The Ruling Sea Part 48

A quarter-mile. The Jistrolloq Jistrolloq was pitching wildly now, and her mainsails fell limp for three or four seconds at the bottom of each trough, the wind cut off by the waves towering above her. She was slowing, she had to be: but not enough for the was pitching wildly now, and her mainsails fell limp for three or four seconds at the bottom of each trough, the wind cut off by the waves towering above her. She was slowing, she had to be: but not enough for the Chathrand Chathrand to pull ahead. to pull ahead.

There was a scream of fire. A blazing thing like a comet streaked from the Jistrolloq Jistrolloq and exploded against the Great Ship's foremast. and exploded against the Great Ship's foremast. Dragon's egg! Dragon's egg! men were howling. Everyone had heard of the weapons, but Pazel had never met a soul who had lived to describe them first-hand. Now he saw why. Deck and mast were suddenly engulfed in a dripping blue flame; and hideous to behold, so were the men, leaping from the ropes, tearing at their oilskins in a frenzy. In blind agony the fire-drenched figures scattered on the deck, as luckier men hauled desperately at the pumps and hoses. men were howling. Everyone had heard of the weapons, but Pazel had never met a soul who had lived to describe them first-hand. Now he saw why. Deck and mast were suddenly engulfed in a dripping blue flame; and hideous to behold, so were the men, leaping from the ropes, tearing at their oilskins in a frenzy. In blind agony the fire-drenched figures scattered on the deck, as luckier men hauled desperately at the pumps and hoses.

For once the rain was their ally: the fire did not spread, not even on the tar-coated rigging. But the men at the blast's epicentre had lost control of their sails. The huge forecourse swung disastrously to leeward, tearing at the standing rigging, and the Chathrand Chathrand heeled in the same direction, her bow diving and her stern lifting like a bucking mule. Pazel locked his elbow around a brace as his feet were torn from the clew line, and for a moment his body lifted away from the spar like a sc.r.a.p of canvas. When the ship righted he crashed down painfully against the timber. He glanced over his shoulder, and a prayer of joy welled up inside him: Neeps was still there. heeled in the same direction, her bow diving and her stern lifting like a bucking mule. Pazel locked his elbow around a brace as his feet were torn from the clew line, and for a moment his body lifted away from the spar like a sc.r.a.p of canvas. When the ship righted he crashed down painfully against the timber. He glanced over his shoulder, and a prayer of joy welled up inside him: Neeps was still there.

The Chathrand Chathrand was yawing, rolling, and it would be minutes yet before the fore-topmen came to grips with the chaos of the sail. Pazel looked down and saw six men at the wheel, Rose among them, fighting to keep the ship from turning sidelong to the waves. And now the was yawing, rolling, and it would be minutes yet before the fore-topmen came to grips with the chaos of the sail. Pazel looked down and saw six men at the wheel, Rose among them, fighting to keep the ship from turning sidelong to the waves. And now the Jistrolloq Jistrolloq was racing towards them, chaser-cannon firing one after another, and teams on her forecastle running out the hull-smashing carronades. was racing towards them, chaser-cannon firing one after another, and teams on her forecastle running out the hull-smashing carronades.

Another terrible crash, and the roof of the wheelhouse was blown to pieces. At nearly the same instant the mizzenmast tilted leeward with a groan: a wooden ballista-spear, dragging a kite's tail of iron barbs, had ripped through her starboard shrouds.

Pazel looked at Neeps and made a jerking motion: The h.e.l.l with this. It's over The h.e.l.l with this. It's over. Neeps understood, and nodded. His lips formed one word: Thasha. Thasha.

Pazel caught his meaning instantly. Go to her Go to her, Neeps was telling him, while there's time to say goodbye. while there's time to say goodbye.

They were creeping back towards the mast when something inside the Chathrand Chathrand roared. Pazel looked down and saw black smoke boiling up and over the quarterdeck, and around both sides of the hull. They had run out the stern cannon at last. roared. Pazel looked down and saw black smoke boiling up and over the quarterdeck, and around both sides of the hull. They had run out the stern cannon at last.

