The Red Wolf Conspiracy Part 25

"A grocer may run out of cabbages and not close his store," said Bolutu.

"I have no interest in vegetables!"

When Thasha finally got their attention, they told her Ket was enjoying Smoke Hour on the forecastle. Thasha set off at once, climbing to the topdeck and running in the open air. The waves were taller now, and the wind had a bite. Away to starboard the gray mountains of Uturphe looked no closer than at noon.

Smoke Hour was an arrangement for the third-cla.s.s pa.s.sengers, who were never permitted in the smoking salon. At dusk these poorest travelers were allowed to rent the use of a pipe on the forecastle. The fee was outrageous and the tobacco stale, but there is little an addict trapped in a cold, crowded ship will not agree to. This evening thirty men were busily puffing away: Smoke Hour in fact lasted forty minutes.

How odd to find Mr. Ket among them: he he was certainly no third-cla.s.s traveler. He wore a sea-cloak with blue silk at cuff and collar, and a gemstone on his finger flashed red in the setting sun. Instead of a blackened rental pipe he had his own, fine water pipe of burnished bra.s.s. He stood by a starboard carronade, as far from everyone else on the forecastle as he could get. was certainly no third-cla.s.s traveler. He wore a sea-cloak with blue silk at cuff and collar, and a gemstone on his finger flashed red in the setting sun. Instead of a blackened rental pipe he had his own, fine water pipe of burnished bra.s.s. He stood by a starboard carronade, as far from everyone else on the forecastle as he could get.

"Lady Thasha!" he said, bowing at her approach. "A very good evening to you!"

"I'm afraid it isn't," said Thasha. "My tutor's dying, and no one seems able to help."

"Poor man!" said the soap merchant, lowering his voice. "And what an ill omen for us all! Has he not woken yet?"

"No," said Thasha. "But I'm grateful to you for saving him. You're very brave, Mr. Ket."

"I had no time to be brave," he said, dropping his eyes. "I merely found myself acting."

There was, Thasha saw now, one flaw in Mr. Ket's wealthy profile: a careworn white scarf, knotted tight about his neck. Something held on to from childhood, Thasha supposed: rich men had their quirks.

"Can you tell me what happened?" she asked.

Ket shook his head. "I beg your pardon, I cannot. Mr. Fiffengurt demanded my promise not to tell anyone of this ugly event."

"I promised, too," said Thasha. "But surely he meant for us not to spread the story? Since we both know it occurred, there's no harm if we talk, is there?"

The merchant hesitated, fussing with his pipe, but it was clear Thasha would accept no refusal. After some furtive glances around the deck he spoke again, very softly.

"I honor your concern for your friend, m'lady. But I fear you would put yourself in danger for his sake. The a.s.sa.s.sin is still aboard. Any one of these men behind me could be him."

"Hercol is more than a friend," said Thasha. "He's as dear to me as an older brother. Whatever becomes of him, I must know what happened."

"Very well," Ket sighed, "but it will do you no good. For in the end, what did I see? A man I took for a sailor, crouching by an open hatch, swinging a hammer at something within. The next moment--it was very dark, you understand--I saw that man leap down onto the steps himself and return with something large and dark over his shoulder. It was Mr. Hercol, of course, but I guessed no such evil thing. The man pa.s.sed out of my sight for a moment, behind the barge davit, and then I heard him cry out. I rushed forward in time to see him stumble and drop his burden--now obviously a man!--half over the rail."

"Was his voice high or low?" asked Thasha.

"Neither, especially," said Ket. "But I scarce had time to notice, for the cretin was rolling your friend over the side. Hercol was waking up from the hammer blow, but not fast enough--and it was the greatest luck that he struck the mizzen-chains. The man drew his knife, leaned over and cut your friend savagely. And then Mr. Hercol made that ... extraordinary kick."

"Where did Hercol kick him--in the arm, or the hand?"

"The wrist," said Ket. "Why do you ask, m'lady?"

"Go on, please!" said Thasha. "What happened next?"

"The next instant--well, I seized that capstan bar and had at him."

"What made him stumble?" asked Thasha.

