“Zibeon!” Tasos muttered. I would have called on Eliphalet myself, but they’re both holy. Holy enough to ward against vampires? Of course, if you believe enough. But then, if you believe enough, almost anything turns holy.
He shouted for his crew. When they gathered, he harangued them in Lokrian. I don’t know just what he said. Whatever it was, it turned the trick. At first, they stared at him as if they couldn’t believe their ears. When they decided he meant it, they whooped. They hollered. They danced in a circle around the coffin. They kissed him on his stubbly cheek. Men do that a lot in the Nekemte Peninsula. I think it’s to keep the kissee from noticing the kisser is about to stick a knife in his back.
After the sailors finished celebrating, they went to work. I don’t know where they found so many chains aboard the Gamemeno. Maybe Tasos sold slaves when other business was slow. Maybe someone had peculiar tastes in bed. If so, his lady friend must have been an octopus. Otherwise, he never would have needed so many. Wherever the sailors found them, they used them.
And once they’d used them, they covered the coffin with so many roses and so much garlic, it looked like a collision between a florist’s and a Lokrian kitchen. The only thing missing was the olive oil. I’m sure the garlic came from the Gamemeno’s galley. The roses? I asked a sailor who spoke some Hassocki.
He looked at me as if I were even dumber than he’d thought, and he’d already pegged me for an idiot. “Thou hast not so much brain as ear-wax, plainly,” he said. “We brought them back from Skilitsi yesternight.”
They knew what they had on board, all right. I remembered the one sailor praying. Did they tell their passengers? It is to laugh. If we lived, all right. If we didn’t, well, Tasos had our fare, too.
Once the coffin was warded, the sailors swarmed into the rigging with higher spirits than I’d ever seen from them. Stagiros stood on the poop deck and whistled up the wind. The sails filled with wind faster than a politician on the stump. The Gamemeno left Skilitsi behind so fast, you almost forgot it was ever there. I’m sure the people who lived there were just as happy to keep it forgotten, too.
Off to the west, islands poked out of the sea. Some of them had little towns and fields and olive groves. You could live out your days in a place like that and never go more than ten miles from where you were born. Some people think that’s a life. Not me, by Eliphalet’s wind-whipped whiskers! Here I was, on a fast ship, heading for my kingdom!
I made the mistake of saying something along those lines to Max. One of his eyebrows acted as if he’d pulled on a string attached to his hairline. “Here you are, on a sneaking smuggler with a vampire’s coffin on the main deck, heading for a place where they’ll either assassinate you because you’re the king or execute you because you’re not.”
Some people haven’t got the right attitude.
I’ve tried explaining that to Max. He has an easier time swallowing cold iron than common sense. Arguing one more time seemed pointless. Instead, I reached up as far as I could, draped my arm around his shoulder, and crooned, “And here you are with me.”
“Well, someone has to do the worrying.” He shook me off like a unicorn whisking away flies.
Some of the islands out there on the blue, blue sea were too small or too dry to keep a town alive. They had goats, and a herdsman or two to keep track of them. You could live out your days in a place like that, too. It would make a hamlet on one of the bigger islands look like Lakedaimon, but you could do it. Not many of your goats would be much smarter than you were.
And some of the islands were just rocks like the one in front of Skilitsi, but farther out to sea. Maybe a tree or bush would find enough soil in a crack to take root. Maybe a pelican or a gull would perch and look out at the sea all around. Maybe the rock would be-a rock, grayish or golden, useless for anything except smashing a ship that didn’t see it soon enough in fog or storm.
Then there were the almost-islands, rocks that would have been islands if only they’d finished their suppers and drunk their milk when they were young instead of running out to play. They can’t quite poke their noses out of the water now, and they resent it. And they get even by using those noses to rip the guts out of ships that try to sail over them.
Thanks to Stagiros, we were going at quite a clip. I hoped Tasos knew exactly where we were. Discovering he didn’t might prove-embarrassing. The Gamemeno made a couple of small swerves. One was around a place where waves boiled even though you couldn’t see anything that would make them do it. The other stretch of sea looked ordinary enough, but he dodged it anyway. We didn’t hit anything. I approved of not hitting anything.
