But now she was growing impatient. The ones she sought had not yet been found. Her underlings would rue the day if she had
to take a hand herself. It was true that many of them were unnerved by the crossing, but that just made them weaklings in
her eyes, not needy. She filled her time with some creative thinking about the form punishments would take.
Her reverie was broken by the arrival of a nervous officer. In the best tradition of those who wish to keep their heads, he
broke the good news first. Their principal quarry had been caught, albeit at the cost of several of Jennesta’s followers’
lives and only by the use of an awe-inspiring number of troops. The less-than-good news was that the two other targets, the
younger ones, had got away.
She expressed her anger at the less than perfect outcome, but it was really just a matter of giving the officer what he expected
of her. In truth she was content. She had the important one.
The prisoner was brought to her. It was chained and well attended, yet still needed several of her undead guardians, including
Hacher, to keep it in check. The creature was haughty, and when Jennesta approached, it spat at her face. She had it beaten
for that.
Once the beast was further secured, and as fire and bloodshed held sway outside, Jennesta set to work.
Spurral was right. The Gatherer prisoners had seen the futility of not cooperating and helped the dwarfs with the ship, though
they weren’t allowed any leeway that might permit them to cause trouble. No one doubted that the prisoners agreed in the hope
of lenient treatment. But the boost to the dwarfs’ confidence in having their tormentors in their power was considerable.
Relations between the surviving Gatherers and their onetime captives were hardly cordial, but so far there had been no serious
discord.
As the ship headed back to the dwarfs’ island, something like normality was imposed.
Spurral and Kalgeck stood on the bridge, watching dwarfs and Gatherers trim the sails.
“But
why
do we have to slow down?” Spurral asked, irritated at the prospect of delay.
“Because of what the Gatherers told us,” Kalgeck explained, “backed up by these.” He slapped his hand on Vant’s charts spread
out before them. “Right now we’re in deep water. Very deep. But soon it gets shallow. There’s a reef or something down there,
and we have to steer a careful path through it.”
“Why can’t we just go round?”
“That really would add to the journey, and we’d have to pass through waters with treacherous currents.”
“Great,” she sighed. “So what do we do, exactly?”
“Slow to a crawl and measure the depth. Look.” He pointed down at the deck.
A group of dwarfs were at the rail. They had a large coil of rope with a lead weight at its end. Knots in the rope marked
out the fathoms.
When the ship was little more than drifting, the measuring line was lowered over the side. They played out almost its entire
length before bottom was reached.
“How deep’s that?” Spurral asked.
“Getting on for fifty fathoms,” Kalgeck replied. “No danger to us there.”
The ship crept on as the sun made its lazy way across the azure sky. Measurements were taken at regular intervals, but showed
practically no variation.
Spurral grew more impatient at the sluggish progress. “Are we ever going to get to this shallow patch, Kalgeck?”
“According to the chart, we’re already in it.”
“Somebody should tell the sea.”
“These maps aren’t always exact. Least, that’s what the Gatherers say.”
“Well, I hope we’re going to see some —”
There were shouts from the measuring team.
“Now what?” Kalgeck wondered.
“Let’s see,” Spurral said, heading for the ladder that led to the deck.
When they reached the measurers, one of the dwarfs held up the end of the rope. It was severed and the weight was gone.
“What did it?” Spurral asked.
“Don’t know,” the young dwarf with the rope told her. “But whatever it was happened at about twelve fathoms.”
Kalgeck examined the rope. “Looks like it was cut, or…”
“Or what?” Spurral said.
“It probably just got caught on something down there.”
“So let’s try again.”
They brought another coil of knotted rope and fitted a new weight. It was fed overboard, and a dwarf was set the task of calling
its progress.
“One fathom… two…”
“This should sort it out,” Kalgeck offered.
“Yeah, most likely,” Spurral replied, though there was a jot of uncertainty in her voice.
“… Four fathoms… five… six…”
“I expect it’s just a fluke.”
“Hmm.”
“… Eleven… twelve… thirteen…”
“Seems it’s all right this time,” Kalgeck announced.