The Jistrolloq Jistrolloq's bow plating was tempered steel, but four square openings pierced it: one for each of the chaser-guns harrying her enemy. It was those four cannon, Pazel saw now, that Rose had targeted, and with devastating results. Two of the guns were utterly destroyed, splintered like bottle-stems before his eyes. The other two were blown backwards through their ports and out of sight. The Jistrolloq Jistrolloq herself was all but unblemished, but she would not get another shot at the herself was all but unblemished, but she would not get another shot at the Chathrand Chathrand until she drew up alongside. until she drew up alongside.

Except for those two grim carronades on the forecastle. Such weapons were absurdly inaccurate, being roughly shaped like whiskey barrels, but they threw shot so enormous that one hit at short range could stave in a hull, dropping a ship to the sea floor in minutes. Even now the Mzithrinis were taking aim: Rose's strategy had left them wide open. Pazel thought of the gun-teams on the Chathrand Chathrand, reloading as fast as humanly possible. It would not be fast enough.

Then, somehow, fire leaped again from the Great Ship. It was a different sort of smoke plume, ragged spokes instead of a single billowing cloud. And Pazel remembered: the grapeshot guns in Rose's cabin. They too were best at point-blank range, for they riddled a wide s.p.a.ce with iron pellets: useless for damaging a ship, but deadly against flesh. Pazel could see the proof of that: Mzithrinis dead or squirming in their blood or crouching in fear behind the carronades. One of the guns, already loosed for firing, disgorged its knee-high iron shot onto the forecastle. The ball raced aft, catching a man by the heel and crushing him instantly; then it changed directions with the pitch of the ship and smashed through the starboard rail. Pazel could only watch, sickened and stunned. All that with one cannon's grapeshot. All that with one cannon's grapeshot.

Another of the four guns boomed, killing an officer as he stood to rally the surviving carronade gunners. A third erupted when relief gunners tried to swarm up the ladder onto the forecastle. Pazel realised with a sense of awe that the team in Rose's cabin would be able to reload the first of the four guns before the last had fired, and that such a relay could go on indefinitely. The Jistrolloq Jistrolloq had given up her forecastle, and had given up her forecastle, and Chathrand Chathrand 's twelve stern cannon would soon be ready to fire again. 's twelve stern cannon would soon be ready to fire again.

He's going to sink them. He's going to kill them all, right before my eyes. He's going to kill them all, right before my eyes.

Whether that indeed was Rose's intention Pazel never learned, for at the height of the next swell the Chathrand Chathrand 's foremast tore her stays, ripped free her starboard shrouds; and then the whole towering ma.s.s of spars and sail and rigging crashed down over the portside rail. 's foremast tore her stays, ripped free her starboard shrouds; and then the whole towering ma.s.s of spars and sail and rigging crashed down over the portside rail.

Dead! thought Pazel, as the thought Pazel, as the Chathrand Chathrand heeled terribly sidelong, and cables snapped around him. The dangling, half-submerged mast would drag their bow under as surely as a hold full of seawater; it was unthinkable that they would have enough time to cut it free. The heeled terribly sidelong, and cables snapped around him. The dangling, half-submerged mast would drag their bow under as surely as a hold full of seawater; it was unthinkable that they would have enough time to cut it free. The Chathrand Chathrand wallowed backwards down the wave; he saw the nine open gunports being wrenched shut in a panic, and a row of mailed Turachs falling like dominoes, and two sailors vanishing overboard into a cauldron of white froth. He saw Neeps struck in the chest by a flying wheelblock; they would not last another five minutes on this spar. But would the ship herself fare any better? wallowed backwards down the wave; he saw the nine open gunports being wrenched shut in a panic, and a row of mailed Turachs falling like dominoes, and two sailors vanishing overboard into a cauldron of white froth. He saw Neeps struck in the chest by a flying wheelblock; they would not last another five minutes on this spar. But would the ship herself fare any better?

