The Red Wolf Conspiracy Part 42

"Grab the bars! Climb in!" roared the guards.

The young people could just reach the swinging cage. In they went, shaking with fear, and clung to the sides with hands and feet. When the last boy had entered, the men latched the trapdoor anew.

"Rest easy," they jeered. "Enjoy the ride."

Another shout and the cage began moving seaward. The prisoners gripped the salt-slimy bars, looking down as sand turned to foam beneath them. The cage moved slowly: Pazel had time to look back and see Arunis' covered wagon being carried, not rolled, over the dunes.

Then Neeps cried, "Look!" and Pazel turned in time to see the bra.s.s sphere vanish--no, plunge plunge--from the arm of the crane straight down through the barge's main hatch. There came a distant boom boom and a spray of water from the hatch; then a great chain began to slither through the crane into the depths. And Pazel realized that he was not looking at a hatch at all but rather a square opening built right through the hull. and a spray of water from the hatch; then a great chain began to slither through the crane into the depths. And Pazel realized that he was not looking at a hatch at all but rather a square opening built right through the hull.

A diving portal. Of course.

"They're going to put us in that thing, aren't they?" said Neeps.

"Yes," said the girl.

"You seem to know a lot about diving," said Pazel. "Can you guess how deep it is out there?"

She frowned at the waves. "Twelve fathoms?"

"Lord Rin!" cried Neeps. Twelve fathoms was over seventy feet. How could anyone dive so far? But the girl remained calm. She had the look of someone almost irritatingly calm, Pazel thought, although the talk of ghosts had rattled her a bit.

"There's something wrong with the water," she said, pointing to their destination. "See how green it is? I think that wreck is in a kelp forest."

She was right about the water: nearly all of it near the spot where the bathysphere had plunged was shimmering green.

"But that will make finding anything much much harder, won't it?" harder, won't it?"

The girl just nodded, her face expressionless. Her name was Marila, she told them. She had been diving for sponges in the coves around Tholja.s.sa since she was twelve. The frightened little boy, Mintu, was her brother.

"This sorcerer's mad," she said. "n.o.body ever gets away with treasure from the Haunted Coast. Everyone knows there's a curse on it. See that wreck?" She pointed at a single, tilting mast in the distance.

Pazel nodded. "What about it?"

"That's a Mzithrini Blodmel, ninety guns. Tholja.s.san ships turn away from land if they're close enough to see her. They say she had a captain who noticed something shiny at low tide. He dived himself and came up with a golden Star of Dremland. One little star. He tossed it up to his son, told him the seafloor was covered in jewels, and dived back for more. It was just twenty feet deep, but he vanished."

She made a little poof poof gesture with her hands. gesture with her hands.

"The ship left him and retraced its path exactly. But this time there was a reef, where there had been nothing before. It split them wide open. They abandoned ship, and a storm blew up and swamped the lifeboats, and the only one who made it out was the man who had thrown the gold star back into the water. You can't take so much as a sh.e.l.l from this place, everyone knows."

The Mzithrinis did what Thasha feared most. They waited.

It gave them time to think, to recover from their amazement at the defeat of their brother in a matter of seconds by an unarmed girl. She was unarmed no longer, but she was still alone.

They waited, and in seconds the remaining three fighters, those who had stayed behind to watch the Volpeks, appeared over the dune. They looked at the golden-haired apparition, the man groaning and twitching at her feet. Then all five Mzithrinis drew their swords and whirled them with easy grace, advancing.

Thasha had one skill even Hercol considered exceptional: she made choices with lightning speed. Those five spinning blades drove her next decision, and it surprised her almost as much as the Mzithrinis. She threw her own sword away.

Reason caught up with instinct a split second later. Oh, thank the G.o.ds Oh, thank the G.o.ds. For she knew now that to fight them was to die. The blade was strange to her, narrow at the hilt, broad and heavy near the point. She could not have prevailed against one man trained to use it, let alone five.

The men stared at her, but paused only for an instant. She still held the knife.

Thasha's next decision took longer. Run? Run? Impossible. Impossible. Surrender? Surrender? Not likely--the man she'd fought could well have been taking her aside to murder her. She dropped to her knees. Seizing the wounded man by the shirt, she hauled him up against her chest and set the knife to his throat. Not likely--the man she'd fought could well have been taking her aside to murder her. She dropped to her knees. Seizing the wounded man by the shirt, she hauled him up against her chest and set the knife to his throat.

Now they stopped dead. The man was waking from his daze: she pressed the blade hard until he felt it. His eyes blinked open, and Thasha felt his muscles tense. For a moment nothing moved but the sea oats in the breeze.

One thing he would not do was throw himself on the knife: suicide was forbidden by the Old Faith. They were all trapped. It gave her time to think again.

