Page 57 of Fate of the Argosi

Guess that was supposed to sound inspiring. Didn’t do the trick though – not when I’d finally got me a decent spot at the railing. I swung my left leg over.‘Enna says any Argosi who has to go around swearing hasn’t learned their arta loquit, Pappy.’

Looking out at the necropolis, I saw a lovely spot just the right size. Not so small that I’d feel cramped, but not so big that I’d ever feel lonely again.

‘Ain’t talkin’ about no arta loquit, kid,’Durral blustered, though he was too far away now to matter.

Still, though, I’d hate to die with such an obvious question rattling around in my head.‘Of course it’s arta loquit,’I insisted, bringing my other leg over the railing. Looked pretty far down from here. The shadowblack sea had frozen to a field of onyx ice that would surely break both my legs when I landed. No problem though; I’d just need to do some fast crawling to get to my spot before anyone else took it. I could already see my own obsidian arch rising up from the black ice, beckoning for me to lie down in front of it, cross my arms and seep into the onyx where I’d never have to deal with Durral Brown’s crap again.

Except . . .

‘Damn it, Pappy, if swearing ain’t arta loquit, then what the hells is it? Swearing is a form of language, and the understanding of languages is part of eloquence.’

‘Not when you’re staring into the void!’Durral countered.

Smug bastard. I could feel his smirk all the way from here, and it wasn’t the peaceful, accepting smile on the face of the people around me. No, this was his own trademark grin, full of bluster, mirth and . . . what was the other thing? I couldn’t recall, and he wasn’t making it easy, badgering me like that.

‘When everything is lost, kid, and every ounce of your mind and body have given up on you, when fate itself looms over, hands outstretched to keep you from taking another step, that’s when you tell fate to – Well, I sure as hells ain’t gonna say the word myself. Enna might be listening. Now, where was I again?’

My buttocks were resting on the railing, my feet dangling over the side. All I needed to do was let go and this would finally be over. In fact, if I just sat here a few more seconds, somebody would surely give me a helpful shove soon enough. I’d never have to hear Durral Brown’s annoying voice in my head ever again.

‘You were saying something about fate, Pappy?’

‘Right, right. Fate. Worst invention anybody every came up with. Probably one of them Gitabrian contraptioneers with more brains than sense. Anyhow, kid, when it’s all over and there’s no escape, when the four ways have failed you and your will is gone, that’s when you swear right in fate’s pretty little face. And when you do that, Ferius Parfax, when you swear in that moment? That ain’t arta loquit any more. That’s arta—’

The word slipped out between my lips like the last bubbles from a drowning man’s mouth. ‘Valar,’ I muttered.

‘What’s that, kid?’

I repeated the word, a little more distinctly – not that any of the bodies tumbling over the side of the galleon to take up their graves in the necropolis were listening. ‘Swearing in the face of certain doom isn’t arta loquit. It’s arta valar.’

Daring.

Boldness.

Reckless, devils-may-care, gods-damned swagger.

My personal favourite.

Five things happened then, each one stranger than the others, and pretty much all at once. The timing matters though, so let’s get it right.

First, my twisted memory of Durral’s teachings shook me loose from the smothering acquiescence that had brought me to the precipice of my own death.

Second, a bunch of my fellow Mahdek, understandingly impatient for their own peaceful descent into oblivion, rammed into me from behind and accidentally shoved me over the side.

Third . . . well, that one shouldn’t have mattered much at a time like this, but the third thing was, I swore. I mean, I reallyswore.

Think of the worst swear word you know. I’m talking the foulest, most vulgar, entirely unacceptable-to-your-comportment-instructor’s-teachings epithet you can imagine. Go on – is thatreallythe most obscene thing you can come up with? Pretty sure that, as I felt myself fall into the abyss, having snapped out of that fatalist fog two seconds too late to do me any good, I became the world’s undisputed swearing champion.

Not a bad way to end, if you’re an Argosi.

Oh, and the fourth and fifth things that happened almost, but not quite, at that same moment? Those were miracles. And as we all know, miracles almost always come on four legs.

33

Miracles

Let me be precise: the sound-for-which-there’s-no-name probably came rightbeforesomeone knocked me over the railing and I started swearing my head off. It’s just that I only noticed it after I had begun to fall towards the black abyss waiting to swallow me whole.

But let’s get to that sound – that raucous, cacophonous, discordant, unmelodious, gorgeous, gods-damned noise. Because, friend,thatsound, no matter how big the world gets or how many centuries go by, only ever occurred once in history, and it was . . . I can’t find the word. I’ll get there though, I promise.

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