Stealing the Nilstone

5 Modobrin 941

Ensyl leaned back against the scabbard of Ildraquin, winded. The dust was going to make her sneeze. With a bit of string she'd found under Thasha's bed she had just hoisted the weapon to the top of the cupboard in the stateroom. Not much of a hiding place, but it would be out of sight from the floor, and as long as the ship was on dry land there was no danger of it shifting. In any case it was better than leaving it inside the straw mattress in Bolutu's cabin, where she had stashed it three nights ago, in desperate haste, just to keep Vadu from fishing it through the tiny hole he'd cut in Thasha's wall.

She had watched that deed from the inside, watched him slide his arm toward Hercol's blade. She had charged, ready to hack the fingers from that hand, but then the wall itself had attacked Vadu, burned him, and she had danced sidelong into the shadows again, still unseen. When Vadu retreated she had dragged the sword to Bolutu's chamber, then raced back by the ixchel's secret paths to a vantage point on the quarterdeck.

Like so many heads of cattle, the humans were being herded ash.o.r.e. Far down the lightless avenue she could see them trudging in the chilly rain, soldiers on sicunas sicunas pacing among them, dogs to either side watching for strays. Where were the tarboys, the young women, Hercol? She had not caught sight of any of her friends since well before the dlomic charge. pacing among them, dogs to either side watching for strays. Where were the tarboys, the young women, Hercol? She had not caught sight of any of her friends since well before the dlomic charge.

But then Fiffengurt had appeared across the quay, supporting Lady Oggosk as he might his own mother. His true eye glanced back at his beloved Chathrand Chathrand, searching for any sign of hope. Ensyl wanted to go to him, show herself, prove that the fight was not lost. If only If only, she thought, I had a swallow-suit I had a swallow-suit. Pointless yearning. She would never again be trusted anywhere near such a treasure of the clan.

Now, dust-coated, she sat atop the cupboard, elbows on knees, looking down at the chamber of her allies. Vast, safe, deserted. Alone at last. She didn't dare laugh at the thought; laughter could too easily slide into tears.

What had she just accomplished, wrestling his sword up here? What would she do next, clean the windows? The thought pounced on her suddenly: they were defeated, utterly crushed, stripped of their vessel and their freedom and any chance to determine their own fates.

They? Who do you mean by they, they, Ensyl? Ensyl?

I don't mean they. I mean us.

Your clan despised you, abandoned you- Not the clan, forget the clan, count me out of it, that broken thing, that lie.

You just mean her.

And what if she did? What if it had all been for Dri-for her beautiful, murdered mistress? Dri, who understood the life inside the ritual, who knew what clan clan could mean, ought to mean, the deeper could mean, ought to mean, the deeper us us, the source in the heart, that chance of kinship no matter the bodies or the histories involved.

Dri, killed because she loved out of turn.

You hate Hercol Stanapeth, don't you? The n.o.blest soul on this ship, maybe, and you hate him. You think of them together and you could stab him through the heart.

Ensyl tried desperately to still her mind. The guilty conscience exaggerates: that was something Dri herself used to say. When guilt would claim you, be cold. Accept the whole truth, but no more than that, or you will wander among phantoms alone When guilt would claim you, be cold. Accept the whole truth, but no more than that, or you will wander among phantoms alone.

But wasn't that exactly what she was doing? Her mistress had died. Her clan-brethren had fled, and not trusted her with the secret of where they had gone. Her human allies had been marched off down a dark road through the Lower City. All her pride in her choice of loyalties, and what was she left with for company? A bearskin rug. A black, stained sword.

Then a door creaked, and Ensyl was herself again. Flat against the cabinet-top, hidden, one hand reaching for her knife.

A slight scrabbling from below, and then a shrill, worried voice called out timidly, "Thasha? Hercol? Where is everyone?"

Ensyl shouted with joy. "Felthrup, why, Felthrup, you-rat!"

She was down to the floor in seconds, embracing the startled beast. He was glad to see her, too, but frightened and disoriented, and very thirsty. He knew nothing of the fight with Arunis or the seizure of the ship. He had been asleep, as they both soon realized, for three days.

"Three days! How did you manage that?"

"It was hard work," he said, "but worth it. Oh, I pray pray it was worth it. Somehow I feel as though I've accomplished a great deed, only I cannot remember anything about it. But where are the others, Ensyl? Why is the ship so still?" it was worth it. Somehow I feel as though I've accomplished a great deed, only I cannot remember anything about it. But where are the others, Ensyl? Why is the ship so still?"

