into Mzithrini territory, even though Simja's as close as she's ever supposed to get-officially. And then he started talking about the last war, and the Five Mzithrin Kings."

"Is that all?"

"He said… that four of the Five Kings condemned Arqual as a land of evil. But one didn't: he was the Shaggat Ness, whose ship-"

The boys looked at each other.

"Was sunk by Arqualis," said Neeps. "I know that much."

"Somewhere north of Ormael," hissed Pazel. "Rin's teeth, mate, that's where we're going! To the wreck of the Lythra! Someone must have found it at last!"

"But what does this have to do with Thasha?"

"I don't know-yet. But the last war ended there, don't you see? With the killing of this Shaggat."

Neeps' face looked a little paler. "And something that went down with that ship-"

"Could get the next war started," said Pazel. "Stay close, mate. If the chance comes we have to be ready."

The chance did come-within the hour, in fact. The Rupin was but half a league from shore: a lonely shore of high dunes and small, dense oaks. The sun was hot. In the bright light the crew looked sickly and afraid.

There was food of a kind: somewhere in the depths of the Rupin a cook had boiled broth. The captain, his dignity quite gone, carried his portion about the deck; between orders he slurped from the bowl, filled his cheeks like twin balloons, considered the matter, and swallowed. Pazel watched him with pity. He was as much a ruin as his ship.

Those cheeks had just been filled once more when a deep, soft sound, like the contented grunt of a bathing elephant, rose through the planks. Every sailor froze. The sound repeated. Then the captain spat his soup all over Druffle, dropped the bowl and hurled himself down the nearest hatch.

The rest of the crew began to shout. "Pumps! Pumps!" screamed the first mate.

"What is it? What's happening?" screamed the boys.

"Not to worry, lads!" said Druffle, wiping soup from his eyes. "A leak, maybe-some little leak, he he."

But his laugh was forced. The boys let out a howl and started racing about the deck, wailing in half a dozen languages. "Mamete! Rin-laj! Save me, sweet Angel!"

Pazel looked at Neeps. Neeps shrugged. They walked quietly to the gunwale.

"We've struck! It's the keel!"

"It's the rudder!"

"Drop sail! Drop sail!"

Druffle was wrestling with the sickness-prone boy, who looked ready to hurl himself over the bow. Pazel and Neeps were the only calm figures on the ship. As such no one paid them the least attention.

They moved aft. Pazel dropped the old coat upon the deck. "Remember what the Flikkers said," Neeps whispered, grinning. "'Don't breathe! Don't breathe!'"

They dived from the stern rail, wearing just their breeches, and swam as fast and far as they could. The water was cold but not icy, and the current proved gentle. Surfacing forty feet closer to shore, Pazel realized at once how visible they would be if anyone bothered to look. As the first wave lifted him he ducked underwater again. He tried to wait for the next trough, to keep a swell between him and the Rupin. But you couldn't make progress if you were studying the waves. He gave it up and made for shore with all possible speed, rising to breathe whenever he needed to.

No arrows flew from the Rupin, no shout of alarm. Off to his left, Neeps caught his eye and grinned again.

They don't really care, Pazel thought. They still have eight boys.

It was easy. It remained easy. Before they knew it they were halfway to shore.

Pazel risked a backward glance-and was so alarmed he swallowed seawater.

All four lifeboats were in the water, crammed with Volpeks pulling for shore with all their might. Where had so many come from? There must have been dozens hidden on the lower decks! Behind the lifeboats, the Prince Rupin was listing at a most unseaworthy angle. Pazel caught a glimpse of her sailors, leaping and waving, throwing themselves into the sea.

They were abandoning ship.

One lifeboat was ahead of the others, and it was coming right for them. Druffle himself was at its bow. He was pointing. He had seen them.

Where Pazel found the strength to swim faster he couldn't say. Beside him Neeps churned the sea with equal desperation. They could hear the breakers now. But the swimming was growing harder, too: an undertow was trying to snatch them down.

"I'll skewer you alive, my Chereste hearts!"

The voice was a stone's throw behind. Pazel kicked for all he was worth. There was foam on the waves, a land-taste to the water in his mouth. He spat air, breathed bubbles. A big wave lifted him, and through the shallows beneath it he saw the sea's pebbly floor.