Ket's eyes widened. "I wish I knew," he said. "Another piece of good luck, is all I can fathom. The deck was clear enough. But without that stumble, Mr. Hercol would certainly have died."

"And he fought you, this man?"

"Indeed he did."

"Was he a trained fighter?"

Ket looked startled. "What unexpected questions," he said. "He fought well enough, I suppose. But this was the first real fight of my life--may it also be the last!--and so I am a poor judge."

"But you have answered me, you know," said Thasha. "You've told me you're not a fighter yourself, and yet you beat him."

"My dear girl, I had the capstan bar."

"But don't you see," said Thasha, struggling for patience. "A trained fighter would have run circles around you, trying to swing that heavy bar. Or just taken it away from you and broken it over your head. So he wasn't a soldier, or one of my father's guards."

"Skies above, no! Just someone crazy enough to want to kill."

"Or ordered to," said Thasha softly.

"Ordered, m'lady?"

"Never mind, Mr. Ket. Thank you again for your courage. By the way, what were you doing out on deck so late at night?"

Ket looked away, then drew a hand across his forehead. After a deep breath he said, "Confinement disturbs me. Small rooms, tight s.p.a.ces ... these trouble my soul. I cannot breathe."

"That's nothing to be ashamed of, Mr. Ket," said Thasha, for once almost liking him. "I felt the same way at school."

Dinner that evening was hosted by Mr. Uskins, whom Thasha detested, so she told her father she had no appet.i.te, and when he and Syrarys had dressed and departed she promptly rang the bell for room service.

She frowned. Ket was something of a fool. Nothing about the attacker had made an impression: not even the amazing fact that he, Ket, a baby-faced merchant with gray hair and a paunch, had trounced the man without a scratch. Thasha, however, had learned several things. She added these to her list:

What I Know (Cont.)

1. If I should ever marry, it will not be to a soap merchant.

2. Hercol's attacker was no trained fighter.

3. That man's wrist is in agony, or broken.

Thasha knew well the force of Hercol's kicks, even on the practice floor. A kick to save his life would be simply explosive. She ought to explain this to the officers searching Chathrand Chathrand. But how could she, without letting them know how much more than a servant Hercol was?

The tarboy who came from the galley was very short. Like most of the men aboard, he stared at her as if she were some odd and fascinating monster. "Dinner for one!" she snapped, grabbing her dogs before they could leap on him. "And no shrimp heads, please. Yesterday my dinner was like a little congregation, watching itself being eaten."

"I'm very sorry, m'lady."

"It's not your your fault, idiot. Close the door. No, fault, idiot. Close the door. No, no no--" She waved a hand. "Without leaving, yet. What's your name, anyway?"

"N-Neeps," said the small boy, shaking with relief as the dogs collapsed on the bearskin.

She c.o.c.ked her head at him. "Well, N-Neeps, how many sailors are there aboard the Chathrand?" Chathrand?"

"About six hundred, common and rated, Lady. And twenty midshipmen."

"And how many pa.s.sengers?"

"Four hundred steerage, Mistress--and a score first-cla.s.s, plus servants. And your n.o.ble family, of course."

"Half of them male ... and a hundred marines ... that's over nine hundred men! Well, that's simple!" She laughed aloud. "All I have to do is check nine hundred wrists before tomorrow morning! Don't ask, I won't explain! Just tell me: what have they done with Pazel Pathkendle?"

The boy jumped, but said nothing. He looked disturbed in an entirely new way.

"You know who I mean," said Thasha. "The Ormali. The one who got flogged for being rude to my father. Who flogged him, anyway--that big baboon they call Jervik? I'll bet he volunteered."

Neeps fidgeted, glanced at the door.

"Are they going to throw him off the ship at Uturphe?"

"I can't tell you, m'lady," he said.

"Why not?" Thasha pressed. "I'm his friend, you know. Maybe his only only friend." friend."

Now anger sparked in Neeps' glance. "We tarboys take care of our own," he said.

"Splendid! Tell me, then: what's the punishment for insulting an amba.s.sador?"

"Whatever the captain wants."

