She cast an oblique glance at him. “Are you telling me that this … difficulty is affecting humans, too?”
“Humans, elves, dragons, everyone … Sometimes the magic works. Sometimes it doesn’t. Even Malys doesn’t understand the reason this is happening.”
“What a nuisance. So what were you, a wizard or something?”
He smiled a crooked smile that did not touch his eyes. “Or something.”
The sirine sighed and fell silent. Her silence lasted only a minute or two, and in the flick of a fish’s tail her mood changed again. Suddenly she giggled, causing ripples to flow through her ample figure. She was a young sirine and quite luscious in her scanty garment. Ulin, looking closely at it, saw it was made of fish scales that glistened in iridescent shades of blue and green. Guiltily, he tore his eyes away.
She giggled again. “Too bad the magic didn’t work this time. You’re quite-”
“Hold it there!” a shrill voice demanded. “Don’t move!” Notwen glared over the boat’s railing, a crossbow cocked and ready in his hands.
Ulin rushed in front of the sirine. The crossbow shook alarmingly in the gnome’s trembling hands. “It’s all right, Notwen. She can’t entice us. Put the weapon down.”
The gnome glared at the sea woman, unconvinced.
She waggled her fingers at him and winked. “Don’t worry, little man. I wouldn’t have hurt you anyway. I just wanted some company.”
He looked from the woman to Ulin and back again then slowly lowered the weapon.
“Uncock it,” Ulin reminded him.
Silence followed as the three wondered what to do next.
“Well,” Ulin said when the quiet grew too uncomfortable. “Let’s get this boat fixed.”
The sirine put a hand on his thigh. “I don’t suppose you’d want to … anyway?” She tilted her head toward the concealment of the tumbled rocks and offered him an enticing wiggle.
He took her hand off his leg, clasped it between both of his, and kissed the back of her hand as an apology. “No. I am betrothed to a woman I adore.”
Notwen crossed his arms and announced, “And she’s a sorceress.”
The sea-woman flounced to her feet. “Oh, fine. Her magic works and mine doesn’t,” she sulked, as if that explained everything. “Just who is this paragon of magic?”
The gnome tilted his nose up and replied haughtily. “Her name is Lucy. She’s Kethril Torkay’s daughter.”
Although Ulin hardly expected the sirine to recognize the name, he was startled to see a strange mix of emotions flit across her delicate face, a mix of confusion, anger, and curiosity. Irritation won out in the end, and she blurted, “Go then. Fix your noisy little craft and get off my island.” She turned on a dainty heel to leave in a huff, but Ulin caught her arm.
“Won’t you stay and talk to us?” he asked. A small part of him still felt sorry for disappointing her, and he wanted to make it up to her somehow. After all, she hadn’t planned to drag them underwater and devour them. He hoped to satisfy some of his own curiosity. He knew little about the aquatic women that lived in the warm seas. Most preferred solitude and would take strong measures to defend their islands. A few, like this one, were more sociable and would mate with human, elf, or merfolk males to produce a child.
She hesitated at the warmth of his overture. Ulin was often too distracted to notice his effect on people, but he could be quite charming at times. “Go fix your boat,” she said softly, a half-smile curving the bow of her mouth. “I will go find something to eat.”
“I don’t you suppose you have any caulk, do you?” Notwen inquired.
With a flip of her hair, she waded into the water and dived under the waves. For a few moments, Ulin was able to watch her swim through the clear water, as sleek and swift as a dolphin, before she disappeared into a forest of seaweed.
“Hmph,” Notwen commented. Females of any sort had never interested him. They were all too illogical.
Using the tools onboard, Notwen and Ulin levered the boat off the rock and dragged it up the beach far enough to examine the damage in the hull. After much discussion, they decided to patch the damage rather than replace the boards. A more permanent repair could be made later after they returned to Flotsam. They cut lengths of board from the cabin itself and nailed them into place over the breach. The results were hopeful. All they needed to complete the job was some sort of waterproof sealant to fill in the cracks. The Second Thought’s compact cabin was lined with cupboards, cabinets, and bins all neatly stocked with food, water, fuel, blankets, tools, nails, rope, and lanterns, but while they searched the boat from bow to stern for something-anything-they could use, they found nothing.
Notwen scratched his head, frustrated by this lack of foresight. “I must make a note for the next time: Bring pitch.”
Ulin bit back a retort. Venting his irritation on the small gnome would hardly help their situation. He hadn’t thought of bringing caulk either.
A few stars glimmered in the twilight sky when they finished nailing the boards, and with nothing further they could do, they lit a small lamp and fixed a meal of salted fish, biscuits, and wine. To avoid attracting bugs or other unwanted pests, they lit no other lamps or fires, and they stayed on the boat to eat their meal.
A splash outside brought them both to their feet. Something pulled itself onto the boat, causing it to rock slightly, then footsteps padded across the deck. Notwen’s hand slid toward his crossbow.
The sirine thrust her dripping head through the door and smirked when Notwen jumped back in alarm. Her amusement quickly changed to worry. “Here. I found this in a shipwreck near the coast.” She tossed a slimy, weed-covered wooden container to Ulin. “You may stay the night, but in the morning you must go. Quickly. Go to the mainland as fast as you can.”
Ulin heard a new note of urgency in her voice that had not been there earlier-an urgency and fear that went beyond the desire to be rid of unwelcome visitors. “What is it? What’s bothering you?” he asked.
She only shook her silvery hair. “Something bad may be coming. I am not certain yet. Just go.” And she slipped away without another word.
“What’s in the keg?” Notwen asked, relieved the girl was gone again.
Ulin turned the soggy thing over in his hands. Whatever it was, it had been underwater long enough for seaweed to grow and worms to begin their feast in the wood. It was very heavy, too. He set it carefully on the worktable and used a pry bar to break the lid loose. Together he and Notwen peered inside at the thick, black, viscous substance inside. “Pitch,” they said in unison.
They wasted no time pondering what to do next. Something had spooked the sirine, and neither the man nor the gnome wanted to find out firsthand what it was. While Notwen lit a small brazier, Ulin transferred as much of the pitch as he could to an old copper pot and set it over the coals to warm. While they waited for the pitch to soften, Notwen tended the fire in the boiler of his engine. He banked it for the night and piled cut wood close by, in case they had to fire it in a hurry.
As soon as the pitch was pliable, Ulin chopped a piece of rope into bits and added the fiber to the pitch to give it body, and using an old scrub brush, he slathered the pitch over the patch on the bow.
They took turns standing guard until a few hours after midnight when the high tide reached its crest. Ulin woke Notwen to help him maneuver the Second Thoughts off the shingled beach, and while Ulin pushed at the bow, the gnome scraped away sand and rocks from the keel. At last the boat pulled free of the shore and floated in the water of the bay. They anchored her there and watched through the remaining hours of darkness to see if the patch would leak.
Before long the sun ascended from the sea, surrounded by thin, scarlet-tinged clouds, and the air grew warmer. Ulin looked for the sirine so he could say good-bye and offer his thanks, but he saw no sign of her. The rocky bit of island remained empty save for its birds and barnacles.