Even as he framed the thought, they rolled: the following sea had caught the Chathrand Chathrand straight across her beam. The mast where they clung with locked limbs dived towards the sea, while beneath them the crown of the breaking wave swept right over the waist of the ship, making her quarterdeck and forecastle look for a moment like two rafts separated by eight hundred feet of white-water. In that torrent men clung to ropes, rails, cleats, anything that did not move, and still many were carried away. straight across her beam. The mast where they clung with locked limbs dived towards the sea, while beneath them the crown of the breaking wave swept right over the waist of the ship, making her quarterdeck and forecastle look for a moment like two rafts separated by eight hundred feet of white-water. In that torrent men clung to ropes, rails, cleats, anything that did not move, and still many were carried away.

Pazel had a blurred impression of the White Reaper at a hundred yards, as perfectly in control as they were perfectly flailing, her bowsprit pointed like a sword at Chathrand Chathrand 's tilting flank. Dauntless, her gunners were making a third charge onto the forecastle. No grapeshot would drive them off this time, and if they managed to fire those killer carronades they could hardly miss with their eyes shut. 's tilting flank. Dauntless, her gunners were making a third charge onto the forecastle. No grapeshot would drive them off this time, and if they managed to fire those killer carronades they could hardly miss with their eyes shut.

But then the Chathrand Chathrand righted. Pazel could not believe what his senses were telling him. Had the foremast gone by the board? How, how had they done it? But there was no doubt, they were righting, and as he flew skywards with even more sickening speed than before, Pazel caught a sound he had only heard once before in his life - the day Rose had destroyed the whaler in a rippling broadside. righted. Pazel could not believe what his senses were telling him. Had the foremast gone by the board? How, how had they done it? But there was no doubt, they were righting, and as he flew skywards with even more sickening speed than before, Pazel caught a sound he had only heard once before in his life - the day Rose had destroyed the whaler in a rippling broadside.

All along the starboard hull, gunports had flown open again: not just the earlier nine, but thirty, forty perhaps; and bow to stern they belched fire and smoke, straight at the Jistrolloq Jistrolloq, across the trough between the pa.s.sing wave and the next. Then just seconds before the wave reached them the doors were yanked shut again. Once more the Great Ship rolled.

Now at last Pazel caught a glimpse of their saviours: the augrongs, Refeg and Rer. Waist deep in foam, the creatures were even now taking axes to the last of the foremast rigging, while teams of men strained at the harnesses they wore, struggling to keep them from washing into the sea. Bless their hides Bless their hides, thought Pazel, those brutes could part a halyard with one stroke those brutes could part a halyard with one stroke.

This time it took far longer to rise - who could say how much water had flooded the ship, or by how many routes? - but when they did at last Pazel knew it was over. Horrible, horrible sight! The Jistrolloq Jistrolloq had lost her own foremast to the had lost her own foremast to the Chathrand Chathrand 's guns, and her main was torsioned hopelessly to windward. But it was not the canvas she had lost that had doomed her; it was the canvas that survived. Like the 's guns, and her main was torsioned hopelessly to windward. But it was not the canvas she had lost that had doomed her; it was the canvas that survived. Like the Chathrand Chathrand, the Mzithrini warship had slewed round, and the great power of the surviving squaresails was now pressing down on her bow, like a torturer's hand forcing his victim's head underwater, deeper, and deeper still. The next wave caught her broad on the starboard quarter, a blow the smaller ship could not absorb. Over she went on her beam-ends, masts slapping the waves, so close to the Chathrand Chathrand they seemed almost like bridges her men might run across to safety. As the wave pa.s.sed she tried to right herself, but a hundred thousand tons of water on her sails could not be shed in an instant, and the next wave buried her completely. By then the Great Ship had veered downwind just enough to ride the wave out, and Pazel felt the monstrous sidelong lurching come to an end. He and Neeps gained the shrouds, and as he began his descent at last Pazel looked for the enemy and saw nothing, nothing at all - and then a twisted length of white sailcloth, one proud red star in the corner, moving like the spectre of a whale beneath the surface, only to reach some absolute decision, and dive. they seemed almost like bridges her men might run across to safety. As the wave pa.s.sed she tried to right herself, but a hundred thousand tons of water on her sails could not be shed in an instant, and the next wave buried her completely. By then the Great Ship had veered downwind just enough to ride the wave out, and Pazel felt the monstrous sidelong lurching come to an end. He and Neeps gained the shrouds, and as he began his descent at last Pazel looked for the enemy and saw nothing, nothing at all - and then a twisted length of white sailcloth, one proud red star in the corner, moving like the spectre of a whale beneath the surface, only to reach some absolute decision, and dive.

