At the confused faces, he explained his sister's words, how she could suddenly talk, how Towser had betrayed them. "But where is he bound? And why?"
It fell silent in the clearing. Trade winds soughed in the treetops. The clumping of the clockwork beast came closer, then receded. A green lizard skittered from under a leaf, and Stiggur, a boy, caught it instinctively.
"We may never know," Morven sighed. "Holleb, have you figured how to brew beer from coconuts?"
"No!" Gull's shout startled them all. Fear for Greensleeves had renewed his anger. "We're not going to settle in here! We're not going to get comfortable in this cage! We're going to find a way out!"
Everyone just stared. Stiggur showed a glimmer of hope, knowing his hero could accomplish anything. But the rest were sober. And resigned.
Gull couldn't stand their helpless air. "Stiggur, get up! Morven, you too!"
Sitting, the sailor just shook his gray head. "Me days o' taking orders are done, bucko."
For answer, the woodcutter grabbed his shoulder, hoicked him to his feet.
The sailor rubbed his arm. "Belay, belay! I'm with ye! Where are we bound?"
Gull didn't know. But they mustn't sit idle: that was slow death. "Around the island. We'll see what there is to see."
"Not much," droned Tomas.
Ignoring that, the three walked off, Gull setting the pace.
With every step, Gull's resolve to escape increased. This island might be paradise, but it was still a prison. He strode down the beach while Morven and Stiggur struggled to keep up.
Surprisingly, there was much to see.
At the center of the island they found Holleb's "ant-folk." Upright, five feet tall, brown as tree trunks, made of articulated segments covered with stiff black hair, they looked as if some wizard had kicked an anthill and conjured its denizens into soldiers. Their only decorations were palm fronds cemented with some gum-ant spit, Morven suggested-to their helmetlike heads. They carried crude iron blades, a cross between a shovel and a spear. In the crater of the dead volcano, they dug tunnels, ridges, trenches. Some fetched leaves and fruit while others stood guard. They worked in an eerie silence, waggling antennae as if talking.
The travelers did not test the guards, but watched from a low tor. As best they could count the identical bug-beasts, there were at least a hundred, though there could be scores more underground.
"Let's hope they don't develop a taste for meat," Morven hissed.
Moving to the island's far side, they found the goblins, including the skunk-striped thief Egg Sucker. With them lived some large gray orcs, the first Gull had ever seen. Orcs of the Ironclaw Clan, they shouted that they ruled the island-until Gull flattened one with his axe handle. After that, they were all whining politeness, but knew nothing.
The explorers passed on, slept the night curled in the warm sand.
Birds sprang away at their steps, wild pigs scurried through brush, even a sea turtle was sighted beyond the reef, swimming slow as a barrel. They came across a primitive clay statue a dozen feet high. It had obviously been dropped there, for it lay on its side in a thicket of fronds. Along a spit they found an old shipwreck, a caravel, Morven explained, with high forecastles and aftercastles like a wooden shoe. Much of the ship was intact, but her bottom had been torn out by the reef in a storm. Other than scrap iron and some broken masts, there was nothing the ship could offer.
That second day, they passed the clockwork beast, stumping, stumping along.
When the sun was high on the third day, they found their landing spot.
Morven and Stiggur trudged into the rude camp and plunked down on the sand. But Gull's quick tread made the sleepy giant and red soldiers and centaurs look up.
"Gather 'round!" the woodcutter ordered.
Curious, ready for any diversion, the motley crew rubbed their eyes and prepared to listen.
The woodcutter did not sit, but paced the small circle. As he talked, he tapped the axe haft in his hand. Bobbing in the air, the big steel head almost hypnotized them.
"We're stuck here," Gull began. "We feel helpless, as if we must sit and wait for salvation."
He paused. Everyone listened, rapt.
"We might be stuck, but we're not helpless. We got sent here, we can be drawn back."
A murmur ran through the small crowd. Morven said, "But that-"
Gull cut him off. "We're fighters, all of us. We've been thrust into a war: the common folk against wizards. Yet just to sit, and slack off, and despair, and wait for someone to help us-is to lose the battle without raising a hand! We're not sheep awaiting slaughter! Are we?"
A negative mumble. But mostly the listeners looked at each other.
"What?" Gull hollered. "All I hear is the mutter of surf. Are we, or are we not, sheep?"
"No!" said the black-bearded Tomas.
"No, we're not," said Morven mildly. "But what can we-"
"We can prepare to fight!" Gull bellowed. "Fight! But we're not ready! Where's your weapon, Morven?"
The sailor waved vaguely at the air. "Last I saw, in the men's wagon."
"Then we'll get you a new one! Where's yours, Stiggur?"
The boy piped, "I ain't got a weapon."
Gull plucked his whip from his belt, tossed it into Stiggur's hands. "You do now. I want to see you plucking gray hairs out of Morven's beard by the end of the week."
The boy looked stunned, held the whip like a dead snake. Morven nudged him, thumbed his chin. "Aim for black ones. Fewer targets, more of a challenge."
For the first time, folks laughed.
The woodcutter kept up the pressure. "There's one volunteer armed and ready to practice! Helki, Holleb, where are your weapons? When I first met you, you were festooned with weapons and tack, all neat as a pin! Now…"
The centaurs looked shamefaced at their slovenliness. Their breastplates rusted in their hut, their lances had been used to broil fish. Without a word, they turned with swishing tails, plucked up their armor, scrubbed at the rust with sand.
Tomas nodded to his comrades. They fetched short swords and hunted whetstones. Gull followed his own advice and honed his axe blade. He continued to talk. "We're agreed then. We'll be ready for the call when it comes."
With empty hands, Morven could only scratch his armpit. "Ain't ye forgettin' somethin'? Towser picks who he needs for a battle. Same as ye and me can pluck up a chessman and move him thither on a board. He might conjure the centaurs, or these blokes, but why conjure ye and me? They might twinkle away anytime and we're left to build sand castles-"
"Morven," Gull interrupted, "while there's life, there's a way. All of us will work together and all of us will get off this island. And when we do, we'll kill Towser and every other wizard we find!"
At that, Tomas gave a glorious war cry from deep within his soul. People started, then laughed. Helki reared onto her back legs and whinnied her battle call, and Holleb joined in. Morven laughed and hollered a snatch of sea chantey.
Then all were whooping and hollering and shouting and dancing around the clearing.
Gull called the loudest of all. "Remember White Ridge! Remember White Ridge!"
Long into the night, they made plans. They worked out a watch, everyone standing three hours around the clock. They worked out warning signals in case anyone was suddenly "summoned," compared notes and the little knowledge they possessed. Could someone disappearing drag a companion along? Was it better to run, or return to the island with news? Was that possible?
At dawn, Morven groaned and stretched his back. "But still, just hangin' around waitin'…" "We don't wait," said Gull. "We work." The sailor was caught in mid-stretch. "At what?" "We work with what we have, fix what needs fixing. We'll start with the clockwork beast." "Eh?" asked several. "What good is that?" Gull shrugged. "Some wizard created it, other wizards summon and banish it, so it must have a use. Howsoever, we'll knock it down and replace that missing leg with a mast cut from the shipwreck. Morven, that's your job: tell us what you need. And tear that wreck apart, see what else you find. Liko, can you help? Good man. We'd best carve you a club so you can whomp Towser's bullyboys. Stiggur, I want you snapping that whip until you can flick the eyelash off a gnat. You're a bright lad and quick, so I know you can do it."