She found the pouch and tore it open, thrusting her hand inside. Frantically, she pulled out the contents.
A sudden flash of lightning lit the crumpled-up handkerchief in her palm.
Not the magical seaweed, just a ratty handkerchief-like nothing Karista Meinor had ever owned.
The dragon rose from the raging deep.
The aristocrat gazed at the handkerchief, horror overwhelming her heart Two whispered words escaped her lips.
“The kender!”
Chapter Ten
Mik Vardan knew he was about to die. Wet ropes and canvas knotted themselves around his body, chaining him to the iron-shod mast of the doomed Kingfisher. He’d seen the rigging falling, but he and Trip couldn’t get out of the way in time.
They’d struggled for a moment, then something big hit the ship and the water surged up around them. They were sinking now, and Mik was about to drown.
In his mind’s eye, he saw his enchanted fish necklace. He saw himself in his cabin, putting the necklace in his sea chest, next to his copy of the Prophecy. The Prophecy had never mentioned this.
Mik pulled hard and ripped the canvas away from his face. In the glow from the lightning above, he saw Kingfisher sinking around him. The mast had splintered from the deck and sank by itself in the middle of the wreckage.
Through the gloomy water, at the edge of his vision, he could barely make out the shape of the captain’s cabin and the bridge. His possible salvation-the fish necklace-lay within, but he would never reach it. The cabin was too far away, even if he weren’t ensnared in the rigging.
He looked up and saw Trip, tangled in ropes and canvas, further up the mast, struggling to free himself.
Something slammed into the mast just above his head. He saw the tail fin of a shark slice away into the darkness. Struggling, he managed to pull his dagger from the sheath at his belt, then wondered if it was worth the effort.
Mikal Vardan could hold his breath a long time. He was an excellent diver-one of the best-and he’d gotten a good lungful of air before he went down, but he couldn’t last forever. He didn’t think he could hold his breath long enough to cut away all the canvas and rigging binding him. Pamak’s last reading said the water was forty fathoms deep-a difficult dive for anyone, even a pearl diver, without magical aid. If he sank all the way to the bottom, he would likely never resurface anyway. Was it worth fighting sharks just to drown?
His boat was dead. His crew was dead. Perhaps he should die as well.
As the shark bore in again, Mik cast off his doubts and guilt. He would not die here, alone, fishfood for some predator. The ropes tangling the sailor gave him little freedom of movement, so he knew he’d have to time his strike just right.
The shark sliced effortlessly through the lightning-dappled water, its blunt head swaying from side to side as it homed in on its prey. The blue and gray mottling along its side marked it as a mangier shark-bane of shipwrecked sailors. Its jaws opened wide as it attacked.
Mik ducked to one side as the mangier came in, and stabbed up with his knife. The shark missed Mik’s face by inches, its teeth ripping through the swirling canvas just beside his right cheek. The captain’s blade hit home and opened a small gash in the mangler’s belly.
The fish jerked aside, almost taking Mik’s dagger with it. It turned slowly and came in again, trailing a streamer of dark blood. This time, it aimed for the sailor’s gut. Mik knew he couldn’t stop it; he braced himself to die.
Just before the shark struck, though, a dark shape flashed down on it from above. The two shadows struggled for a moment, the small shape rolling through the turbulent water with the much larger mangier. A cloud of blood sprayed into the brine and the mangier sank away into the depths. A flash of lightning from above revealed Mik’s savior.
The sailor would have shouted for joy if he’d had the breath.
Trip’s small form swam through the tangle of ropes and canvas and began to cut the bonds holding Mik to the sinking mast. Mik shook his head, knowing Trip couldn’t have any more air than he did. He tried to motion the kender to surface, but Trip wouldn’t have any of it.
Instead, the kender reached into a pocket and pulled out a small wad of damp weed. He thrust the mass toward Mik’s face. “Take it,” Trip burbled. “It’s… magic seaweed.”
Mik opened his mouth, and the kender popped the seaweed inside. Mik chewed.
For a moment, he thought that Trip had made a mistake. Pain like fire shot through the sailor’s limbs, and his muscles spasmed. Multicolored lights flashed before his eyes, and it felt as though someone were sitting on his chest.
Then a familiar tingle began to build up in his toes. The sensation spread through his body until it reached his lungs and, finally, his skull. The sensation was similar to the one he felt when using his enchanted fish necklace. Mik took a deep breath of the brine and felt pleased when he did not die.
“Ugh! Tastes… terrible,” he said, the words bubbling out of his mouth in garbled bunches. It wasn’t the bell-clear words his enchanted necklace produced, but he didn’t feel inclined to argue.
“I borrowed it from Karista,” Trip replied.
“I hope… she won’t… need it,” Mik said.
Trip nodded. “Dunno how long… it works,” Trip burbled. “Let’s cut you free.”
For long minutes the two friends hacked at the ropes and canvas as the mast binding Mik sank ever deeper into the darkness. Flashes of light from the surface above became more dim and distant, and the turbulence in the water around them grew less and less.
Several times, a razorfish with a Turbidus leech attached to its belly flashed by, but Mik and Trip were able to fend the predator off with their knives.
Just before the masthead settled to the silt forty fathoms down, Mik finally wriggled free. He took a long, deep breath of enchanted air and bubbled, “Thanks, Trip.”
The kender merely nodded. The seaweed’s magic allowed them not only to breathe but also to see-if imperfectly-in the twilit depths. It prevented the depths from crushing them and even kept the brine from stinging their eyes. Talking, though, remained tricky.
“Now… find my cabin,” Mik blurted. Trip nodded.
It took a moment for the two of them to get their bearings in the ocean dimness. Soon, though, they spotted a likely looking silhouette.
Moving quickly, they bobbed over the ocean floor toward their destination.
Mik’s cabin, and the bridge above it, had broken off from the rest of the ship when Kingfisher sank. The greater part of the two decks lay on the bottom, canted at a twenty-degree angle and shrouded in billows of settling mud.
The two divers swam cautiously to the wreck, keeping their eyes peeled for signs of the dragon, sharks, or other predators. They kicked past the remains of several bodies along their way-small bits of flesh difficult to recognize as human, never mind as former crewmates-and soon reached the wrecked cabin.
The door didn’t give when Mik tried it, and it took them a few minutes to pull the wood off its bent hinges. The contents inside floated in a jumble, the shambles of Mik’s life tossed everywhere. Some woven items-silks, clothing, blankets-hung eerily in the water, like strange and colorful jellyfish.
Uncovering the captain’s sea chest took longer than either of them would have liked. Mik’s trunk had settled to the bottom of the confused heap, but appeared otherwise undamaged.