The Ruling Sea by Robert V S Redick Page B

into her palm on the marriage dais, she had to appear dead beyond all suspicion. That called for blanë of the purest kind—and the most dangerous. Without the antidote, Thasha never would have woken from its grip. She would have slept until she starved.”
    “I’m still cold,” said Thasha.
    “You will not cast off the chill for days, perhaps,” said Diadrelu. “My father once pricked his thumb with pure blanë . A week later he still suffered nightmares, and felt the drug’s cold grip. Sunlight helped, he said.”
    “Alas, she will have little of that for a time,” said Hercól. “This cabin must be your cage, Thasha, until King Oshiram learns the truth of our mission. If I can find a way to contact him at all, that is.”
    “And what then?” asked Diadrelu. “Has he the stomach to quarantine the Great Ship, and fight his way aboard against a hundred Turachs?”
    “We must hope so,” said Hercól. “But there is another question: what if he succeeds? No doubt he will destroy the Shaggat, lest by some guile of Arunis the madman be returned to life. But the Nilstone he cannot destroy: no power in Alifros can. Will he consent to guard it until some better resting place is found? It could break his dynasty—for although its merest touch slays the fearful, someone will always dream of using it, and perhaps succeed. Arunis for one believes that is possible.”
    He looked gravely at each of them in turn. “We must never forget that our fates too are tied to the Stone. By our oath, first—to place it beyond the grasp of anyone vile enough to seek to use it—and by the mere fact that we are children of this world. Alifros is great, but the power of the Nilstone is limitless. There will be nowhere to hide if its power is unleashed.” Hercól turned to Thasha with a sigh. “I had counted on your father’s help in persuading Oshiram. But now—”
    Thasha gasped. “Oh, the fool! What happened? He hit the king, didn’t he?”
    The others smiled at one another but did not laugh. It would not do to be overheard; they were in mourning after all. Before anyone could explain, however, they were interrupted by a shrill cry.
    “Hark the voice!”
    They jumped. By the door to the washroom stood Felthrup Stargraven, the woken rat, terribly injured in yesterday’s battle. They crowded around him, overjoyed. He seemed remarkably steady on his three good feet (the fourth had been crushed by a drainpipe lid), and he twitched his short tail impatiently (another rat had long ago bitten it in two). Jorl and Suzyt barreled forward and licked him, an act of love in which Felthrup might soon have drowned.
    But the rat shook them off and squeaked again: “Hark the voice, the voice in the distance! Can’t you hear?”
    They held still. And hear it they did: a man’s voice from an impossible distance, rising and falling gravely.
    “It’s that priest again,” said Pazel. “The one they call the Father. But I can’t make out what he’s saying.”
    “He is saying we shall die!” cried that rat.
    “What?”
    “Die, die! Not literally, of course. Not even metaphorically. Nor by inference intended—but how, pray, does a speaker know what his listener infers? And in the strictest sense what he is saying is not the point so much as the indisputable fact that it is being said . Bellowed, blasted, harrooed—”
    “Felthrup,” said Diadrelu. “You are healed. Your chatter proves it. But whatever are you talking about?”
    “There’s a bell ringing now,” said Pazel.
    Felthrup spun in a circle, too upset to hold still. “Not one bell—two! Disaster, disaster!”
    They opened more windows: indeed there were two bells, one high, one low, sounding precisely together so that the notes seemed to fuse as one. And now from the shore came voices, incredulous voices, crying out in delight.
    “But that’s the wedding signal,” Thasha said. “Simjans ring two bells at once to show that a couple is married. But we’re not! We