"Nab 'em! Nab 'em or shoot 'em dead! No, NO-"

There came a sucking noise from behind, and Pazel whirled just in time to see Druffle's boat swamped by a giant roller. The Volpeks pinwheeled into the surf; Druffle was simply gone. Then the wave caught Pazel in the chest. It raised him, spun him like a cork, scraped him along the bottom, buried him in swirling grit. Then it withdrew with a hiss, leaving him flat on his stomach, ashore.

Sand was in his mouth and nose and eyes. He raised his head. The world was still spinning. He realized he had vomited into the sea.

To his left Neeps lay on his side, retching.

Pazel struggled to his feet, looking down at his friend.

"Broken bones?"

"Fah," said Neeps.

"Then get up, mate."

"I rather like it here."

Fifty yards up the beach, half a dozen Volpeks were dragging a lifeboat from the waves. Pazel yanked Neeps sharply by the arm.

"Now!"

They staggered away from shore, trying to break into a run. The dunes rose before them, and they were much taller and steeper than they had looked from the Rupin. Their seaward slopes, hollowed by wind, leaned over the boys.

"After them! Move, you fat farina-guts!"

The voice was Druffle's. Pazel caught a glimpse of his bony figure rising from the surf like a skinny Old Man of the Sea, but armed with a cutlass.

"Stop where you are, lads!" he shouted. "Don't make us use arrows!"

"Go kiss a squid!" Neeps yelled.

Arrows followed. Their black shafts fell around them, vanishing to their quills in the sand. The boys reached the dunes and began to scrabble up. Neeps climbed like a monkey, but Pazel found himself floundering. The sand gave way wherever he stepped; it was like fighting the waves again. Behind him the Volpeks laughed. Then somehow Pazel's limbs sank deep enough for traction, and he shot up the dune in a matter of seconds.

His one thought was to hurl himself down the far slope, putting a wall between him and the archers. But when he saw what lay ahead he froze.

The Crab Fens.

They sprawled before him, all but licking the feet of the dunes: a gray-green morass of stunted trees and spiky brush, of moss and vine and stagnant water, draped in white fog that oozed about in clots. Endless they seemed, and dark. There was a great stench of rot and brine.

"Don't stand there, you fool!"

Neeps tackled him, and together they slid down the inside of the dune. "We've got to go in," said Neeps. "They'll never find us if we lose 'em now."

Pazel said nothing. The Fens hummed like some vast machine, and he realized with dread that he was hearing insect wings.

But in they plunged. There was no hint of a trail; indeed, there was no solid ground on which a trail could run. Sand turned to clay, and clay to black muck. The low trees closed over them like gnarled hands.

Druffle's voice boomed from the dune-top, urging his men down into the swamp. Why does he care? thought Pazel. Why not let two of us get away?

It was a terrible place to be barefoot. At each step the mud took hold like a sucking creature, and jagged sticks rose spear-like from the depths. They could see no more than ten yards through the brush, and as they left the dunes farther behind, the strange clots of fog settled around them. Here and there the sun broke through, but the bright shafts dazzled more than they illuminated. Sounds were distorted, too. Pazel could hear the Volpeks cursing and splashing, but were they to his left or his right? A hundred paces away or ten? Was it safe even to catch their breath?

"… stinking insubordinate pigfaced louts!" came Druffle's voice, quite near. "You'll disappoint the Customer!"

The horrors mounted. Pazel slid into a slippery hole under the roots of a tree and nearly drowned in the mud that gushed in after him. A fat blue wasp stung Neeps' arm: he howled and smashed it dead-and the Volpeks rallied toward them. They stepped into a swarm of green muketch crabs, the source of Pazel's nickname, and leaped for safety with the fierce little beasts still attached to their ankles. They swam across a lagoon, scattering puffy-jawed snakes.

"Come sundown, I'll bet these 'skeeters will drink our blood dry, Pazel."

"Unless we step on a marsh ray first. They can kill you."

"Look at that blary spider."

"Look how the water boils with worms."

With such talk they managed to lower each other's spirits considerably-so much indeed that they barely noticed good fortune when it came. The Volpek voices were fading. They had shaken the pursuit.

"A leech! A stinking, bloodsucking leech!"

"Hush, Neeps! We've done it! We've lost them!"

Neeps ripped the slimy creature from his leg. "I guess we have," he said. "But all I want now is a modestly dry log, or a tree we can climb."

