It was a liturgy of the Rinfaith — Pazel had heard bits of it before, chanted by devout sailors or travelling monks. But in Thasha's voice the words were frightful. Mugstur crouched low, tucking his tail and holding his head with his paws. Taliktrum and his warriors still clung to him, too shocked to do anything but watch.
'Angel,' whimpered Mugstur. 'How can I know you? How can I be sure?'
'If you do not know me, then you were never my true servant,' said Thasha.
'That girl… she was always aboard!' squeaked one of the rats. 'She's Thasha Isiq, the Treaty Bride!'
Thasha looked at the deformed rats. She was in a trance, Pazel thought. Then — before he could do more than scream a despairing No! — she reached out and touched the Nilstone, between the dead stone fingers of the Shaggat Ness.
Pazel thought he was seeing her die. Something like that withering flame that had consumed the Shaggat's hand raced from the Nilstone down Thasha's arm. But it did not kill her. It swept over her body like a cold flame. All colour went out of the room, but Thasha's skin took on an unearthly glow. The black radiance of the Nilstone flowed through her fingers, brighter and brighter.
'Do you believe?' Thasha demanded.
'We believe, great Angel,' said Mugstur, squirming and grovelling at her feet.
'We believe you! We believe!' squealed the rats.
Thasha frowned. 'I do not trust in words. We shall see if you stand ready to prove your faith in deeds.'
With that she wrenched her hand away from the Nilstone. She cringed, cradling the hand, as a peal of thunder rolled through the ship. Pazel slid from the hay bales and caught her before she could fall. Then the room was still.
Mugstur leaped to his feet.
'Yes!' he cried. 'I am ready! We are all ready! It is time for deeds! We will show you, Mistress of Heaven! After me, rats, the hour is come!'
He turned and flew from the chamber. Their foes forgotten, the other rats pursued him. Their cries were taken up by the horde in the outer compartment: 'The hour is come! The hour is come!'
Thasha put her arms over Pazel's shoulders. 'Well,' she said, leaning into him.
It was her old voice; he could have wept with relief. He looked her over, head to foot. She had touched the Nilstone; she should have been dead. And yet she was not even visibly wounded, although he was rather sure she would collapse if he released her. 'What… what did you do?' he whispered.
Thasha looked up at the Nilstone in the Shaggat's hand. 'It was nothing I'd planned, believe me. I just thought it was the only chance we had.'
Beside them, Lord Talag (dropped by the rats in their haste) began to moan and twist with great urgency. Taliktrum bent and slashed at his father's bonds.
Pazel looked out through the doorway. 'Where in Pitfire did they go? What did you tell them?'
'Nothing!' Thasha protested. 'I just said obey me, didn't you hear? I don't know what command they think they're obeying.'
Talag retched and shouted, tearing at his gag. Taliktrum wept openly as he cut him free. 'You lived,' he managed to say. 'The rat taunted me, said he had something I wanted more than life itself. I never dreamed it could be you.'
The gag parted, and Talag spat it out. He made a raw and painful sound.
'Don't try to speak too soon, m'lord,' said one of the Dawn Soldiers.
Talag shoved him away. He bolted upright, even though his legs were still tied to the staff. 'The rats!' he croaked, his voice a husk. 'They go to die! Stop them, girl, stop them! Bring them back!'
'Father, you're ill!' cried Taliktrum. 'They're our enemies, even though they kept you alive!'
'Ill, am I?' snapped Talag. He drew his hand roughly over Taliktrum's chest, then rubbed his thumb and finger together. 'Lamp oil, you fool! Every rat aboard has bathed in it! They're killing themselves! They're going to free their souls upon the air! They're going to heaven on a plume of smoke!'
The horror of what he was saying struck Pazel like a club. Thasha gasped and sprinted from the room. Pazel chased after her, amazed that she had found yet another reserve of strength. 'Mugstur!' she shouted. 'Stop! I command you!'
But the power had left her voice, and the rats were far away. As they neared the Silver Stair Pazel realised he did not even know if they had run up or down. They skidded to a halt, listening.
'They're beneath us!' said Pazel, starting to plunge downwards. But Thasha caught his arm, and he listened again.
He cursed. 'And above us! Mugstur could have gone either way, and-Oh, damn it all! Look!'
Three hundred feet away cross the central compartment, flames leaped suddenly in the gloom. They were rats, burning like living torches, and they were running this way and that, biting one another, setting each other alight. Those not yet on fire screamed at those that were: 'This way! Bless me, cleanse me, brother!' Then twenty or more rat voices rose in song:
Faith on fire, smoke on high,
Rin's first Angel, see me die.
Rise in ash to heaven's nest,
Rin's Rat-Angel, love me best!
Pazel would have found it hard to imagine things getting much worse. But they did, considerably. Thasha was still holding his arm, and when he looked at her he saw tears of frustrated rage.
'No good,' she said, nearly sobbing. 'I'm no good, I wreck everything, you're about to die, do you love me?'
'What?'
Thasha fell asleep in his arms.
He shed her father's sword, and thrust Ildraquin through his belt in its place. He caught her under the arms. What could he do, and what did it matter, now? It didn't, he thought. The fog was in his brain again; he felt stupid and slow. But he would not abandon her. He would not let her burn among the rats.
The first climb was easy. He kept her body high, and bore much of her weight against his chest. But after the berth deck he slipped in blood or oil, and fell painfully, and when he lifted her again she felt heavier, somehow. At the lower gun deck he had to put her down and clear dead rats from the ladderway. The upper gun deck was bright with flames.
When he emerged into the open air the scene was infernal. The sky throbbed red in the south; lightning crackled over the still-closer Vortex. At least fifty rats had clearly made straight for the topdeck, and set themselves aflame when they reached it. Many had not stopped there, but had pulled themselves burning up the masts and shrouds. The tarred rigging snatched at the flame; already the mizzen topsail was alight.
Hallucination? thought Pazel hopefully. Then he gave a sobbing laugh. The stench of burned fur, the wafting heat, the swollen, blazing animals leaping crazed from the yardarms: it was all too abominably real. And so was blane. He stumbled, rose with effort, dragged Thasha a few more yards. Then he sat down and propped her head on his lap, brushed her dirty hair from her eyes, and kissed her the way he'd wanted to for so long.
This is where it ends, Thasha.
The flame was widespread, fore and aft. Somewhere ixchel were shouting, cursing, muttering their ambiguous prayers. He thought, My mind is the ship. Three hundred cabins full of smoke, full of fog. Nothing stirring much longer. No more fighting to be done.
A rat lumbered towards them in flames, shrieking. Pazel watched it, too sleepy even to move his hand to Ildraquin. The creature stopped a few yards from their feet and bowed its head, and Pazel realised he was looking at Master Mugstur. The white rat settled on to his thick stomach and lay burning like a hideous beacon in the wind. Most of the others were already dead.
Pazel bent and kissed her once more. He closed his eyes, shutting out the world, shutting out everything but Thasha's lips, her gentle breathing. They should have done more of this. What exactly had they been waiting for?
The fog crept into the last chamber of his brain. He rested his forehead on her shoulder, and was still.
And then he raised his head, mouth agape, and blinked at the raging fire. And very much as a question he spoke the Master-Word.