21
Jennesta enjoyed few things more than a spot of mayhem and arson.
Having relished the former, she brought about the latter.
The surprise attack, using overwhelming forces and aided by her magic, had succeeded. Now the settlement burned. Some of the creatures fought on, as she had fully expected their kind to do, but the pockets of resistance were isolated. And as the camp was on the small side there were few of them to defend it; even she might have hesitated before venturing into one of their more densely populated regions.
She had given strict orders about which of the creatures her followers were to search for, and that they were on all accounts to be taken alive. The rest she had no concern for.
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."