"What does Rose usually do?"

"Sometimes one thing, sometimes another."

"Can you"--she took a careful breath--"at least tell me where they're keeping him?" tell me where they're keeping him?"

"No."

They stood there, eye to eye. Jorl wheezed and flopped on his chin. Then Thasha put her hands to the back of her neck, beneath her golden hair. After a moment she frowned.

"Help me," she said curtly, turning her back and lifting the hair aside.

"M-m'lady?"

"The clasp on my necklace. It's stuck."

Neeps stared at her. She looked back steadily over her shoulder, daring him to say another word. Neeps wiped his hands on his pants, then reached into the golden hair as one might a nest of spiders. He made a face. She sighed and crossed her arms. He struggled with the clasp.

"Really, N-Neeps, it's not that--Ouch!"

"Augh!" screamed Neeps, as they both flinched. The necklace dropped to the floor.

"What did you do do, imbecile?" cried Thasha, holding her neck.

Neeps scooped up the chain. "It wasn't me, Lady Thasha! It was a spark--a ferrous spark. Got me, too! Must be iron in this necklace somewhere."

"Don't be daft, it's pure silver! Let me see if it's harmed."

Neeps held out the necklace, but she made no move to take it from him. The tiny sea-creatures gleamed in the lamplight.

"Well, it's fine, anyway," she declared. "And pretty, no?"

"It's beautiful, m'lady."

"Too bad you tried to steal it."

"What?"

Neeps dropped the necklace again. Thasha caught it and draped it over a chair. "I'd taken it off to bathe, see? You slipped it into your pocket, but I noticed the bulge as you were turning to go. How do you suppose the captain punishes stealing from an amba.s.sador's cabin?"

"You're a blary d.a.m.n pigsty liar ... m'lady!" sputtered Neeps, trembling with rage.

Thasha sighed. "Of course you would would say that. And perhaps the officers will take your word over mine. Well, go on, back to your duties, N-Neeps. I think I'll eat in the dining room after all--now that I have something to talk about." say that. And perhaps the officers will take your word over mine. Well, go on, back to your duties, N-Neeps. I think I'll eat in the dining room after all--now that I have something to talk about."

She was extremely proud of herself: a nicer piece of blackmail one could hardly ask for. But to her astonishment Neeps gritted his teeth and stepped toward her, only stopping when Suzyt growled.

"No, they won't believe an Outer Isles tarboy over a daisy-sweet bit of wife cargo like you. They'll clap me in jail, is what. And then make me work off twenty times that trinket's worth--and brand my arm. That's That's standard punishment for first-time thieves. Let 'em. Do your worst. But I'll not help you land Pazel any deeper in trouble. We--you've done enough to him already!" standard punishment for first-time thieves. Let 'em. Do your worst. But I'll not help you land Pazel any deeper in trouble. We--you've done enough to him already!"

Three steps and he was out, with a smart slam of the door. For a moment Thasha stood rooted to the spot. He was calling her bluff! Then she realized that if Neeps disappeared he would be no easier to find on the enormous ship than Pazel himself.

A moment later she was through the door, running with her boots unlaced. Neeps was thumping down the stern stairway. "Wait, wait!" she cried, tumbling after him, but he only ran faster--down and down, across the berth deck to the opposite stair and down again.

Just above the mercy deck he abruptly turned, blocking her way. It was dark: they were deeper in the ship than she had ever set foot. She smelled animals and hay.

"You really are his friend, aren't you?" she said.

"That's right," said Neeps, more winded than Thasha herself.

"I didn't know. I thought everyone hated him for being Ormali."

"Only dumb louts hate him. The rest are afraid afraid of him because of what happened with the augrongs, and because a few blary idlers say they heard him speaking devil-tongue." of him because of what happened with the augrongs, and because a few blary idlers say they heard him speaking devil-tongue."

"Why aren't you afraid?"

Neeps just looked away. Thasha realized she already knew: this shrimp wasn't afraid of anything. Be careful, shrimp Be careful, shrimp, she thought. Someone may try to cut off your head Someone may try to cut off your head.