30.

FROM THE NEW JOURNAL OF G. STARLING FIFFENGURT, QUARTERMASTER.

Sunday, 26 Freala 941. If this is what victory feels like, you may spare me the distinction for the rest of my days. We are alive (most of us) & the Grey Lady took no immediately fatal damage in the engagement, & no ship in Alifros can follow or even spot us now - yes, for all that I am thankful. And who could fail to be relieved that the storm is abating, this the 3rd night since our escape from Sandplume Cove? Two cheers for the mercy of the Nelluroq & the undeniable cunning of Captain Nilus Rose.

But never was I less inclined to celebrate. Sixteen men lost overboard & twenty more laid out dead in our surgical annexe, among them c.o.xilrane 'Firecracker' Frix, busybody, coward & a dedicated sailor to his entrails. Like me a product of Wasthog Strand, that unpaved, unloved corner of Etherhorde, pinched between the ironworks and the slaughterhouses. I used to see him with his pack of boys when we were young. They dressed like Burnscove thugs, a sort of fashion then, & threw rocks at us over the King's Ca.n.a.l. Frix always looked apologetic & out of place, a skinny dog trotting along at their heels, needing to be noticed & at the same time afraid to be. Nothing much ever changed in his life, Rin rest his soul.

Courage. One might celebrate that, I suppose, & set aside the question of whether it was given wisely or in vain. Our dead gunners had courage: with waves like cliffs bearing down on them, they kicked open their gunports, blasted the Jistrolloq Jistrolloq's rigging to pieces, slammed the ports again in the nick of time - and suffocated on their own smoke, in a deck sealed tight as a crypt. Tanner wept for his boys, though his own lungs were burned black. I sat by him three hours tonight in Chadfallow's surgery. Even his last wheezing breath smelled of gunpowder.

Pathkendle & Undrabust have courage: that spankermast would have been the next to fall, if the chaser-guns on the Jistrolloq Jistrolloq had gotten off another round or two. The boys have bullwhip-scars all over their bodies, from ropes cracking in the wind. Thasha Isiq has courage, facing Rose's lunacy concerning ghosts, & fighting to get her friends brought down off that lethal spar even when the captain threatened to pitch her over the stern. Elkstem & I exchanged a look: we were with Rose in 927, when he had gotten off another round or two. The boys have bullwhip-scars all over their bodies, from ropes cracking in the wind. Thasha Isiq has courage, facing Rose's lunacy concerning ghosts, & fighting to get her friends brought down off that lethal spar even when the captain threatened to pitch her over the stern. Elkstem & I exchanged a look: we were with Rose in 927, when he did did pitch a girl off the stern of the Great Ship; but that is another story. pitch a girl off the stern of the Great Ship; but that is another story.

Felthrup has courage, wherever he is. The youths are beside themselves, searching for him everywhere, sniffing about the lower decks with Thasha's dogs. All to no avail.

And tonight a woman I might once have killed without a thought told me I I had courage. I refer of course to the crawly, Diadrelu. She was back in the stateroom when I brought Pathkendle & Co. their dinner & she walked up bold as bra.s.s & looked me in the eye. 'Quartermaster, ' says she, 'I salute your wisdom and bravery.' had courage. I refer of course to the crawly, Diadrelu. She was back in the stateroom when I brought Pathkendle & Co. their dinner & she walked up bold as bra.s.s & looked me in the eye. 'Quartermaster, ' says she, 'I salute your wisdom and bravery.'

Now that the crisis was over it seemed even less natural to be talking to a crawly. I looked away & mumbled about how they'd picked up the pieces well. For the stateroom had been in pieces: a 24-pounder had sailed right through the big stern window, split the dining table in half, shattered the washroom door, put a whopping dent in the cast-iron tub, ricocheted back into the main cabin & blasted a stanchion to woodchips. By the grace of Rin no one was in its path; Thasha had locked her dogs in her own cabin.