Pazel rubbed his eyes, turned in a circle. "There's your tree," he said, pointing across the Fens to a solitary oak. "I'll bet we could scramble up her in a pinch."

"Let's try, anyway," said Neeps.

The tree was farther than they thought, and taller than it had looked from afar. But when they reached it they found that its roots formed a kind of raised lattice over the filth and mud. They dropped, exhausted, and found it surprisingly comfortable, like a firm hammock.

For twenty minutes they lay on their backs, staring up into the vines and branches, wordless.

Then Neeps said, "We should have jumped at Ormael."

"No," said Pazel. "You were right. We didn't stand a chance."

"But what'll we do now?"

Pazel leaned his head back. "I'll tell you. We'll climb this tree and figure out where the shore is. We'll make our way back there by nightfall and walk east along the inside of the dunes. We'll be halfway to Ormael by sunrise."

"No ye won't, my Chereste heart."

Druffle leaned around from the far side of the tree, grinning. As the boys leaped to their feet he did the same, cutlass in hand. He had never looked more deranged.

"You're foxy," he said, cornering them against the trunk, "but not foxy enough for Druffle. I picked this tree out an hour ago, and watched you slog up to her. Nice of you to do that-I was wrung out, and that's the truth."

"Mr. Druffle," said Pazel, eyes on the long blade, "you're not really this sort of man, are you?"

Druffle's grin faded. He appeared deeply struck by the question. "No, I'm not," he said.

He looked at the cutlass, and heaved a great sigh. Then he plunged it into the mud and leaned on it with both hands. "I've just had such rotten luck. You understand, boys?"

They assured him emphatically that they did.

"I've made mistakes!" Druffle cried suddenly. "Never denied it! Dollywilliams Druffle isn't one to blame others for his faults. But all the same, rotten luck."

He shook his head, grimacing. "Ashamed, ashamed," he murmured.

"Don't be, sir," said Pazel.

Druffle gestured helplessly at the Fens. "Nobody expects to be reduced to this! Time was I could afford a decent ship, and proper mercenaries. Disgraceful! I've never seen such bad shots in my life! Why, they didn't even wound you! Still, I suppose I'd better call 'em in."

He straightened and cupped a hand to his mouth. But no shout came: instead he doubled over with a gasp. Neeps, who had guessed sooner than Pazel what Druffle was ashamed of, had dug a stone from the mud and hurled it point-blank at Druffle's side. It was a good-sized rock, and Druffle reeled, glaring like a fiend.

It was their one chance. Pazel groped for a weapon, found a fallen tree limb and swung it with all his might. The branch cracked across Druffle's back, and the wiry man staggered and cursed. He stabbed: the blade fell an inch short of Pazel's chest. Neeps, finding no further rocks, was reduced to flinging mud. Pazel swung his branch again, but Druffle dodged like a snake and clubbed him down with the hilt of his cutlass. The next instant Pazel felt the blade against his windpipe.

No one moved. Druffle wiped blood from his eye.

"I actually liked you two," he said. "Honest, my dears, I liked you. But orders are orders. The Customer said I was to kill any boy who raised his hand against me. As an example to the rest."

"An example?" Neeps whispered.

"You have it, lad."

"But we're all alone," whispered Pazel.

"You could just tell him you killed us," said Neeps.

Druffle looked gravely insulted. "Lie, you mean? For shame, lads! In business, your word is your bond! Learn that, or you'll never get anywhere."

He lifted the cutlass. But instead of bringing it down on Pazel's throat, he raised his eyes to the horizon, as if savoring a thought. Then his jaw fell open and he toppled backward into the swamp.

Neeps leaped forward and kicked away his blade. "Out cold! What happened? Is he dying?"

Pazel slapped the man's cheek. Not an eyelid flickered. He bent an ear to Druffle's mouth.

"I don't think he's breathing, Neeps."

"I'm a murderer," Neeps whispered. "I must have cracked his liver with that stone!"

At that moment came the startling sound of birds' wings. The boys jumped away from Druffle, and saw the oddest creature imaginable: a barn swallow with the face of a woman. The tiny creature swooped low past their heads, beat its wings fiercely for a moment and came to rest on Druffle's back.

"You're no murderer," she said, looking at Neeps. "And he is not dead."