“But I thought behemoths were fresh-water creatures,” Dor said.
“My father encountered one below Lake Ogre-Chobee, he said.
“Of course he did. I was there,” Grundy said superciliously. “Behemoths are where you find them. They’re too big to worry about what kind of water it is.”
“The eel just happened to find this creature and led us to it?” Chet asked. He also looked somewhat seasick.
“That’s the eclectic way,” Grundy agreed. “To use anything handy.”
“Aw, you cheated,” the storm howled. “I can’t sink that tub.” A whirling eye focused on Dor. “That’s twice you have escaped me, man-thing. But we shall meet again.” Disgruntled, it blew itself away to the west.
So that had been the same storm he had encountered at Good Magician Humfrey’s castle. It certainly traveled about!
The behemoth, discovering that its pleasant shower had abated, exhaled a dusty cloud of gas and descended to the depths. There was no point in staying on the surface when the storm didn’t want to play any more. The raft was left floating in a calming sea.
Now that he was no longer in danger of drowning, Dor almost regretted the passing of the storm. Irene was a good deal more comfortable to brace against than the reeds of the raft. But he knew he was foolish always to be most interested in what he couldn’t have, instead of being satisfied with what he did have.
A monster showed on the horizon. “Get this thing moving!” Irene cried, alarmed. “We aren’t out of the weather yet!”
“Follow the eel!” Grundy warned.
“But the eel’s headed straight for the monster!” Chet protested.
“That must be the way, then.” But even Grundy looked doubtful.
They forged toward the monster. It was revealed now as extremely long and flat, as if a sea serpent had been squeezed under a rolling boulder. “What is it?” Dor asked, amazed.
“A ribbonfish, dolt,” Grundy said.
“How can that help us?” For the storm had taken up more of the day than it had seemed to; the sun was now at zenith, and they remained far from shore.
“All I know is the eel agreed to get us to land by nightfall,” Grundy said.
They forged on. But now the pace was slowing; the bulrushes were losing their power. Dor realized that some of the material of the boat was dead now; that was why it had been able to speak to him, since his power related only to the inanimate. Soon the rushes would become inert, stranding the craft in mid-sea. They had no paddle; that had been lost with the first boat.
The ribbonfish brought its preposterously flat head down as the bulrush craft sputtered close. Then the head dipped into the water and slid beneath them. In a moment it emerged behind them, and the neck came up under the boat, heaving it right out of the water.
“Oh, no!” Irene screamed as they were carried high into the air.
She flung her arms about Dor in terror. Again, he wished this could have happened when he wasn’t terrified himself.
But the body of the ribbonfish was slightly concave; the raft remained centered, not falling off. As the head elevated to an appalling height, the boat began to slide down along the body, which was slick with moisture. They watched, horrified, as the craft tilted forward, then accelerated down the creature’s neck. Irene screamed again and clung smotheringly to Dor as their bodies turned weightless.
Down they zoomed. But the ribbonfish was undulating, so that a new hump kept forming just behind them while a new dip formed ahead of them. They zoomed at frightening velocity along the creature, never getting down to the water.
“We’re traveling toward land,” Dor said, awed. “The monster’s moving us there!”
“That’s how it gets its jollies,” Grundy said. “Scooping up things and sliding them along its length. The eel just made use of this for our benefit.”
Perceiving that they were not, after all, in danger, Irene regained confidence. “Let go of me!” she snapped at Dor, as if he had been the one doing the grabbing.
The ribbonfish seemed interminably long; the raft slid and slid.
Then Dor realized that the monster’s head had looked down under the water and come up to follow its tail; the creature was running them through again. The land was coming closer.
At last the land arrived. The ribbonfish tired of the game and dumped them off with a jarring splash. The rushes had just enough power left to propel them to the beach; then they expired, and the raft began to sink.
The sun was well down toward the horizon, racing to cut off their day before they could travel anywhere further. Soon the golden orb would be quenched again. “From here we go by foot, I think,” Chet remarked. “We will not achieve Centaur Isle this day.”
“We can get closer, though,” Dor said. “I’ve had enough of boats for now anyway.” The others agreed.
First they paused to forage for some food. Wild fruitcakes were ripe and a water chestnut provided potable water; Irene did not have to expend any of her diminished store of seeds. In fact, she found a few new ones here.
Suddenly something jumped from behind a tree and charged directly at Dor. He whipped out his magic sword without thinking and the creature stopped short, spun about, and ran away. It was all hair and legs and glower.
“What was that?” Dor asked, shaking.
“That’s a jump-at-a-body,” the nearest stone said.
“What’s a jump-at-a-body?” Irene asked.
“I don’t have to answer you,” the stone retorted. “You can’t take me for granite.”
“Answer her,” Dor told it.
“Aw, okay. It’s what you just saw.”
“That’s not much help,” Irene said.
“You aren’t much yourself, doll,” it said. “I’ve seen a better complexion on mottled serpentine.”
Bedraggled and disheveled from the ocean run, Irene was hardly at her best. But her vanity had been pricked. “I can choke you with weeds, mineral.”
“Yeah, greenie? Just try it!”
“Weeds-grow!” she directed, pointing to the rock. Immediately the weeds around it sprouted vigorously.
“Weed’s the best that ever was!” the weeds exclaimed. Startled, Dor looked closely, for his talent did not extend to living things. He found that some sand caught in the plants had actually done the talking.
“Oh, for schist sake!” the rock said. “She’s doing it!”
“Tell me what a jump-at-a-body is,” Irene insisted.
The rock was almost hidden by vegetation. “All right, all right, doll! Just clear these junky plants out of my face.”
“Stop growing,” Irene told the weeds, and they stopped with a frustrated rustle. She tramped them down around the rock.
“You do have pretty legs,” the rock said. “And that’s not all.”
Irene, straddling the rock, leaped away. “Just answer my question.”
“They just jump out and scare people and run away,” the rock said. “They’re harmless. They came across from Mundania not long ago, when the Mundanes stopped believing in them, and don’t have the courage to do anything bad.”
“Thank you,” Irene said, gratified by her victory over the ornery stone.
“I think the grass needs more tramping down,” the rock suggested.
“Not while I’m wearing a skirt.”
They finished their repast and trekked on south. Very little remained of the day, but they wanted to find a decent place to camp for the night. Dor questioned other rocks to make sure nothing dangerous remained in the vicinity; this did seem to be a safe island. Perhaps their luck had turned, and they would reach their destination without further ill event.
But as dusk closed, they came to the southern border of the island.
There was a narrow channel separating it from the next island in the chain.