I gestured at the shattered window, sealed for now with a nailed-up tarpaulin. 'We have gla.s.s stowed away for repairs,' I added. 'We can fix the cas.e.m.e.nt, too, though it won't hinge no more.'

The crawly held me in her bright-metal gaze. 'History itself shall hinge on the choice you made,' she said.

'Don't know that I have have made it,' I grumbled, 'if you're talking about the choice not to smoke you cr--you individuals, off this ship.' made it,' I grumbled, 'if you're talking about the choice not to smoke you cr--you individuals, off this ship.'

'I am talking about the choice of reason over fear,' she said, 'and I'll wager my life that you have indeed decided, though Rin knows I should have no right to condemn you if you change your mind.'

'I don't want blood on my hands,' I told her. 'n.o.body's blood. Not yours, even, if it ain't required.'

'You have the courage to see, Mr Fiffengurt,' she said. 'All other forms of courage spring from that well.'

I was tongue-tied with confusion. It was crawlies who sank the Adelyne Adelyne off Rapopalni, with my uncle & his babe aboard, or so the few survivors claimed. After that my own dad started collecting crawly skulls to make a necklace, though he had just four by the time he died. Ma still keeps the gruesome things on his dresser, beside his service ribbons & his false teeth. Hating ixchel is a family tradition, you might say. off Rapopalni, with my uncle & his babe aboard, or so the few survivors claimed. After that my own dad started collecting crawly skulls to make a necklace, though he had just four by the time he died. Ma still keeps the gruesome things on his dresser, beside his service ribbons & his false teeth. Hating ixchel is a family tradition, you might say.

But in my fifty years no woman has ever spoken to me with more respect than this Diadrelu. Of course she's not human & so not properly a woman (though I saw evidence unforgettably to the contrary when I cut that shirt away). My kin in Etherhorde - Pitfire, everyone everyone in Etherhorde - would call me a mutineer, a fool, the dupe of a shapely ship-louse; Dad would say I should be the first to drown when the crawlies strike. These past nights I've pictured their faces as I lay down to sleep & it stabs me through the heart to know how they'd condemn me. Last night they entered my dreams, bitter & scornful & hurrying off with hostile glances, & 'Shame, shame' was all I could get them to say. in Etherhorde - would call me a mutineer, a fool, the dupe of a shapely ship-louse; Dad would say I should be the first to drown when the crawlies strike. These past nights I've pictured their faces as I lay down to sleep & it stabs me through the heart to know how they'd condemn me. Last night they entered my dreams, bitter & scornful & hurrying off with hostile glances, & 'Shame, shame' was all I could get them to say.

But when I think of the n.o.ble bearing of that Lady Diadrelu, I feel suddenly more ashamed of my certainties about her people than the displeasure of my own. All my life I've laughed at the righteous fools who hate Mzithrinis at a personal level, who a.s.sume that whole vast land to be populated by mindless killers with bloodshot eyes. And all my life I've thought of 'crawlies' as something worse. If I'm honest (& where shall I be honest if not with you, little whelp?) my reasons make no more sense than the next man's reasons for hating the Sizzies: because someone long dead or far away set us on this path, and told us never to turn. I cannot forget the Adelyne Adelyne. But the fact that Pazel and Thasha love this Diadrelu settles the matter: she may not be human, but she's a person all the same.

The dream ended with a rain of ash from the heavens, falling in a thin band between me & my kinfolk, & when I saw them through the ash it was like seeing figures in a painting, or on the deck of some boat heading off to the East Reach or points beyond. People who've slipped away, who you can't have back at your side under any circ.u.mstances, people gone already & for ever.

Tuesday, 28 Freala 941. Palo Elkstem, our sailmaster's nephew, succ.u.mbed to his burns this morning. He was right under the foremast when the dragon's-egg shot exploded, & the battle netting came down upon him in flames.

These last days have been bitter. Storm raging again, so that we cannot dream of shifting either of the great timbers on the lower gun deck, although the carpenters have already cut & shaped one into a new foremast. Waves at 40 ft. & breaking on our port quarter: no danger to the ship provided the helm keeps us true, but lads who I've never known to be ill are heaving over the side.