The wind of our passage ruffled my hair. I patted it back into place. As I did, I glanced back toward the coffin. If that wind was making my hair blow, what was it doing to the roses and garlic that helped hold the vampire inside? As a matter of fact, it wasn’t doing anything. The sailors had thought of that before I did. They’d stuck the stems and the strung-together cloves through the links of the chain. The wards against the vampire weren’t going anywhere at all.
Which I couldn’t say about us. The Gamemeno was as unsavory a ship as ever soiled the sea, but she didn’t waste any time. Whatever Tasos was paying Stagiros, he got his money’s worth. We hustled along. We would have hustled faster yet if we hadn’t stopped at small islands and in little hidden coves to unload this and take on that. Most of the time, I couldn’t tell what this and that were. Once, though, that was a pair of veritable Klephts.
Lokrians sing songs about Klephts. They think they’re romantic heroes-the ones who’ve never run into them, that is. Klepht means thief in Lokrian, which tells you more than you wanted to know about what Lokris is like. These two looked the part. They had fierce, hawklike faces-lines somewhat blurred by bushy beards-and wore big knives in their belts and bandoleers of crossbow quarrels crisscrossing their chests. I didn’t care to quarrel with them, with crossbows or without, even if they also had on those silly little skirts Lokrian men wear instead of pants.
They didn’t seem to want any part of us, either. That didn’t break my heart. Max’s sword could have had their cutlery for breakfast and still been hungry for spoons, which probably had a little something-just a little, mind you-to do with their restraint. They edged warily around the vampire’s coffin. They knew what it was, and they didn’t like it a bit. I wondered what they’d done to need to go somewhere else in such a tearing hurry.
Better not to know, maybe.
We’d just left the little inlet where we picked them up when a lookout screamed most sincerely and pointed out to sea. My gaze followed his finger. I felt like screaming, too. I’d never seen-I’d never imagined-a sea serpent that big.
VI
Now, don’t get me wrong. We have sea serpents in the Suebic Gulf, too. But the northern seas, the seas I grew up with, are cold. That stunts the serpents’ growth. They’ll eat the occasional fisherman, sure, but they hardly ever eat his boat, too.
This one…Well, I’ve spent a lot of time down in southern climes. Who wouldn’t, once he finds out it doesn’t have to be cold and nasty and miserable half the year? In Schlepsig, most people don’t believe snow can come as a surprise. Poor bastards. I’ve spent a lot of time in southern climes, like I say, and I’ve crossed the Middle Sea often enough and then some. I know the nice, warm water grows nice, big (well, big-they aren’t nice) sea serpents. But there’s big, and then there’s big.
And then there was this one.
When it stuck its head out of the water, the tip of its snout was up about as far as the top of the Gamemeno’s mainmast. Now, the smuggler wasn’t the biggest ship in the world, and that mainmast wasn’t one of the tall firs or spruces that do mainmast duty for all the men-of-war in the world. Neverthenonetheless…If that much sea serpent was above the water, think how much had to be below to hold it up.
I did, and I got seasick, or near enough.
Tasos turned green as an unripe olive, so I have to believe he was makin
g the same unhappy calculation. He said something to Stagiros. The weatherworker was minding his own business, which was making the Gamemeno go as if somebody’d goosed her. I don’t even think he noticed the sea serpent till Tasos told him about it.
Then it hissed. That would have got anybody’s attention. The lookout screamed again. Can’t say I blame him. Not many live people have ever heard that noise. The ones who did hear it mostly didn’t stay alive long, anyhow. Take a bronze statue-a heroic bronze statue, twice as tall as a man. Heat it red-hot. Use some special-and very stupid-sorcery to fly it out over the ocean. Drop it in. The sea serpent sounded a lot like that, only more so.
It was, in its own way, a beautiful creature. Its belly was pale yellow, its back a darker greenish gold. Those back scales were softly iridescent, and the sun also sparkled off the seawater that dripped from it. Like most of its kind, it had a crest of long scales-almost feathers, really, as if serpents were somehow related to birds-along the top of its head. That crest was raised, which meant the sea serpent was interested in something. Probably us, worse luck.