Mzithrini phrases danced before her eyes. Who shall wed? Thasha and His Highness shall wed Who shall wed? Thasha and His Highness shall wed.

"I ... I promise--" she stammered.

Again they were amazed. "You speak Mzithrini!" said one, apparently their leader.

"Little, little! I am friendly!"

"Friendly."

Blood trickled from the nose of the wounded man. He put a weak hand on her arm. She pressed the blade harder against his throat.

The men crept a step nearer. Could she possibly tell them she was the Treaty Bride? How could they believe her?

At last the words came back: "Hear my vow, ye many!"

It was awkward, but they understood. Thasha indicated the knife. "I give this."

"Yes," said the Mzithrini leader. "Do that."

"And you ... you ... don't touch any of my goods."

It was the old Polylex Polylex phrase. The Mzithrinis looked at one another. Then they advanced another step. phrase. The Mzithrinis looked at one another. Then they advanced another step.

"We won't touch you, girl," said their leader. "Don't worry. We're friendly."

The man she was holding actually laughed. Only by twisting the knife even harder against him did she make them pause again. They had spread around her. She had to turn this way and that to see them all.

Suddenly the wounded man let his hand fall from Thasha's arm. He gave a low gurgle; then his body went limp. Thasha cried out. His head flopped down against her wrist.

"Oh no no!" Thasha shook him, horrified, she had never killed, never wanted to-- He erupted beneath her. Bit her arm. Struck the knife from her hand. The other Mzithrinis charged with a roar. Their captain raised his broad sword in an arc over her head.

And fell slain. His chest riven with arrows. The wounded man dropped beside him, a shaft piercing his neck.

Thasha leaped to her feet. Down the dune behind her rushed six or eight men, tall and gray-clothed, swords held high. They clashed with the gaping Mzithrinis with cries of "Syr-ahdi Salabieac!" "Syr-ahdi Salabieac!" And Thasha's heart leaped: those words she knew. They were a prayer Tholja.s.san warriors spoke before closing with the enemy. And Thasha's heart leaped: those words she knew. They were a prayer Tholja.s.san warriors spoke before closing with the enemy.

The Mzithrinis begged no quarter. Their heavy blades flashed in the sun with terrible speed and rang as they met the lighter Tholja.s.san swords. But they were doomed: two had fallen to arrows, two more in the first moments of swordplay. The last pair rushed together and stood back to back, swords a-whirl, snarling their defiance.

"Enough!" cried a Tholja.s.san. "Maro dinitie! "Maro dinitie! Fight no more, and live!" Fight no more, and live!"

The Tholja.s.sans paused, giving their foes time to consider. The Mzithrinis, however, leaped once more to the attack. In a matter of seconds both lay dead at the Tholja.s.san's feet. But Thasha stood rooted to the spot, wondering if she had taken a blow to the head. She looked at the man who had spoken. That voice! That voice!

He wiped blood from his sword against his breeches. Then he turned to face her--and in broad daylight, far more clearly than the night before, Thasha saw a ghost.

Pazel winced. The iron cage was salt-corroded, the bars rusty and sharp against his skin.

They had left the surf behind and were nearly at the cargo vessel: a wide teakettle of a ship. Her captain rushed back and forth with his telescope, watching the commotion around the barge, the guns on the Volpek brig. He spared barely a glance for the prisoners in their iron cage, rumbling by on pulleys slung between his masts.

"The Customer's reached the sh.o.r.e!" boomed a lookout in the crosstrees. "And Druffle too, that old straggler! Looks like they're heading our way!"

"I can see the beach!" shouted the captain. "Keep your eyes on the deep water! If we're caught off-guard I'll make you sorry, by the blazin' Pits!"

The prisoners left the cargo ship behind. No one had addressed a word to them.

Neeps shook his head. "Druffle's back. Think he's missed us much?"

"I doubt it," said Pazel. But he was thinking: Caught off-guard by whom? Caught off-guard by whom?

The day was brilliant and clear--except for those strange clots of mist, which seemed to prowl willfully among the offsh.o.r.e wrecks. Suddenly the cage picked up speed. Pazel steadied himself, then turned to look at the barge. Volpeks were straining at the capstan, two men to each bar. They were winding in the chain, winching the bathysphere up to the surface again. That's some job That's some job, he thought.

"Up here, lads and ladies."

Ten heads swiveled up. A Volpek crouched atop their cage, waving. He could only have come from the higher masts of the vessel behind them, but no one had heard him climb aboard. His round, bald head put Pazel in mind of a sunburned ape. He gave them a rascally grin.

"The Red Wolf!" he said. "That's your goal. Silver is sweet and gold is gravy, but we must find that red iron wolf, come storm or sunstroke. Not one of us is going home without it, see? So don't leave behind anything that might have paws. That's rule number one.