Ensyl told him about the events he had slept through, and Felthrup ran in circles about her, in a paroxysm of remorse. "Fulbreech! I hate him! I will give him the sort of bite he can't recover from! I knew it, I always always knew-and yet when Lady Thasha needed me most I lay asleep in a closet, not twenty feet from that-that knew-and yet when Lady Thasha needed me most I lay asleep in a closet, not twenty feet from that-that-androsuccubus, is that the word?"

"I'm sure it is," said Ensyl. "But you could not have helped her then. Let us go to work now, and perhaps we will find our revenge."

Then they both heard it: a faint cry, from beyond the doorway. "That's an ixchel voice!" said Ensyl, and flew to the door. Reaching the k.n.o.b was an easy leap; turning it, a whole-body effort. But she managed, and Felthrup nosed open the door, and both of them tumbled through.

Counselor Vadu had made his men paint around the hole he had cut in the magic wall. Now a splotch of white enamel hung in the air at the center of the crossed pa.s.sages, outlining the jagged rectangle. And beneath the hole, cradling her hand, stood Myett.

They raced toward her; she watched them come. "The edges are sharp, like broken gla.s.s," she said, displaying a long cut on her hand.

"You dare not try to pa.s.s through it," said Ensyl. "Counselor Vadu was branded by it, like a mule. What are you doing here, Myett? Did you not go after Taliktrum, as the clan supposed?"

Myett just looked at her, wary and mistrustful, and Ensyl wished she hadn't spoken.

"Is there food in the stateroom?" asked Myett.

Ensyl told her to wait in Bolutu's chamber while she ran and gathered bread and biscuit crumbs and the last dlomic peach into a bundle. Then she ran back to where Felthrup waited, and the two of them stepped out through the wall and went to the veterinarian's cabin. Myett ate and ate; Ensyl had rarely seen one of her people so famished. "The humans are gone," she said between mouthfuls. "They're being treated like kings, though-captive kings. Fattened up, in a great pavilion across the city. And given new clothes, and baths, and nurses to scrub them and kill their fleas."

"You went there?"

"I rode there, in a wagon with the invalids who could not walk. And back upon a dog-drawn coach. I could see them eating through a window in the pavilion, but I couldn't get a bite. The dlomic giants don't waste food like humans; they don't drop it and throw it about. They're giving heaps of it to their prisoners, but all the same-" She looked up, puzzled, at Ensyl and the rat. "I don't think they have that much."

"We're trapped, then," said Felthrup, eating alongside Myett. "Unless they bring the crew back, and set us afloat upon the gulf."

"We're trapped," Ensyl agreed. "There are a hundred dlomu on the topdeck, at least five times that number surrounding the port. And by day there are the shipwrights, the dockworkers, inspectors going through every compartment and cabin. There will be no fighting our way out of the Jaws of Masalym, even if all the humans fought at our side. I doubt we could master the river-machines, the gates and shafts and spillways, without destroying the ship in our trial and error. No, there's no escape by sea. If we leave this city, we do so without the Chathrand Chathrand."

Myett did not look at her. Sullenly, she asked, "What does Lord Talag say?"

Ensyl hesitated, and then Myett did look at her, with a certain gleam of understanding. "You missed the rendezvous on the orlop," she said. "You were in the stateroom with your true friends. Of course."

"I was fighting the sorcerer," said Ensyl. "Do you know where they went?"

She nodded. "A safe place indeed. Even the dogs will not sniff them out. But Ensyl: I will not go there with you, nor tell you how to find it."

Ensyl was taken aback. "Sister," she said, "everything has changed now. Perhaps you did not see them? Arunis is allied with the rulers of the city. They do his bidding, or much of it. We cannot quarrel among ourselves. Your lover accused me of treason, and it is true that I disobeyed him. But that is all beside the point. Doom is coming for us like a great wave, Myett. We must help one another to higher ground or be washed away."

"Everything has changed," said Myett, nodding, "and I have changed with it. Your treason is nothing to me, nor is your standing, or mine, or all the old stale points of honor. Let our fellow crawlies help one another to escape the wave, if they can find the will to do so. I want no part of that struggle. I am alone."

