24
DANGER FROM THE DEEP
Clouds rolled in from the open sea, the wind picked up, and the Tobit Grander rocked between billowing waves. The inclement weather added a day to their journey, having pushed them away from the coast. Bardon had experienced rough seas before when sailing with Sir Dar, and the rolling deck beneath his feet did absolutely nothing to his stomach. Granny Kye, N’Rae, and Holt hung over the rail, though, losing their dinners overboard, and then took to their beds.
Bromptotterpindosset stepped in to help. The practical tumanhofer brewed tea and served it to those who lay groaning on their pallets or, in Holt’s case, a bunk. Most of the children hopped, skipped, and jumped around the hold. The swaying of the ship provided more fun. Bromptotterpindosset ordered them to sit, and they acknowledged the man’s sharp tone by scrambling to their own spots to wait for his next command.
Pulling a deck of cards from a huge pocket in his cowled, knee-length jacket, he sat down in the nook that also housed the nanny goat. He pointed to one child and then another until he had a group of youngsters gathered around him. Shuffling the cards with a flourish, he instructed them on the rules of a lively game.
When this group became engrossed in the card playing, he stood and called the others to follow him to the more open area. He charged the older ones to keep the youngest ones out of trouble, and then he produced a dozen balls out of his voluminous coat.
Bardon tilted his head at the tumanhofer. “A mapmaker keeps balls in his pockets?”
“Orbs,” he answered gruffly. “Technically, they’re orbs.”
A green orb sailed past Bardon’s ear and ricocheted off a crate, hitting the ceiling and rebounding toward a group of children.
“Bouncing orbs?”
“I juggle,” announced Bromptotterpindosset without a trace of embarrassment. “I learned while visiting Himber.” He cocked an eyebrow at the young squire. “You’ve heard of Himber?”
“On the Herebic continent? I have. We study geography at The Hall.” He pushed aside his annoyance that the mapmaker thought he knew nothing of the world beyond Amara. His education had been more than adequate, but he admitted he had a lot to learn. The tumanhofer would be a good source of information if he could be persuaded to open up. Bardon determined to use Sir Dar’s diplomacy and ask intelligent questions about the man’s expertise. “I thought the Himbernese were not a friendly nation.”
The mapmaker shifted his glasses up on his nose. “A little standoffish, but most people warm up to you if you express an interest in their customs.” His eyes brightened as if he shared an unspoken joke with the young squire. “They juggle to relieve stress and as a means to focus their attention during meditation. I got quite good at it, actually.”
Another orb flew between the squire and the tumanhofer. A child chased after it, bumping into the sturdy mapmaker and careening away much like one of the orbs glanced off the crates.
“Not all the orbs bounce,” said Bromptotterpindosset. “And the different patterns of the juggle, the order and color of the orbs, have significance. A fascinating study.”
“The orbs, then, are valuable?”
“Quite.”
“And you allow the children to play with them?”
The tumanhofer squared his shoulders. “In all the cultures I have studied, I have noted that children are less troublesome if they are occupied. Contented children are valuable, as is the peace that surrounds them.”
“Energy directed is energy of use.” Principle seventy. “A child on his own has only one chance in four of heading the right way.” Principle fifty-six. Bardon nodded but had little to say about peace where children were concerned.
A burst of laughter filled the cramped space.
Bardon smiled sardonically. “Peace?”
“Laughter is but one tone of peace.” Bromptotterpindosset moved to the pallet of one of the few children stricken with seasickness and offered a crust of bread. The little girl took the bread to nibble on, and the tumanhofer sat on the floor beside her, holding a small bucket and speaking quietly.
“Would you like to hear what children living in Tastendore do when the rains come?” he asked.
The child’s eyes grew big, and she nodded.
Bardon moved on to urge N’Rae to sit and sip cooled tea.
Once the clouds and wind moved on and the ship ceased rocking violently, the patients recovered. First the few stricken children found the strength to get up. Then N’Rae forced herself off her pallet. Bardon said she rose from the brink of death just because she had realized he and the tumanhofer were in charge of the children.