"Rule number two is stay alive. The sphere has plenty of air, but you can only take one chestful at a time down into the wreck. Search your hearts out, and when you can't hold your breath any longer, give three tugs on your rope. Then watch out! We'll haul you in faster than you can say 'drowned doggy'!

"At the end of your ropes you'll find a sack, a ring and a hook. Little treasures go in the sack. Big stuff you wrap up tight with rope. Then clip the hook to the ring and give two tugs--just two, for merchandise--and don't forget to hold on yourself!

"You'll see the keel of the Lythra Lythra soon as you reach the seabed. The rest of her's spread out east of here, or maybe north. She wedged between two rocks, see, and at some point the tides just snapped her in two. Her innards have been washing about these forty years." soon as you reach the seabed. The rest of her's spread out east of here, or maybe north. She wedged between two rocks, see, and at some point the tides just snapped her in two. Her innards have been washing about these forty years."

He paused, then gave a smile of forced good cheer. "As to the little matter of sea-murths: rubbish! Fishwife talk! There ain't been murths in the Nelu Peren for over a hundred years! Mankind's rooted 'em out. You'll do better to worry about tanglin' your line in sharp coral, or that blary weed. It's easy to get lost in a kelp forest, and this sort--ribbon kelp--is the worst of all. Greenery's worse than ghosts, mark my words."

His speech was interrupted by shouts from the barge. Men were crowding around the dive portal, waving encouragement to those working the capstan. The latter threw themselves into a final shoulder-straining heave, and with a sound like a breaching whale the bathysphere rose from the hull portal. Water gushed from it; long ribbons of weed trailed back into the sea. To bring such a thing here! To bring such a thing here! Pazel thought. Pazel thought. In secret! Along with wagons, three ships, maybe a hundred men. All for an iron wolf? In secret! Along with wagons, three ships, maybe a hundred men. All for an iron wolf?

As they drew nearer, a rope ladder dropped from the bottom of the sphere. A man on deck caught the trailing end and secured it to the crane. At once a line of youths began to descend. They were shaking and slow. All looked rather ill. When they reached the deck they let themselves collapse.

Next to emerge were baskets of the kind of loot the Volpeks had been busy with ash.o.r.e. These were handed up into a separate cage on the sh.o.r.ebound side of the pulley system. Then it was the newcomers' turn.

The bald Volpek climbed down the outside of their cage. "Stand back!" he cried, and kicked the trapdoor open with his foot. A man tossed him the end of another rope ladder. It ended in a pair of short ropes, and these he tied swiftly to the bars of the cage. Then, "Down! Down!" he cried. "Don't make me step on your fingers!"

Down they went, swaying and lurching. Pazel saw now that at the bottom of the bathysphere was a lidless hole some eight feet across. On deck the prisoners huddled together. None of those who had come from the bathysphere had yet stood up.

The Volpeks formed them into a line, toes to the edge of the dive portal. The last baskets were lowered from the sphere, and yet another ladder followed.

"Climb," they said.

Up again, into the dark mouth of the bathysphere. As Pazel stuck his head and shoulders through the hole he felt strong hands seize him by the arms. Two mighty Volpeks, wearing only loincloths and knives, pulled him up into the metallic gloom. It was clammy and cold. A bad echo distorted every sound. There were nets strung along the walls, climbing-cleats, benches high overhead. From the apex of the sphere hung an a.s.sortment of pulleys and coiled ropes.

Soon all the captives were seated inside. Each was handed a rope-end with the promised sack, ring and hook. The sacks had small holes to let the water through, drawstrings for sealing them tight. Pazel saw Marila slide a hand through her ring and push it up to her elbow. She caught his eye.

"This way ... can't drop it," she seemed to be saying (the echo made it hard to be sure). she seemed to be saying (the echo made it hard to be sure). "Lose your rope ... never get back ... all that weed." "Lose your rope ... never get back ... all that weed."

"STOP TALKING!" bellowed their captors, who made themselves understandable by sheer volume. bellowed their captors, who made themselves understandable by sheer volume. "HOLD ON TO THE CLEATS!" "HOLD ON TO THE CLEATS!"

The sphere gave a little jerk, like a puppet on a string. And then it plunged. The sea appeared to leap straight up. There was a deafening boom boom, and water boiled to their ankles before being checked by the stoppered air. Through the windows they saw the walls of the dive portal, then the bottom of the sea barge and a dark blue-green immensity below. It was abruptly quiet. The captives gripped the cleats in trembling fists. The water in the sphere began to rise.

"Swallow!" said Marila. "Over and over! Stretch your mouth wide or your ears will break!"

She demonstrated. Pazel copied her, and saw that Neeps and the others were doing the same. The air was indeed growing heavy pressing in on Pazel's ears and nose and chest. The water pa.s.sed their shins.