For an ixchel, the last statement was close to heresy. Ensyl struggled to keep her voice even and low. "Sanctuary awaits us, sister," she said.

"We will never reach it," said Myett, "and they- they-they do not deserve it."

Her look was adamant, and Ensyl's heart sank. Myett the worshipful had become Myett the indifferent. She had not run off, like Taliktrum, but she had exiled herself all the same. The clan was crumbling; foolishness and self-deceit would be their epitaph.

"But, sister-"

"I am no one's sister anymore."

Ensyl could not summon the strength to argue. But Felthrup, who had been gaping at Myett, shook himself and stood up from his meal. "Now see here," he squeaked. "You owe your life to Ixphir House."

"Don't lecture me, rodent," said Myett with a caustic laugh. "I know my debts, all right."

"Be quiet, you know very little," said Felthrup, his mouth twitching so hard that crumbs flew from his whiskers. "You have a grievance with Taliktrum. That is plain as a bruise on your face. Be quiet, be quiet! You have no no grievance with Ensyl, who has only shown you kindness. And you have no right to destroy the clan that raised you. No right by your people's laws, nor by the moral constant that unites all woken souls." grievance with Ensyl, who has only shown you kindness. And you have no right to destroy the clan that raised you. No right by your people's laws, nor by the moral constant that unites all woken souls."

"You read too much," said Myett.

"A clan, a crew, a colony of rats: they are neither blessed nor d.a.m.ned, neither chosen nor cast out. But they are your family. Some have mistreated you. What of it? The rest need your strength, and more wisdom than you've shown."

What had happened to Felthrup in his sleep? Ensyl wondered. He was shaking and nervous as ever, but at the same time he was speaking in a rapture of certainty, not breaking eye contact with Myett.

"They need you," he said, "and that matters more than your damage and pain. You must let let it matter more." it matter more."

"They despise me," said Myett. "They have taken decades of my life and given back only scorn."

"And did they take nothing from me?" Felthrup displayed his mangled forepaw. "They sealed me in a bilge-pipe to suffocate. But they rescued me, too-from my my family, my diseased and mutant kin, the ones who bit three inches off my tail. I gnawed at that stump, Myett-gnawed it back to bleeding, each time it started to heal. Oh, how I pitied myself! I dreamed of drowning, and I did not care who drowned with me." family, my diseased and mutant kin, the ones who bit three inches off my tail. I gnawed at that stump, Myett-gnawed it back to bleeding, each time it started to heal. Oh, how I pitied myself! I dreamed of drowning, and I did not care who drowned with me."

At the word drowning drowning, Myett's face changed. "That was you, scrabbling in the dark!" she cried. "You little vermin. You followed me, you watched. You watched me and said nothing!"

"I watched you rush into the hold as the water rose," said Felthrup, "and wondered what you sought there. I never dreamed it was death."

Ensyl turned her back, so as not to shame the young woman before her. Aya Rin, Myett. Was it love of Taliktrum that drove you to this? Aya Rin, Myett. Was it love of Taliktrum that drove you to this?

"I will not tell you again," said Myett, breathing hard, "to leave me in peace."

"That is what I mean to do," said Felthrup. "I will go to the manger, to have a look at the Nilstone. And you, friend Myett: you will do the right thing, and be strong. Take Ensyl to warn your people. The water spared you for a reason, as that pipe spared me. It is up to us to discover those reasons, I think-and if we cannot, then to find reasons, create them if necessary. Yes, I mean it. Sometimes we must fabricate reasons to live."

Ensyl looked at Myett once more, and saw a broken agony in her face, a desperation. Myett lifted a hand toward her knife, and Ensyl froze. Don't make me fight you, Myett. Don't make one of us die. We're both victims of our love for that family Don't make me fight you, Myett. Don't make one of us die. We're both victims of our love for that family.

Myett's hand hovered over the knife. Then it rose, slowly, as though she would touch Felthrup on the muzzle. She did not complete the gesture, but something in her own face changed, and she turned swiftly to the wall. She could not face them, maybe, but Ensyl thought she stood a little straighter than before.

"d.a.m.n you, Stanapeth! We're not ready to tackle the ship!"