“We did very well without you, N’Rae,” he teased her. “None of them fell overboard, and all of them are still well fed and clean.”
She snorted. “Well fed on what? Hardtack and candy? Clean by whose standards? A grawlig’s?”
Granny Kye climbed out of the hold soon after. Holt was the last to appear, and he still looked pale. The passengers on the Tobit Grander gathered on deck to bask in the warm sun.
“Squire Bardon,” said Ahnek, “Granny Kye’s painting is finished. Come see.”
A small crowd stood behind the emerlindian sitting on her wooden stool. Bromptotterpindosset, Holt, N’Rae, and several children looked over her shoulder at the canvas on the easel, admiring her work and making enthusiastic comments.
At first, Bardon saw nothing remarkable about the seascape. But the others pointed out images blended into the more obvious forms. When looked at carefully, a cloud became a hand releasing a flock of birds. A wave curled over a finger. The ship rested in a giant palm. Light seemed to radiate from a fingertip touching the sun. Bardon blinked, and the hidden images disappeared. He concentrated, and they came back into focus.
“I don’t like the eyes,” said Ahnek, his voice breaking with a squeak.
“Neither do I,” said N’Rae. “They look evil.”
“What eyes?” asked Bardon and Holt in unison.
“There,” said Bromptotterpindosset pointing to a crest of a wave. “It’s a sea serpent. The tail is over here.”
“It’s huge,” exclaimed N’Rae.
Holt rubbed his chin. “Perhaps there are two. The head of one here, and the tail of another over there.”
Ahnek put his hand on the older emerlindian’s shoulder. “Granny Kye, what do you think?”
“I think it is stalking us.” She reached for N’Rae’s hand. “Is it there now, dear?”
The younger emerlindian looked out across the gently swelling waves. After only a moment, she gasped.
“Yes!” She looked around her at the children. “You must go below. All of you! Now!” She pushed the little girls at her skirts toward the hatch. “Hurry now. Get below!”
Bardon ran to gather the youngsters playing on the forecastle. Holt whistled to the boys following after the sailors. Bromptotterpindosset and Granny Kye quickly collected her paints and tossed them in the canvas carrier. She held the wet painting away from her as she hastened after N’Rae. The tumanhofer carried her stool and easel as he hurried her toward safety. He stood at the top of the ladder while Holt and Bardon ushered the last of the children into the hold.
“What is this all about?” asked Holt.
Bromptotterpindosset shook his head and gazed out at the sea. “Legend says that sea serpents prefer tender flesh. In other words, children.”
Bardon stood with his hands on his hips. The fingers of one hand wrapped around the hilt of his sword. “Greer said a sea serpent gave him information about the migration of quiss. He didn’t indicate that the serpent had evil intentions toward our ship’s passengers.”
The tumanhofer shifted his load and put a foot on the top rung of the ladder. “There is more than one serpent in the sea, Squire Bardon.”
Holt looked down to where the top of the mapmaker’s head was disappearing. “In your travels, have you ever encountered a sea serpent?”
“Yes!” declared Bromptotterpindosset. “And I don’t wish to do so again.”
“What’s this commotion?” barked the captain as he strode across the deck. “My crew is whispering about a serpent. Is it true? Did the emerlindians spot the head and tail of a giant?”
“Not exactly,” said Bardon. “Both ladies have unusual talents. You can be assured the threat of attack is real.”
The seasoned captain nodded his head. “The important thing is to keep it from wrapping around the ship and pulling us down. The last third of its tail has no spine. You can slice through the muscle with your sword.” He nodded at Bardon’s weapon. “As the body comes over the deck, you need to sever the spinal cord. No need to hack all the way through. A point thrust into the vertebrae is your best defense.”
Heavy steps and grunts heralded the return of the tumanhofer. He hoisted himself out of the hold with a double-bladed battle-ax on his shoulder. He addressed Holt. “Do you have a weapon, boy?”
“No,” said Holt. “Not one that would count. I have a small knife. That’s all.”