“… Fourteen… fifteen…”
“Good. Now maybe we can get on and —”
The line suddenly went taut. Then it began playing out at a rapid rate. The end of it would have disappeared over the side
if several dwarfs hadn’t grabbed hold of it.
But they struggled, and the rope was sliding painfully through their hands. Kalgeck, Spurral and the others joined in, and
still they fought to keep a grip.
“We’re going to lose it!” Spurral warned.
“It must be snagged,” Kalgeck reckoned.
“Then why’s it moving about so much?”
The rope was going from left to right, then back again, and it was twisting in their hands. Kalgeck called for help. Three
dwarfs ran to them and seized the rope. Now there were no less than nine of them clutching the line, but the bizarre tug-of-war
went on.
It ended abruptly. Without warning, the line went slack. The release was so sudden it put them all on their backs. Scrambling
to their feet, they quickly hauled the rope in. This time there was no resistance. Again, it had been severed.
“What the hell’s going on?” Spurral said.
Kalgeck was blowing on his reddened palms. “Maybe it got caught on a sunken wreck.”
“That’s
moving about
?”
“The currents that deep can be strong. Maybe it —”
A weighty thump echoed through the ship. It originated somewhere far below. A second later there was another impact, louder
and more powerful. The ship bobbed, tilting the deck and making the dwarfs’ footing unsure.
Someone yelled and pointed. No more than an arrow’s flight away a large segment of sea bubbled and boiled. The churning water
was white with foam.
“What the hell is
that
?” Spurral exclaimed.
One of the Gatherer prisoners, working on some tedious chore nearby, had abandoned it and come to the rail. He stared at the
seething mass of water with a fearful expression.
“Do you know what it is?” Spurral asked him.
He nodded, but seemed unable to speak.
“Well?” she insisted.
He whispered, “
The Krake
.”
“What’s that?”
The human gave no answer. She looked at the others. Kalgeck had gone pale, and the other dwarfs in earshot looked just as
drained of colour.
“Kalgeck?” she appealed.
“Kalgeck!”
He tore his eyes from the restless water. “We’ve heard the stories. The Krake are lords of the deep. Some say they’re gods.
They can crush any size of ship, or pull it down into the abyss.”
“To do that they’d have to be… gigantic.”
“Bigger than islands, they say.”
“But you’ve never actually seen these things yourself?”
“Not… until now.” He was staring over her shoulder.
She turned.
Something was rising from the angry water. At first, with spray and mist obscuring the view, it was hard to make out what
it was. As it continued to rise it became clearer.
It was an appendage, a tentacle with the girth of a temple pillar. Like a blind cave worm it was greyish-white, and its gristly
skin was dappled with thick blue veins. Soon it had risen to the height of the ship, and was still growing.
Another tentacle erupted from the water, much closer to the vessel; near enough to rock it and send a wave over the rail.
Soaked and dazed, the dwarfs retreated.
Shouts and screams had them turning to the opposite rail. On that side, too, tentacles were rising. The dwarfs stood transfixed
as more and more emerged. In minutes the tentacles, swaying grotesquely, stood taller than the mainmast. All around the ship
the water frothed wildly.
One of the tentacles came down, striking the deck a tremendous, sodden blow. Another swept in horizontally, demolishing the
rail and causing dozens to duck. When a third crashed into the bridge, the dwarfs snapped out of their stupor.
They set about attacking the odious limbs with cutlasses and axes. The rubbery flesh proved resilient. Blows glanced off,
and only continuous hacking made any impression. When blades did break through to tissue they released copious amounts of
a glutinous ochre-coloured liquid. Its disgusting stink had them reeling.
The tentacles weren’t just causing damage to the ship. Somehow sensing the dwarfs and humans, they slithered at remarkable
speed to entwine any they could catch. Screaming victims were hoisted into the air and over the side.
Encircled by a muscular tentacle, the mainmast snapped like matchwood and toppled, pinning dwarfs and humans alike. So dire
was the situation that even the Gatherers joined the effort to repel the Krake. They were using improvised weapons, or snatching
up swords and axes dropped by dwarfs who had been taken. In the face of disaster the slavers and their one-time captives made
common cause. Not that it made much difference.
