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Authors: Alan Dean Foster
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what?
“Did you ever stop to consider what lies out there, Simna?” The herdsman spoke without taking his gaze from the water, even
though in the hush of night nothing save a few fleeting phosphorescences were visible, minuscule ghosts scuttling across the
surface of the sea.
“I’m not you, Etjole. I’m more inclined to ponder on what lies on the far shore, how expensive it is, how attractive, and
how much longer I have to spend rattling around inside a wooden hull before I’ll be able to investigate it.”
Ehomba murmured something inaudible before replying with conviction. “You are right, my friend. You are not me.”
“The treasure’s to be found in distant Ehl-Larimar, isn’t it?” As forthright as henna on a courtesan’s cheeks, avariciousness
rouged the swordsman’s words. “Watched over by Hymneth the Possessed. He’s obsessed by this Visioness he’s abducted, and so
are you, a little bit, but hisreal concern and yours is the treasure he guards in his castle.”
“Simna, I really don’t—” Ehomba’s reply was cut short by a shout from the third mate. She was standing in the rigging on the
starboard side, the opposite side of the ship from the two travelers.
“Ware the gunwales! Something’s coming up!”
Everyone not on duty, passengers included, rushed to that side of the ship. With many of the crew already belowdecks either
in their hammocks or preparing to retire, it was not immediately swarmed. There was room for each individual to peer over
the side without crowding out a neighbor.
At first Ehomba saw nothing, only dark water and the barely perceptible reflection of a slivered moon. Then one of the sailors
standing by the boarding ladder that always hung over the side as a precaution, should anyone fall in, shouted and gestured
straight downward. What had moments before been apparent only to the mate from her elevated vantage point could now be seen
by all as it rose from the depths.
Several members of the usually steadfast crew broke and ran as soon as they caught a glimpse of the apparition, hurling themselves
belowdecks in hopes of hiding themselves away from the monstrosity. Others thought to find safety higher up in the rigging.
That left the main deck clear save for Stanager and the bravest of her company. Terious was not surprised to see that the
tall southerner held his ground, but the continued presence of the great black cat, the simple-minded brute, and the husky
swordsman led him to comment admiringly on their unity of purpose.
“After what we’ve seen and been through together thesepast weeks, my ponytailed friend, there’s nothing above or below the waters that can frighten us.” Even as he delivered himself
of this characteristic burst of bravado, Simna was contemplating making a dash below for his sword, but he held back. For
one thing, a smart man could judge the imminence of danger by monitoring the herdsman’s posture and expression. Ehomba showed
no sign of concern, much less panic. He had not stiffened or drawn back from the apparition that was ascending majestically
from the depths. If he felt safe, then it was most likely that all who remained in his vicinity could likewise count themselves
reasonably secure.
Also, bolting the scene in search of weaponry would not make much of an impression on Stanager, who stood tense but agreeably
disposed to greet whatever was making its way up toward her ship.
The legs emerged first. Long and skeletal white they were, with touches of pink and carmine, as if a ghost had spent an evening
making itself up to attend a masked ball. Fearsome barbs and spines protruded from each limb. They were tipped in ebony, legs
armed with quill pens that had been dipped in the blackest of inks. Then the body appeared, equipped with an even more conspicuous
array of anomalous weaponry. Bulging eyes stared up at the humans that lined the railing. They goggled from the terminus of
“Did you ever stop to consider what lies out there, Simna?” The herdsman spoke without taking his gaze from the water, even
though in the hush of night nothing save a few fleeting phosphorescences were visible, minuscule ghosts scuttling across the
surface of the sea.
“I’m not you, Etjole. I’m more inclined to ponder on what lies on the far shore, how expensive it is, how attractive, and
how much longer I have to spend rattling around inside a wooden hull before I’ll be able to investigate it.”
Ehomba murmured something inaudible before replying with conviction. “You are right, my friend. You are not me.”
“The treasure’s to be found in distant Ehl-Larimar, isn’t it?” As forthright as henna on a courtesan’s cheeks, avariciousness
rouged the swordsman’s words. “Watched over by Hymneth the Possessed. He’s obsessed by this Visioness he’s abducted, and so
are you, a little bit, but hisreal concern and yours is the treasure he guards in his castle.”
“Simna, I really don’t—” Ehomba’s reply was cut short by a shout from the third mate. She was standing in the rigging on the
starboard side, the opposite side of the ship from the two travelers.
“Ware the gunwales! Something’s coming up!”
Everyone not on duty, passengers included, rushed to that side of the ship. With many of the crew already belowdecks either
in their hammocks or preparing to retire, it was not immediately swarmed. There was room for each individual to peer over
the side without crowding out a neighbor.
At first Ehomba saw nothing, only dark water and the barely perceptible reflection of a slivered moon. Then one of the sailors
standing by the boarding ladder that always hung over the side as a precaution, should anyone fall in, shouted and gestured
straight downward. What had moments before been apparent only to the mate from her elevated vantage point could now be seen
by all as it rose from the depths.
Several members of the usually steadfast crew broke and ran as soon as they caught a glimpse of the apparition, hurling themselves
belowdecks in hopes of hiding themselves away from the monstrosity. Others thought to find safety higher up in the rigging.
That left the main deck clear save for Stanager and the bravest of her company. Terious was not surprised to see that the
tall southerner held his ground, but the continued presence of the great black cat, the simple-minded brute, and the husky
swordsman led him to comment admiringly on their unity of purpose.
“After what we’ve seen and been through together thesepast weeks, my ponytailed friend, there’s nothing above or below the waters that can frighten us.” Even as he delivered himself
of this characteristic burst of bravado, Simna was contemplating making a dash below for his sword, but he held back. For
one thing, a smart man could judge the imminence of danger by monitoring the herdsman’s posture and expression. Ehomba showed
no sign of concern, much less panic. He had not stiffened or drawn back from the apparition that was ascending majestically
from the depths. If he felt safe, then it was most likely that all who remained in his vicinity could likewise count themselves
reasonably secure.
Also, bolting the scene in search of weaponry would not make much of an impression on Stanager, who stood tense but agreeably
disposed to greet whatever was making its way up toward her ship.
The legs emerged first. Long and skeletal white they were, with touches of pink and carmine, as if a ghost had spent an evening
making itself up to attend a masked ball. Fearsome barbs and spines protruded from each limb. They were tipped in ebony, legs
armed with quill pens that had been dipped in the blackest of inks. Then the body appeared, equipped with an even more conspicuous
array of anomalous weaponry. Bulging eyes stared up at the humans that lined the railing. They goggled from the terminus of
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