cried once, and reeled from the beams, plunging into the water, his jacket red. Across the space between us I saw Seremides, his eyes on me. He did not have his sword, but there was a knife in his hand. He stood unsteadily on the narrow wreckage.
In the water Durbar, the water red about him, gasping, confused, extended his hand to Seremides, who did not accept his hand, perhaps fearing the loss of balance, but motioned him closer. When Durbar got his hands upon the beams Seremides kicked out, viciously, and Durbar, I think his neck was broken, slipped away, beneath the water.
Seremides stood on the beams, regarding me.
“Noble Callias,” said he, affably. “Approach.”
I remained where I was, and looked about. I saw no one near.
“That is an order!” said Seremides.
“Deliver it to another,” I said.
Seremides looked about, and then put the knife in his belt, and then, kneeling on the beams, pulled at some floating vinage, and his narrow vessel inched toward me. He tried to urge it toward me, too, with his body. He dipped his right arm into the water, and pushed back, against the water. Again his tiny bark approached me, a little. It was heavy, and not easily moved. I did not think he would risk throwing the knife. I suspected the turning currents, the natural eddies amongst the vines, might bring us together, sooner or later. It would be a matter of time.
I wondered how many men, if about, would welcome this opportunity to do away with Seremides.
But we seemed much alone.
The nearest galley, I conjectured, from the faint sounds I heard, men calling out, was two hundred yards distant. It would probably be encircled by small boats.
Much vinage was now about, as it had drifted back, tending to close the road which had been cut through it. Such things shift in the currents, closing gaps, being arrested only against more of its kind.
Seremides stood up and looked about.
Apparently he saw no one, at least nearby.
He then, eyes glinting, once more kneeling down, tried more earnestly, even rashly, even heedlessly, to force his way toward me.
I took it he wanted to reach me before others might note our position.
I did not think it wise for Seremides to splash at the side of his support.
There was still blood in the water, from the tharlarion, from some fellows taken by sharks, and, now, from Durbar.
Too, I had seen a fin glide by, but a moment ago.
Perhaps he, then in the water, had seen it, too.
The possible danger of his activity must have occurred to him, as he soon ceased to propel his craft in that perilous fashion.
The splashing, of course, had occurred.
Hopefully, it had been unnoted.
An occasional swell, lifting the circumambient vines and blossoms, moved his small vessel, and the raft of vinage to which I clung.
“Ho!” I called, half in water, half prostrate amongst the vines, unable to stand. “Help! Help!”
But none heard me.
“Swim to me,” coaxed Seremides. “Join me. It will be safe. I will not hurt you.”
We were now some ten or fifteen feet apart.
I felt something long, seven or eight feet in length, and rough, like a rasp, pass, moving beneath the water, against my leg.
I clutched the vinage.
“So,” smiled Seremides, “you are frightened.”
He removed his knife from his belt.
I did not think, again, he would risk throwing it.
He stood, unsteadily, on his support.
“The sea is my ally,” he said. “It will soon enable me to greet you.”
I said nothing. There seemed no one about.
His small bark drifted nearer, as did a number of vines and blossoms. So, too, it must have, Ehn earlier, when bearing Durbar.
“I have waited long for this,” said he, “noble Callias.”
There was then a swell of water, and I saw it lift his vessel two or three feet, and he cried out in triumph and I knew that, in its descent, sliding down the slope of that swell, it would be upon me, and I plunged beneath the water, dragged myself down, beneath the vines, swam what I could, some yards, and then, gasping, shaking my head, I emerged amongst clustered vines, some wrapped about my body, and legs, snakelike.
But I saw nothing of Seremides.
I was terrified to be in the water, as I knew what was there.
I knew he must be in the water, but I feared him the least of what might be about.
I forced myself down again and, as I could, circled back, and, after twice emerging amongst the vines, came to some open water, and felt wood, and drew myself, panting, wiping my eyes, onto the two fastened beams which had borne, in turn, Durbar, and Seremides, and now bore me.
I saw nothing of Seremides.
I stood, unsteadily, on the beams.
I could then see two of the four intact galleys in the distance and, several hundred yards away, the great ship itself.
I cried out and waved, but did not know if my presence was noted.
I was not overly concerned about being picked up, as I was sure the great ship was far from clear of the Vine Sea, and I had little doubt that there would be a thorough search for survivors, perhaps extended over two or three days. I had gathered that every man was valued, if only as a tool or beast of sorts, by the Pani, and I was sure that I could count on the patience, and diligence, of Tarl Cabot, and several others. I took them as good officers and honorable men. They would seek the best accounting possible.
“Help!” I heard. “Help!” The cry was weak, and yards away. At first I could not locate its source, but then I saw a hand lifted over the vines, and a head, lifted, briefly, which then slipped again from sight. Something was struggling, tangled in the vines. I did not know if the two beams on which I stood had moved muchly or not. I knew I was now in relatively open water, which suggested it was part of the road cut by the ship’s boats through the vines, though it was much narrower now than hitherto, given the eddies, and the drifting of the vegetation.
“Help!” I heard, and saw the head of Seremides emerge from the vines. “I am caught!” he cried. An arm flailed about, grasping at vines. It was possible he could be pulled under, as the vines beneath the surface shifted in the currents. In any event, it seemed he was tangled in the ropelike growth, and, apparently, could neither dive beneath it, should he wish to do so, nor swim through it.
“Help!” called Seremides. “Help!” He held out a hand to me, tangled in vines.
I stood unsteadily on the beams.
“All is forgiven!” cried Seremides. “I pledge friendship! I have power! I can do much for you! Help me! I will reward you! I will secure you promotion! When the ship is ours you will stand high! Gold, women! I will see that she who was once Flavia of Ar is given to you! Would she not be pleasing in your collar? When the voyage is done, take her to Ar for the bounty!”
“Pull yourself out, by the vines,” I said.
I was not anxious to approach him, and much vinage lay between us.
“I cannot!” he said. “By the Priest-Kings, by the Home Stone of Cos, save me!”
I crouched on my small craft and caught at vines, trying to pull the two nailed beams toward him.
“You agree!” he cried.
“I agree to nothing,” I said.
“Hurry!” he cried. “Hurry!”
My makeshift bark caught in the vines. I was then some twenty feet from him. I could make no further