“This is hopeless!” Spurral yelled as she battered at a writhing tentacle.
“We’ll have to abandon ship!” Kalgeck returned. He was smothered in the foul-smelling yellowish-brown life fluid.
“I wouldn’t give much for our chances on the open sea!”
“What, then?”
“Just keep fighting!”
A bellowing human was dragged past, a tentacle wrapped around his legs. Spurral and Kalgeck tried to hack him free, but their
blades made practically no headway. The unfortunate Gatherer was whipped over the rail and disappeared.
Ominous creaking and rending sounds came from the ship’s bowels. Above deck, tentacles ripped through timber as though it
were parchment. Planks buckled, the remaining masts shuddered, canvas fell.
The ship lurched violently. Then it began to descend.
“We’re going down!” Kalgeck shouted.
Water began pouring over the rails and swamping the deck. It was ankle-deep in seconds, then knee- and quickly waist-high.
Panic broke out.
Spurral felt as much as heard the hull crushing. Dwarfs and humans were swept overboard. She looked around for Kalgeck and
saw him being carried over the rail by a torrent of water.
There was a dizzying drop as what remained of the ship was pulled beneath the waves.
Spurral was immersed. Underwater, all was chaos. The sinking craft, shedding fragments. A jumble of barrels, chests, ropes,
scraps of sail, struggling bodies, twisting tentacles.
Just briefly she glimpsed animate forms, deathly white and grotesque in appearance. They were of enormous bulk, and their
repugnant flesh pulsated horribly. She saw gaping, cavernous mouths lined with fangs the size of broadswords. And she caught
sight of a single massive eye, unblinking and afire with greedy malevolence.
Then, mercifully, total darkness closed in on her.
Once the ship they had set on fire was out of sight, the Wolverines inspected their second craft. According to Pepperdyne,
the only one with any real knowledge of boats, the damage was worse than he had first thought.
“That magic beam punched through the hull in a couple of places,” he explained. “Kind of sprinkled it. Look, you can just
see the burn marks around the holes.”
Stryke leaned and nodded. “And?”
“It left us with a number of leaks. Small and slow, but a nuisance. We can patch them up, and get somebody bailing.”
“So what’s the problem?”
“I don’t know how much the timbers might have been weakened by the hit. It could get worse, and we don’t have what we need
for a major repair.”
“What can we do?”
“Stop at the next island we come to and hope it’s got trees.”
“We’d have to change course. That’d slow us.”
“We’ll slow a damn sight more if we sink. Where is the nearest island?”
Stryke took out the chart and unfolded it. “There,” he said, jabbing at a spot.
“I’m not sure if this boat would make that.”
“Great,” Stryke sighed. “Any ideas?”
“When this sort of thing happened back in Trougath we’d lash the boats together.”
“If this one sinks won’t it take both boats down?”
“You have to look at it the other way round. The buoyancy of the good one keeps them both afloat. It’s not ideal, Stryke,
but it should get us there. Though joining the boats will slow down our speed, of course, and it’ll steer like a cow.”
“With that Pelli Madayar after us, this isn’t a good time to fetter ourselves.”
Pepperdyne shrugged. “Only other thing I can come up with is abandoning this boat and squeezing everybody into the good one.
Mind you,
that
would slow us down a lot too. Not to mention things would be kind of crowded.”
Stryke considered it. “No, we won’t do that. It’d cramp our style too much if we have to fight. Take as much help as you need
and see to the lashing. But do it fast; I feel like a sitting target.”
“Right. Jup’ll have to be told about the delay.”
“I know, and he’s not going to like it. You get on here. I’ll tell him.”
The boats were already linked by a couple of lengths of rope. And they were near enough to each other that Stryke could easily
step over.
Jup was at the prow of boat one as usual. He was leaning over the side and stretching his arm to get his hand in the water.
“What are you doing?” Stryke asked.
Jup straightened and wiped his wet hand against his breeches. If anything, the sombre expression he’d worn since they set
out was more intense. “I was trying farsight.”