Rose has called off the imprisonment of Pathkendle & Co., though he left one Turach on duty at the invisible wall, to observe who comes & goes. This presents certain difficulties for me: now that they can get their own food, what excuse do I have to visit? And if I persist, & that soldier notes it again & again, how long will it be before the captain pulls me aside & demands a report?

Friday, 1 Norn 941. I start to wonder if a gale rages perpetually on the Ruling Sea. No end is in sight; if anything the wind is somewhat fiercer with each pa.s.sing hour. Gloom among the sailors, a dangerous glint in the Turachs' eyes. And this before we have even finished the fresh food we loaded at Bramian. What is to come in the months ahead I do not like to imagine.

There were at least two hints today, however - unpleasant hints, to be sure. First thing this morning came the accusation, by a Plapp's Pier man, that three members of his gang who'd died in the battle had been stripped of their rings, knives & other valuables by the lad a.s.signed to prepare the corpses for burial at sea. The accused man belonged to neither gang, but he took the Burnscove Boys oath almost as soon as he learned of the charges, saying he feared for his life without their protection. Wish I could be certain that he was wrong.

Of course it's the worst breach imaginable of the Code to pledge oneself to anything save the ship & her captain, & Rose was in a holy fury when he heard of it. As I write the man hangs by one ankle from the main yard, slamming about like a loose wheelblock & lashed by the storm. If the Burnscovers take this as punishment for his stealing (a charge for which there is no evidence) we may yet escape a gang war.

Then at the strike of the noon bell I met Uskins near the tonnage hatch, just standing there in the rain. He caught my eye & for once there was no mockery or sneering, so I drew near & asked what ailed him. Uskins said not a word, just looked away south-east, & when I did the same I saw a purplish glaze on the underside of the furthest clouds, & a little bulge downwards.

'Humph,' said I, squinting, 'I can't account for that, Pidetor, but we've both seen stranger things.'

'You cannot account for it,' said Uskins, 'but Arunis can. He says it is the sign of the Nelluroq Vortex.'

'The Vortex! Oh, surely not. We can't be that that far east.' far east.'

'One can see its effects for thousand of miles. It alters the weather, makes its own winds. Arunis says that they bear down through its depths and vanish from this world. That one can watch a whole sky full of clouds being sucked into its maw, with thunderheads and flocks of birds, and even cloud-murths struggling in vain against its power.'

'But why in the bubbling black Pits are you talking to Arunis?' I demanded.

Uskins looked at me sharply, & his warthog nature came back to him. 'I bring his meals,' he said, 'as you would know if you paid less attention to those youths in the stateroom, and more to our captain's directives.'

'I know Rose is trying to keep him away from the crew,' I said, trying to ignore the provocation. 'But anyone could bring a plate to his door.'

'The captain wants him observed observed, Fiffengurt, not just quarantined. He chose me for my tact, and my gift for obtaining information.'

Your slime-craft & snooping, I thought. But I left him to his vigil & said no more. Arunis may be lying through his teeth, but that purple glint on the clouds' underbellies was plain to see, & remained so through nightfall.

Tonight Dastu pressed a slip of paper into my hand. On it were these words: Find us a safe and secret compartment. When the storm ends we're going to take some chances with trust. Pzl. Find us a safe and secret compartment. When the storm ends we're going to take some chances with trust. Pzl.

Dastu glanced back at me over his shoulder. There's one they've chosen to trust already There's one they've chosen to trust already, I thought, just as they chose me back at Simja. just as they chose me back at Simja.

I am plotting against the captain. My mutiny is now a fact.

Tuesday, 5 Norn 941. Eight solid days of storm. Nothing to do but fight it, fight it ceaselessly. Nights by far the worst, for though we stab at the darkness with fog lamps the waves are ever breaking upon us before we rightly see them. We have been close to broaching more often than I can recall, & five or six times had water over the deck. Pumps have failed, oilskins parted, and a hand run along half the walls on the orlop comes up wet: the Nelluroq is oozing through the seams, pressed in by the battering waves. There was a ghastly morning when the water in the well rose ten feet in three hours: a wad of grime and rat-hair had clogged a bilge pipe. Dawn & dusk are blurry notions, & noon is when you stand beside one mast & can see the next.