Alyash was fuming. Neither Sandor Ott nor Hercol responded to his whispered outburst. They were moving as only trained a.s.sa.s.sins could, shadow to shadow, crouch to crouch. Alert to the tiniest noises, wearing dark clothes swapped with or stripped from other crew members, faces and hands and bare feet blackened from a pouch of soot. Boots would have been safer: gla.s.s and splinters and rusty nails littered the streets. But they had no proper, soft-soled footwear, and one accidental thump could make the difference between life and death.

"Do you hear me? Nabbing the Stone tonight is blary impossible! We'll be lucky to get aboard her at all."

Ott did not like sudden changes to careful plans anymore than Alyash. But Hercol's reasoning was sound. Take the Nilstone tonight or lose it to enemies tomorrow. Lose it to enemies, and you will never defeat them Take the Nilstone tonight or lose it to enemies tomorrow. Lose it to enemies, and you will never defeat them.

But Alyash had a point as well. The ship was under heavy guard, and they had not yet cased her fully. Blind terrain! How he hated it! Ott himself had already been attacked: a dozen creatures, like small monkeys but for their hairlessness and fangs, had exploded from the window of a gutted house. All on him, coordinated as a wolf pack, and Ott wondered if they had somehow decided that he was the weakest of the three. He had responded with a frenzy of killing, and sent the few survivors screeching into the night.

In fact the ruined state of the Lower City was mostly to their advantage. Only near the cliff where the Middle City began did the streets come to life. Descending that cliff had been a moderate challenge. It had been more difficult to persuade Thasha Isiq to go with Dastu, seeking an exit to the mountains, a place they might flee to, a hideout.

They were halfway to the port.

Right now the greatest danger was the dogs. Killing them was too dangerous: they had only six arrows and one bow, of strange dlomic design, taken off a man Ott had personally authorized Dastu to kill. A foot soldier, sent back to the barracks for a cough, and quite unaware of the falcon gliding soundlessly overhead, guiding Dastu through the darkened city. The cough, at least, would bother him no more.

But they could not waste those precious arrows on dogs. And a wounded dog might howl. That wouldn't do. They had to mount to the rooftops whenever the creatures stirred. Luckily the houses were low and ramshackle, and often abandoned. Four or five empty streets for every one where citizens clung together, fearful and poor, night watchmen armed with no more than sticks to keep the feral dogs and other, stranger animals at bay. Given a month Ott could have learned to mimic the sounds of these animals, and thus moved through Masalym with far greater ease. But they had only tonight. Had they been spotted already, though? Taken for dlomic criminals? Surely there were many such parasites, feasting on this carca.s.s of a city.

Most of the houses were slate-roofed-easy to climb, hazardous to cross-but eventually Hercol beckoned, and sprinted to a flat-roofed building. It was the drainpipe he'd spotted: a solid iron thing. It bore his weight as he pulled himself up, hand over hand. Despite himself Ott had to smile as he watched Hercol's fluid movements. Alyash had strength and utter fearlessness, and a mind like a steel trap. But Hercol had something more: blazing intuition, a welding together of thought and deed that was swifter even than Ott's own. Such a masterful tool. And yet Hercol was not his to wield, ever again, for Arqual or any other cause. He's wielding you, if anything, old man. Your hunting days are numbered He's wielding you, if anything, old man. Your hunting days are numbered.

When he crawled forward to the roof's edge, Ott saw why Hercol had chosen it. Before them stretched a wide, dark road: the avenue up which the captives had been marched. Half a mile to the south the Chathrand Chathrand towered over the quay. The lamps of the dlomic guard blazed on her topdeck. towered over the quay. The lamps of the dlomic guard blazed on her topdeck.

"They've mounted the new foremast," said Alyash. "There's rigging on it too, by the hairy devil. They work fast."

"The breach in the hull is surely repaired as well," said Hercol. "No boarding her from below, then. And if we climb the scaffold they will spot us for certain. We will have to enter by one of the starboard hawse-holes."

"Like rats," said Ott, and smiled.

"I just hope your knife's good and sharp," muttered Alyash. "The splash-guard on the inside of those holes is made of walrus hide. You're going to have a dandy job cutting through it while dangling from the cable."

"My knife is sharp," said Hercol, "and your plan is sound, of course, Master Ott. A direct approach would be suicide. But this way we have a chance."

He calls me master! By the Night G.o.ds, I taught him respect! He was not deceived, of course: there was hateful irony when Hercol spoke the word, even if he had never found another to replace it. He was not deceived, of course: there was hateful irony when Hercol spoke the word, even if he had never found another to replace it.