How old was a sea serpent that size? When it was young, had it watched Lakedaimonian and Palladian galleys ram one another in the unpronounceable war that ruined both Lokrian city-states and set up the rise of Fyrom? Had it feasted on philosophers, dined on dramatists, snacked on scholars? I had no way of knowing, and neither does anyone else. What I did know was that those eyes, as big as dinner plates or maybe shields, were more knowing than a serpent’s eyes had any business being.
Out shot its tongue, long as a pennant. It was tasting the air, wondering what sort of dainties it might find. Unfortunately, I had a pretty good notion where the closest available sea-serpent dainties were.
Even more unfortunately, I was one of them.
That enormous head, graceful as a spearpoint and ever so much more deadly, swung towards us. Tasos said something else to Stagiros. No, let me put that down exactly as it happened: Tasos shrieked at the weatherworker. Stagiros said something in return. Tasos shrieked again, even louder. I don’t speak Lokrian, but I didn’t need to be philosopher, dramatist, or scholar to translate this dialogue.
Make us go faster!
I’m already doing everything I can.
Make us go faster anyway! Lots faster!
If I were Tasos, that’s what I would have said to Stagiros, and you can take it to the bank. The weatherworker went right on raising his wind. The Gamemeno skimmed along faster than anything I’ve ever seen on sails. But were sails faster than scales? I had the feeling we were going to find out. I also had the feeling I might not like the answer. And if I didn’t like it, I wouldn’t like any that came afterwards, either.
The sea serpent’s tongue shot out again, long and pink and questing. When it did, I got a glimpse-just a glimpse, mind you-of the serpent’s fangs. I could have done without that, really, thank you very much. Max must have got a glimpse, too, for he said, “Nice to know we’re not in a little bit of trouble, isn’t it?” Max is always so reassuring.
Then the great beast lowered its head so that about half the upthrust neck, maybe more, went back down into the sea. It started swimming after the Gamemeno. It started gaining on the Gamemeno, too.
As soon as we were sure about that-which didn’t take long, curse it-Tasos wasn’t the only one shrieking at poor Stagiros. He was one of the best in the world. So what? If he wasn’t good enough to keep us ahead of this mother of all sea serpents (which, given its size and likely age, it might have been), he wasn’t good enough. Period. Exclamation point, even.
And he wasn’t. He did everything he knew how to do, and he knew how to do more than any other weatherworker I’ve ever seen. The serpent kept on sliding closer anyhow. The effort Stagiros was putting out, he looked on the point of falling over dead. If he did, we’d all die in short order. And if he didn’t…we’d all die in short order anyway. That was sure how it looked.
The sea serpent’s head came up again. Its tongue flicked in and out, in and out. It was tasting dinner before it even got a bite. The two Klephts started to take out their crossbows and load them with bolts from their bandoliers. The sailors persuaded them not to by sitting on their heads. I would have done more than that-I would have cleft them in twain if I had to. The most they could do, I thought, was annoy the sea serpent, which was just what we needed then.
I wondered if it would come up astern of us and snatch Stagiros off the poop deck. That would have left the Gamemeno with nothing but the world’s wind, of which there wasn’t much just then. The serpent could have snacked on the rest of us at its leisure.
But, however many ancient philosophers the sea serpent had digested, it hadn’t digested their wisdom. Or maybe its tongue told it that what it wanted most wasn’t back at the poop. So it swam alongside us instead of taking us from behind. Perhaps it wasn’t a Lokrian sea serpent after all.
Out went that tongue. In. Out. In. They say small serpents can charm birds so they’ll just sit still and be swallowed. Watching that tongue almost charmed me. If I’d had any sense, I would have run below. Then the serpent would have had to smash the ship to get me. Not that it couldn’t, mind you. Not that it wouldn’t. But it would have taken longer.
Those enormous eyes lit with a cold reptilian satisfaction. Fast as a striking serpent-well, yes, exactly that fast-the great head darted forward. That terrible mouth gaped wide, wider, widest. I can testify that sea serpents have never heard of mouthwash.