Another three men lost, & reports of fever among the unhappy folk down in steerage. Chadfallow & Fulbreech handing out pills. The tarboy Macom Drell, of Hansprit, crushed on the mercy deck by shifting cargo. The lad was found hours after his death; he could not fill his lungs to cry for aid. Also a suicide among the Turachs. One of the guards on the s.h.a.ggat simply walked up & put his hand on the Nilstone. I saw what was left of him: bone & gristle & ash. They say he had been staring at the thing for a week.

Monday, 11 Norn 941. Wave height doubled & still we lack [illegible] [illegible] end of our voyage & this ship's proud history unless end of our voyage & this ship's proud history unless [illegible] [illegible] flooding the flooding the [illegible] [illegible] down the ladderway and broke his leg down the ladderway and broke his leg [illegible] [illegible] wind screams in the rigging with the sound of tortured animals wind screams in the rigging with the sound of tortured animals [illegible] [illegible] blary hand shaking too much to wr blary hand shaking too much to wr [unfinished]. [unfinished].

Sunday, 17 Norn 941. Something in this universe must love the Chathrand Chathrand, for she has looked her own death in the face every day for a week. Three days ago the waves reached 80 ft. Rose put her into the wind, for at that height the lower gallery windows were getting slapped on every swell & one rogue breaker could have smashed them in, flooding the deck & sending us to join the Jistrolloq Jistrolloq in minutes flat. Once we had her about with the stormsails trimmed we were better off for a while, treading in place through the daylight hours, praying & fighting for steerage through the night. in minutes flat. Once we had her about with the stormsails trimmed we were better off for a while, treading in place through the daylight hours, praying & fighting for steerage through the night.

But the day before yesterday the seas grew taller yet. Surely it has been a century or more since any man stood on the Great Ship's forecastle & looked up up at a cresting wave, but I am that man, by Rin. Yet with Elkstem at the wheel & Rose beside him, we did all right until nightfall. Then the waves grew even larger, & the dark hours were one long frenzied struggle against obliteration, tacking up the sides of mountains, piercing the frothing crest with the bowsprit, clawing over the top & falling forwards with a hull-shaking thump, looking up again at once as the next mountain rushed us. The crew was simply breaking. No one talked anymore. No one wanted to eat, or dared to rest, or remembered the needs of their bodies. I had to order men to drink water, & watch that they did so: they were so frightened that only by working perpetually did they keep from shrieking or diving into the sea. at a cresting wave, but I am that man, by Rin. Yet with Elkstem at the wheel & Rose beside him, we did all right until nightfall. Then the waves grew even larger, & the dark hours were one long frenzied struggle against obliteration, tacking up the sides of mountains, piercing the frothing crest with the bowsprit, clawing over the top & falling forwards with a hull-shaking thump, looking up again at once as the next mountain rushed us. The crew was simply breaking. No one talked anymore. No one wanted to eat, or dared to rest, or remembered the needs of their bodies. I had to order men to drink water, & watch that they did so: they were so frightened that only by working perpetually did they keep from shrieking or diving into the sea.

So pa.s.sed that hideous night, & all of yesterday, & last night too. I don't think a man on this ship believed he could fight the sea as long as we did. There were lads had to be smacked to make 'em stop working the pumps, when their shifts ended. But no one had to be smacked awake. We worked like machines, like wind-up toys in the hands of a maniac, with no purpose but to see how much twisting our mechanisms could take.

Dawn seemed to have been abolished, the night stretched into weeks or months. In the worst of it I saw cloud-murths on feral steeds, galloping back & forth on the wave-crests, threatening us with their halberds & pikes. I shall never know if they were real; indeed I'm not sure I want to.

But at last the dawn did come, & with it a gentler wind & seas that rapidly diminished to a mere forty or fifty feet - waves that would have decimated any harbour in Alifros, yet we took them for our salvation. If my count is right we have been twenty days in storm (and without a foremast, by all the G.o.ds!). In that time how many hours have I slept? Ten, fifteen? We have all become like Felthrup: creatures who no longer shut our eyes, for fear of what will happen if we do.