“Come with me,” said the captain. “I’m breaking out arms for my men, and I can provide you with something more dangerous than a stickpin.”
With a nervous glance at Bardon and then at the water, Holt went after the captain.
“He’ll do all right,” proclaimed the tumanhofer. “The instinct to survive is strong in that one.”
The hours that passed during the long afternoon reminded Bardon of the time spent on the Morning Lady as they cruised down the Gilpen River. The seamen went about their business, but with many anxious looks to the water around them. Tension mounted. Every stir in the water caused the people on board the Tobit Grander to grab their weapons.
The wind stilled, and the sails hung limply from the yards. The captain ordered the men to strike and furl the sheets. The sun sank toward the western horizon, turning orange, then red, casting an eerie hue across the glassy surface.
“Blood sea,” muttered a sailor as he passed Holt and Bardon.
A dark wave rose out of the crimson water.
Several calls raised the alarm. The mound sank beneath the surface, only to rise again twenty yards farther to the east.
“It’s coming at us now,” said Bromptotterpindosset as he came to stand beside the two younger men. “It’ll circle first. Then the tail will rise up beside the ship and slap down hard across midship.”
“Fore and aft,” yelled the captain. “Arms at the ready. Steady, men, we only have to worry about the part that’s on board. Likely we’ll never even see the head.”
“If you look into its face,” said Bromptotterpindosset, “you are looking at your own death. Sea serpents don’t show their heads up close until they know they’ve got the ship in a death grip.”
Bardon, Holt, and the tumanhofer moved to the stern of the ship, as did half the crew. The other half stood ready across the bow.
The beast showed sections of its long body as it undulated through the briny waters in a circle that grew smaller with every turn. It changed course and went under the hull, passing without making a strike.
“It’s toying with us,” said Holt.
“I wouldn’t be surprised,” answered Bromptotterpindosset. “They are more clever than one would think.”
The serpent made another pass under the ship. In the distance they saw the head rise from the sea, a black silhouette against a blazing sky. The creature disappeared, and Bardon watched for that sinuous, dark form to surge upward and fall down into the water. Nothing showed.
Either it is swimming deep, or it has gone away. I bet it hasn’t gone away.
Water showered down on them from one side as the beast’s great tail thrust into the air. It poised there for a second before slamming down on the vessel, splintering the wooden rail and cracking the deck. The captain and his first mate ran forward and sliced through the serpent as it lay over the crushed railing. The others surged to grab the severed tail and slide it off the deck into the churning water.
The serpent sped away from the ship, leaving a red foaming trail.
“Will it die?” asked Holt.
“Nay,” said the captain. “It’ll grow another tail unless it’s killed by us or some other creature of the deep. I doubt it even feels the wound.” He turned to his men. “Step lively. Back to your posts. We haven’t seen the end of this sea devil.”
The second attack resembled the first. This time the blood of the creature mingled with the splash of seawater. Bardon and the others ran forward and hacked at the serpent’s flesh. The squire thrust his sword deep and hit bone, but whether he connected with a massive nerve running through the spinal column, he could not tell.
The beast swam on, and the heavy body scraped across the wooden deck and fell into the ocean.
“At least one of our blades struck true,” said the tumanhofer. “It’s lost movement below the part we attacked.”
“Will it give up now, Captain?” asked one of the younger crewmen.
Before the captain could answer, the beast struck the hull of the ship, causing the vessel to shudder and rock. The blow knocked the men off their feet. They scrambled to get ready for the next assault and waited. Only a sliver of the sun remained above the horizon. The scattered clouds glowed red in the distance. A deep purple canopy hung overhead. Stars serenely shone in their appointed spots in the dark eastern sky. A breeze whispered among the tall, bare masts.
Out of the darkness, a speeding hulk sailed over the ship, landed, and continued to slide. Its coarse hide rasped the wooden planks. The ship tilted. The movement of the beast stilled, but the muscles beneath the shining black skin rippled.
“It’ll be pulling us down,” screeched one of the men.