Sudden wings overhead. Ott rolled onto his back: Niriviel swept over them, cutting a turn that meant No enemies moving No enemies moving. "All clear," said Ott. "Let's get on with it, gentlemen."

They climbed down, rounded the building, broke across the road. At once a door slammed off to their right. Well, Pitfire, they'd been seen. But recognized? Not likely. You open a door, you see figures running in deadly earnest, you slam it. Nine men in ten will hold their breath and hope the danger pa.s.ses. Of course, these were not exactly men.

Keep running, keep cold. In the lead, Hercol reached the far side of the avenue and dived into a side street, ducked left at the first alley, then right into the next. This one was straight and long and amazingly narrow, three- and four-story row houses so close together that you could, at times, touch both walls at once. Mounds of refuse, scent of just-burned garbage, rodents squeaking and popping out of their way, fitful candlelight in scattered windows. They ran.

One block, two. No incidents. Then disaster-a dlomic woman's shriek, half a dozen answering voices, rage and fear and shouted names. A cacophony of dogs' howls, objects shattering near their heads. They flew into the fast sprint they had not yet asked of themselves, saw the vicious monkey-squirrels leaping across the alley through open windows ahead of them, then all around them, like crossfire, and then they were at the end of the alley, dashing over a ring road paved with old cobbles, and vaulting onto the eight-foot wall at the rim of the basin.

"The floor below is curved," cried Hercol. "Drop! Drop and run!"

Cries from behind them; stones whizzing past their ears. They dropped, struck ground, rolled onto their feet. They were in the mile-wide basin into which the Chathrand Chathrand had been lifted when she entered Masalym. It was a great stone bowl, half empty, with a disc of water at the center. They made for that disc, racing down the side of the bowl, then crouching and sliding, clowns and not killing machines when they hit the slippery slime-layer near the water's edge. Once submerged they dived deep, so no ripple would betray them above. They rose together, breathed together, dived at the same time. had been lifted when she entered Masalym. It was a great stone bowl, half empty, with a disc of water at the center. They made for that disc, racing down the side of the bowl, then crouching and sliding, clowns and not killing machines when they hit the slippery slime-layer near the water's edge. Once submerged they dived deep, so no ripple would betray them above. They rose together, breathed together, dived at the same time. Like my lads crossing the border at the River Narth, to kill the Sizzies in their sleep Like my lads crossing the border at the River Narth, to kill the Sizzies in their sleep, thought the spymaster. We're strong swimmers, and we know what we're about. But beside the dlomu we're slow as cows. If they catch us in the water we're dead men. Stay deep, my boys, stay with me We're strong swimmers, and we know what we're about. But beside the dlomu we're slow as cows. If they catch us in the water we're dead men. Stay deep, my boys, stay with me.

Stones and arrows fell around them. But they did swim deep, and none of the arrows found its mark, and Ott heard no sound of pursuit. With long, swift strokes they crossed the basin, until at last the curved floor met their feet once more. Out they crawled into the slime, three crocodiles, belly-sliding right to the foot of the stone gate across the Chathrand Chathrand's berth.

"Not here," said Ott. "Too many eyes. We should climb out at the third berth, the abandoned one. Good cover there: it's full of derelicts and weeds."

Hercol nodded. The three men bent low and ran along the wall for some five hundred yards. No guard here, no lights. And the makeshift grappling hook bit on the third throw, bit and held tight: such splendid luck. Right up the wall Hercol climbed, forty feet, hand over fist. Alyash followed. When Ott's turn came he found the two men hauling him up.

Red fury engulfed him. He glowered as he hooked a leg over the rim.

"I need no man's help up a wall," he said. "Do you think I'd be out here tonight if I doubted for my readiness to-Eh?"

The others were staring, transfixed. Ott sprang to his feet and looked in the same direction.

They were at the edge of the abandoned berth, some five hundred yards from the Chathrand Chathrand. At their feet, three boats sat in dry dock in various stages of decay. Upon the largest, which was draped like some ghastly burial chamber with the moldered remains of her sails, dark figures were moving toward the bows.

Ott pulled the other men down into the weeds. The figures numbered ten. Eight of them wore black clothes, rather like the men watching ash.o.r.e. They were dlomu, of course: the slight gleam of silver about the eyes proved that. All had light, thin swords, and three carried bows as well, with arrows already nocked.