The River of Shadows by Robert V S Redick Page B

who had mated with her, so that they could kill or scatter those unlucky males as well.”
    Pazel closed his eyes. He was, in fact, intensely grateful for Felthrup’s presence, his grounding inanities and madcap wisdom. But you had to have patience, barrels of it, whenever the rat warmed to a theme.
    Thasha managed it better than anyone. “We’re late for the council, Felthrup dear,” she said. “What is it you wanted to tell us?”
    “That I have been eavesdropping,” he said. “Dr. Rain has lately been interrogated by several officers concerning one of his patients. Have you heard the rumors surrounding the topman, Mr. Duprís?”
    “I heard that Rain had quarantined the man,” said Hercól. “Something about a fever.”
    “He has no fever now,” said Felthrup. “When that serpent neared the Chathrand , and every man aboard feared the worst, Mr. Duprís fled his post, screaming, ‘I won’t touch it, I won’t, I won’t!’ That sort of nonsense. Later his friends dragged him to sickbay. He was in a terrible state, but he grew calmer once they strapped him down: indeed he thanked the doctor for strapping him down. But then the surgeon’s mate discovered his high temperature. Fearing he might infect the rest of the ward, he persuaded Rain to send the man to an empty cabin. They moved him late at night. But on the way to the cabin, Duprís asked for some fresh air, so Rain and the mate brought him to one of the open gunports and let him bend down. He took a deep breath. Then he looked over his shoulder at them. ‘He cannot make me do it. I’ll never touch that cursed thing.’ With those words Duprís cast himself into the sea.”
    A silence fell. “Arunis,” said Pazel at last. “He was talking about Arunis.”
    Thasha sighed. “And the Nilstone, of course.”
    “So Arunis has begun to kill,” said Hercól, “as he always promised he would. It is terrible news that he has grown strong enough to attack our minds in such a way. I always thought that he managed it with Mr. Druffle through some prolonged contact with the man—through potions or torture. Now it appears he can do so without ever touching his victim—from hiding, where no one can interfere. During the crossing, when the Turach committed suicide by placing his hand on the Stone, I thought the poor man had simply despaired. Now I wonder.”
    “Why isn’t the whole ship talking about Duprís?” asked Pazel.
    “Mr. Alyash feared to start a panic,” said Felthrup, “and so he ordered Rain and Fulbreech to keep the man’s death a secret. But I can tell you something more, friends: I was not alone in listening to their conversation. There were ixchel, somewhere close, for I heard their whispers. They did not hear me, I think. I have become a better spy on this voyage, if nothing else.”
    “What did they say?” asked Thasha.
    “Something very curious. They said, ‘So it’s happening to the giants as well.’ ”
    A low groan escaped Pazel’s chest. “Arunis must be working on the ixchel too. And why not, since they’re in charge? But what in blazes does he want ? He still needs a crew to sail the ship, doesn’t he?”
    “We should go to the council,” said Thasha. “Not that anyone’s going to listen to us.”
    “Whether they listen or not, we must keep our purpose clear,” said Hercól. “We swore to place the Stone beyond the reach of evil—and that we must do, somehow. Where is that place? I do not know. Even Erithusmé, greatest wizardess since the time of the Amber Kings, did not know. But it exists, or Ramachni would not have set us looking for it. Taking the Nilstone to that place will be impossible, however, so long as the Chathrand remains in the grip of evil men. We must break that grip.”
    “That could mean killing,” said Thasha.
    “I expect it will,” said Hercól. “Arunis will never relent; Sandor Ott does not know how. If we have truly leaped forward two centuries, then his Emperor is dead, and the