Neeps was frowning, concentrating. In fact everyone was: even Mintu had decided there was no use in tears. Pazel looked out through the windows again. Nothing but blue water--and then, like green flames all around them, the weed.

Ribbon kelp was the perfect name. The weed rose straight and thick, just inches between one flat frond and another. Pazel was surprised how delicate it looked, and how lovely. It glowed in the midday sun, but because it grew so straight the rays pierced the narrow gaps in long splinters of light. Small fish and tiny translucent shrimp darted everywhere. Yard after gentle yard spooled out before his eyes. was the perfect name. The weed rose straight and thick, just inches between one flat frond and another. Pazel was surprised how delicate it looked, and how lovely. It glowed in the midday sun, but because it grew so straight the rays pierced the narrow gaps in long splinters of light. Small fish and tiny translucent shrimp darted everywhere. Yard after gentle yard spooled out before his eyes.

Sudden cold: the water had reached his waist.

"SWIM UP TO THE BENCHES!" roared the Volpeks. roared the Volpeks. "DON'T DROP YOUR BLARY ROPES!" "DON'T DROP YOUR BLARY ROPES!"

When over half the sphere had filled with water, and all the youths were huddled on the benches, their descent stopped. Pazel looked down through the bathysphere's open mouth: was that sand, thirty or forty feet below?

He had little time to wonder. His captors were screaming again. "STAY CLOSE TO YOUR MATES, BUT NOT TOO CLOSE. IF YOUR LINES CROSS EVERYBODY DROWNS." "STAY CLOSE TO YOUR MATES, BUT NOT TOO CLOSE. IF YOUR LINES CROSS EVERYBODY DROWNS."

With those words a Volpek handed Mintu a dark stone. The boy nearly dropped it, startled by its weight, and Pazel realized it was a lead sinker. Then the Volpek grabbed Mintu's arm, yanked him from the bench and dropped him. Rope trailing, eyes fixed on his sister, he vanished below.

Marila did not wait to be yanked. She grabbed another sinker and pushed off from her bench. Seconds later she too was gone. Neeps looked Pazel in the eye.

"Right," he said, feeling above him for a sinker, "let's get this over with." And he jumped as well.

Pazel had thought himself scared all along, but now he realized his fear had scarcely begun. His heart raced. Couldn't he just sit here quietly? There were six other divers. Maybe he would be picked last. Maybe someone would find the Wolf quickly and he'd never have to dive at all.

But Neeps and Marila and Mintu were already below. He could never face them--face Thasha--if he crouched there, hoping to be spared. He coiled the rope over his shoulder. Do it now or the fear will stop you Do it now or the fear will stop you. He picked up a sinker. He took a last, huge breath and jumped.

Suddenly events (or his mind, or both) sped up. The sinker dragged him straight down through the mouth of the sphere. The kelp engulfed him, the sandy bottom rushed upward. Where was the wreck? He was spinning, helpless, the rope sc.r.a.ping his arm. He would not even find the Lythra Lythra, let alone any part of her cargo, before his breath ran out.

Darkness--pitch darkness! He looked up in terror. Had he fallen into a cave? Then, just as suddenly, the light returned and he saw what had occurred. A surge of current had bent the kelp over, like prairie gra.s.s in the wind. Strand against strand, it had blotted out the sun. As soon as the surge pa.s.sed it straightened, and the light flooded down.

It happened again. Darkness, light. Why hadn't anyone warned them?

Then, forty feet under the bathysphere, he saw it: a great black timber on the seabed. It was weed-wrapped and barnacle-chewed, but unmistakably a sternpost. Pazel dropped the sinker and swam for it. There, and there! There, and there! Other divers' ropes, vanishing in the weeds. He kept his distance. His lungs were aching already. The timber pointed like a finger through an opening in the kelp, and as Pazel kicked through the gap, an awe-inspiring vision met his eyes. Other divers' ropes, vanishing in the weeds. He kept his distance. His lungs were aching already. The timber pointed like a finger through an opening in the kelp, and as Pazel kicked through the gap, an awe-inspiring vision met his eyes.

The Lythra Lythra sprawled before him, cracked open like an eggsh.e.l.l. But no--it was just the stern half, snagged on a jagged rock. It was as if monstrous hands had torn the ship in two. But where had the bow section gone? sprawled before him, cracked open like an eggsh.e.l.l. But no--it was just the stern half, snagged on a jagged rock. It was as if monstrous hands had torn the ship in two. But where had the bow section gone?

Darkness, light. He could see Neeps, swimming low beside the wreck, his eyes scanning this way and that. Pazel followed, and in a moment his fingers touched the hull. A gunport lay open before him. Inside, a crusted lump, the cannon. He was almost out of breath.

Darkness.