Of Felthrup himself there is no sign.

Tuesday, 19 Norn 941. Someone must list the dead: we owe all human beings that minimum courtesy. But the bookkeeper's an oathsworn Plapp & may 'forget' to mention the losses among the Burnscove Boys; & by the Sailing Code his tabulation goes first to Uskins (Stukey), who so detests lowborns like Uskins (Stukey) that he may abbreviate the list even further. I don't know why this strikes me as part & parcel of the wickedness being done on this voyage, but I will scribble names as I think of them & hope this book falls into the hands of some who loved these unfortunates: [here follows a list of 37 dead]8 May Bakru bring them all to tearless rest, edalage. edalage.

Wednesday, 20 Norn 941. As fine & innocent a day as one could hope for. Swells of an easy 25 ft., wind behind us & powerful instead of crippling, very much the conditions the Great Ship was built for. We've had an easy run these past three days, though a state of nervous collapse followed the storm - men afflicted with flux, vomiting, chills & nightmares; fights breaking out between the cursed gangs; drunkenness rampant beyond anything possible on their small rations of rum. The G.o.ds only know what sort of ship-brewed rotgut they're drinking.

Managed to raise a guide spar on the stump of the foremast: the best we can hope to do until we reach still waters. Cazencian whales, of all things, spotted a quarter-mile to windward, on a parallel run. Told Mr Latzlo & got a snarl for thanks. He does not look normal, Latzlo. He used to shave & primp & perfume himself each day for the Lapadolma girl; now he resembles something escaped from one of his cages.

Monday, 25 Norn 941. Little lad or la.s.s, asleep yet in Annabel's womb: how I should love you to grow up knowing these four youths. If the dream of the rain of ashes should prove true somehow - if my kin disowns me for the choices I've made - still I must believe that you and your dear Mother will accept me. Lady Thasha, Pathkendle, Undrabust, Marila: we'll call them your honorary aunts & uncles, & you will scarce believe the tales they tell.

The good weather holds. Somewhere it is winter; the first frosts are surely etched on your mother's window, but here fungus is blooming in our footlockers & tar bubbles out of the deck seams at noon. The whales still with us. The Vortex gone from sight.

Last night I brought food once again to the stateroom. Undrabust & the stowaway girl, Marila, were the only ones I saw at first. Then a whirling swept across the floor at ankle-height. It was Diadrelu, of course. The crawly woman was dancing a kind of ballet with her sword in the middle of the chamber. She moved so quickly one could not tell where flesh ended & steel began. If she were human-sized she'd be a match for any Turach who ever drew a blade.

'Where are--'

Marila raised a finger to her lips. Undrabust, meanwhile, came forwards and asked loudly, 'Did you bring it, then?'

For once he meant something other than food. Undrabust had slipped me a second note, asking for the weirdest thing: my old mandoloro,9 which I'd not played or even thought about since my commission began, nigh two years ago-- which I'd not played or even thought about since my commission began, nigh two years ago-- (Had I known then who was to be my captain, I should have left the mandoloro behind. How sad to recall what I imagined then: nights on the Nelu Peren with a happy ship, a crew of contented Burnscove gangsters under my command,10 & one scant year before I handed the honour over to a fresh face & settled down with my own sweet 'Bel. Oh Anni, don't hate me, none of this was my choice.) & one scant year before I handed the honour over to a fresh face & settled down with my own sweet 'Bel. Oh Anni, don't hate me, none of this was my choice.) 'How in the putrid Pits did you know I had a squeezebox?' I'd asked Undrabust. The tarboy replied that Felthrup had mentioned it, weeks ago. Which is odder still, as I'm sure I never discussed music with the poor little rat.

I'd no sooner taken it from its case than Undrabust s.n.a.t.c.hed it up & began to play. Or rather to squeeze & mash b.u.t.tons. He might have been attempting The Lighthouse Girl The Lighthouse Girl. It does not matter; I have seen men flogged for less. Undrabust himself frowned at the bleating & honking, but that did not stop him from grinding away. Marila took my hand & led me to one side.

'They may be listening,' she whispered. 'Neeps is just drowning them out.'

'Who are "they"?' I asked.