The cry broke their stunned inertia. All hands surged forward and began stabbing, hacking, and piercing the body of the serpent. None of the men stood taller than the width of the beast’s mammoth body.
“Go deep, boy,” ordered the mapmaker beside Bardon.
His own battle-ax repeatedly bit into the animal’s flesh. The sound of cascading water brought Bardon’s attention to the side of the ship. The serpent’s head hovered over them as if it were merely curious as to what these puny creatures tried to do to its body. A long, black, forked tongue flicked out of a lipless mouth. Gleaming yellow eyes caught and reflected the fire of the dying sun. The head bobbed as if it were pleased with what it saw.
Bardon sheathed his sword and pulled out a handful of darts from a pocket in his tunic. He ran toward the beast and leapt to stand on a pile of crates. Aiming at the bobbing head, he let fly the first dart. It landed in the serpent’s eye. The head jerked and turned to glare at the man on the cargo.
As it hissed, Bardon sent the second dart through the air and hit inside the beast’s nostril. It flicked its head and dislodged the tiny weapon. As the face came closer, the squire threw in rapid succession his last four darts. Two pierced an eye, one bounced off the hard hide of its cheek, and the last sank into the corner of its mouth.
Bardon jumped from his perch just as the serpent made an open-mouthed strike. He grabbed a running block and swung out and around the serpent’s head to land on its neck. He sank the sharp hook of the block into the beast’s flesh so he would have something to hang on to as the serpent tossed its head.
Holding the rough rope with one hand, he pulled out his sword with the other. The creature writhed and started to submerge. Bardon put the point of his blade against the base of its skull and fell forward, driving his weapon deep.
The serpent’s head dropped onto the deck on top of the mutilated section of its own body.
“Stand back,” yelled Bromptotterpindosset. He hoisted the battle-ax above his head and swung downward, smashing the blade between the eyes.
For a breathless moment, everyone waited. The beast did not move.
The captain came forward to stand by Bromptotterpindosset. Bardon pulled his sword from the animal and jumped to the deck. A breeze blew over the ship.
“What are you waiting for?” demanded the captain as he looked over his crew. “Get this stinking carcass off my ship. Hoist those sails. We’re a day late to Annonshan. I don’t intend to be another.”
The mapmaker worked his ax up and down until he could yank it from the skull. He, Holt, Bardon, and several seamen pushed the head off the side. It slipped beneath the water with only a slight splash.
“You know,” said Bromptotterpindosset, “serpent meat is considered a great delicacy in some cultures.”
Bardon cleaned his blade. “I’ve also heard there are great, thick, wet forests where people eat caterpillars as big as your thumb. I’m not going to introduce worms or snakes of any kind into my diet.”
“I don’t know,” said Holt, slapping the mapmaker on the back. “It depends on if you have a recipe. Did you bring a cookbook in all that luggage of yours, Bromp?”
“Nay, I didn’t.” The man shook his head with a look of intense sorrow on his face.
Bardon looked at the exposed flesh of the serpent. “Sir Dar is a famous chef. I suppose you could bring him a cut of the meat. But it’s three days over land to his castle.”
Holt crossed his arms over his chest. “We’d have to get ice to transport it.”
“Hard to come by, this time of year,” answered Bardon.
“Salt?” suggested Holt.
“I doubt the galley has an adequate supply. We could get some in Annonshan, but by then, the meat would be ripe.”
Holt nodded. “Salted meat never has the taste of fresh, anyway.”
The tumanhofer perked up and nodded at the squire. “We could get his dragon to carry it ahead.”
Bardon shook his head. “Greer is squeamish. He hates snakes of any kind.”
“Just a hunk of meat,” said the mapmaker.
“Wouldn’t do it,” insisted Bardon.
Holt shook his head as well. “And they would have to cook it right away. It would be gone by the time we got there, if it tasted good, that is.”
The tumanhofer’s shoulders drooped once more. “Aye, doesn’t look like we’ll feast on serpent.”
“Don’t take it hard, old man,” said Holt. “Probably tastes like chicken.”