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514 pages, Mass Market Paperback
First published January 1, 2008
"Oh good and gracious lord!" he said. "How you always return me to my purpose! I bow, I sigh, I wheeze my gratitude! Will you forgive me if — just to make things simpler, marvellous Talag — I once again call myself a rat?One thing that Redick does particularly well is lists, to describe a scene and give the world life, such as here:
"Get on with it!" spat Talag.
"Then, as a rat — as a woken rat — I must tell you that I am not quite alone."
"What!" cried Dri. "Do you mean that there is another woken rat aboard?"
"Yes, m'lady, just one. The only one I have ever met. He rules the warren, and he is thoroughly evil and depraved. His name is Master Mugstur."
"Have you spoken with this creature?"
"Yes, m'lady, but I did not let him know I was awake. He would certainly have killed me, for he wants no rivals."
"What does he want?" said Talag.
"He wants to eat the captain."
There was a rather long pause.
"Specifically his tongue."
As they neared the topdeck the shouting of the men resumed, louder and more alarmed than before. Finally Pazel thrust his head through the No. 4 hatch into dazzling afternoon sun.My fear when I share passages from a treasured book is that they will fail to convey what I love about the writing. And they will, inevitably, because you need large chunks of the book to properly appreciate the voice and the flavour and the full effect of it. I can only add: my comparison to Robin Hobb stands. What makes me swoon to Hobb's writing is its sheer elegance; she composes sentences with such elegance, and you might not notice because they communicate their intent so cleanly. Redick also writes at the same level of prosecraft; it doesn't match Hobb's elegance, but it matches her intentionality and ability to convey tone and setting and character through sentence composition. Redick's writing in this book captures a wondrous, adventurous world filled with moral characters, the joy and hardship of life for everyday people caught up in grand schemes, giving it all a refined pulp flair. The author's hand is at the same time invisible and clearly masterful. He doesn't waste words, but neither is he stingy with them; each word adds value to the book. Redick is a writer who deserves more attention, but the vagaries of the market have limited his penetration, despite frequent and genuine praise from Mark Lawrence and plenty of other readers.
What he saw took his breath away. The ship floated just a few yards from short, berthed in a clearing between tow forests of masts that curved away endlessly north and south. This was the Royal Esplanade, the astounding deepwater channel cut right to the foot of the Emperor's Plaza of the Palmeries, from which hundreds of docks spread in long seaward-stretching fingers. Crowded tight about each of these bobbed every conceivable sort of ship: fighters, fishing-rigs, port gunners, signal-ships, lead-bellied oreships, sleek Noonfirth Javelans with their gryphon's-head bows, Opaltine merchantmen like floating teakettles, grizzled lunkets, porcelain-domed Nunekkamers, whalers, kelp-cutters, sloops. Furthest of all, on a blue slice of Etherhorde Bay, Pazel saw Imperial warships at anchor, served by the steady, ant-like crawling of transports.