And the serpent seized…the vampire’s coffin. Down that maw it went: wooden box, chains, roses, garlic, and all. Garlic! Maybe that was what the titanic tongue tasted on the air. If it was, I owed the sea serpent an apology for thinking it wasn’t Lokrian.
I also spent a moment wondering what would happen to the vampire when the serpent’s stomach juices ate through the coffin. How much did being undead matter if you were being dissolved? I didn’t have the faintest idea, and I’d bet nobody else does, either. Not even the maddest, most intrepid natural philosopher could arrange an experiment like that.
The vampire would know pretty soon. How long it would know was another question-the other question.
How long I would be able to go on worrying about it was another question, too. One vampire, even with coffin, chains, and condiments, was only a bonbon to a sea serpent like that. Its tongue did some more flicking. Then its horrible head descended-toward Max.
Maybe he was just the biggest man on the Gamemeno’s deck. Or maybe the sea serpent scented the garlic from our mutton sausage. Never having been a sea serpent, I can’t say. But that tongue flicked out right in front of Max’s face.
He wasn’t charmed, and you can take the word in any of its senses. I must have seen him draw his sword half a dozen times since we set out for the Land of the Eagle. He hadn’t done anything but draw it, not up till now. But a sea serpent is even less inclined to see reason than Dooger and Cark, which is saying something.
When the serpent’s tongue shot out again, Max swung the sword. The sailors didn’t have time to sit on his head. The blade sliced right through one of those forked tonguetips. Blood spurted. The sea serpent let out a gigantic-sea-serpent-sized hiss of astonishment and pain. What could be worse than an uppity breakfast? Imagine you’ve bitten down on your roll, all nicely spread with honey-and discovered the hard way that a bee was as interested in the honey as you were.
No, I’ve never done that, either. I said imagine. If you have trouble with that, use some transcendental floss to clean some of the grime from your mind, then try again.
I wondered whether the sea serpent would smash the Gamemeno to pieces with its thrashing. It was annoyed-yes, just a bit. But, Eliphalet and Zibeon be praised, it didn’t. It swam off instead, looking for food less inclined to stand up for its rights.
Max turned to the closest sailor, who was staring at him all goggle-eyed. “May I please have a rag?” Max asked in Hassocki. “I want to clean the blade before the blood makes it rust.”
; Moving like a man in a trance-and not one caused by the sea serpent-the man handed Max his pocket handkerchief. But Max didn’t have the chance to use it, not right away. Captain Tasos had been standing there on deck, as astonished as any of his sailors. Now he suddenly came back to life. He bellowed like a bull that was suddenly made into a steer and folded Max into an embrace that proved the difficulties of bathing at sea. He almost spitted himself on Max’s sword, but he didn’t notice that. I don’t think Max noticed, either, or he might have made the accident real, not potential.
Tasos bubbled and squeaked in Lokrian, which neither one of us understood. It sounds like sticky wine pouring out of a jug, glub glub glub. After a few paragraphs-like most Lokrians, he liked to hear himself talk-the skipper realized his mistake. He switched to Hassocki: “You are heroic! You are magnificent! You should have been born a Lokrian!”
Max’s editorial eyebrow said two out of three wasn’t bad. I wondered how long it would be, once Captain Tasos had dropped us off at Fushe-Kuqe, before he started claiming he’d wounded (or more likely killed) the fearsome sea serpent. If he needed more than ten days, he had more character than I gave him credit for. He was a character, but not the kind of character whose chief characteristic is character.
I went back to Stagiros. “You did everything you could,” I said quietly in Hassocki. “Everyone knows it.”
The weatherworker shrugged. “It would not have been enough,” he answered in his fluent Schlepsigian. He was a man of parts, was Stagiros. “Everyone also knows that. Your friend was very brave or very foolish.”
I glanced up the deck toward Max. He’d finally managed to disentangle himself from Tasos, with luck without getting his pocket picked in the process. Even the Klephts were congratulating him. This once, in honor of the moment, I gave him the benefit of the doubt.
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