“They’re impatiens,” Irene explained.
The display finished off with a dazzling emergence of golden balls -marigolds. “That’s half. Take it or leave it,” Irene said.
“The eel takes it,” Grundy said, still shaking pea out of his hair. “Now the eclectic eel will lead us through the storm to shore, in its fashion.”
“About time,” Chet said. “Everyone hang on. We have a rough sail coming.”
The eel wriggled forward. The craft followed. The storm struck with its moist fury. “What do you have against us?” Dor asked it as the wind tore at his body.
“Nothing personal,” it blew back. “It’s my job to clear the seas of riffraff. Can’t have flotsam and jetsam cluttering up the surface, after all.”
“I don’t know those people,” Dor said. The raft was rocking and twisting as it followed the elusive eel but they were somehow avoiding the worst of the violence.
A piece of planking floated by. “I’m flotsam,” it said. “I’m part of the ship that wrecked here last month, still floating.”
A barrel floated by on the other side, the battered trunk of a harvested jellybarrel tree. “I’m jetsam,” it blew from its bung. “I was thrown overboard to lighten the ship.”
“Nice to know you both,” Dor said politely.
“The eel uses them for markers,” Grundy said. “It uses anything it finds.”
“Where’s the riffraff?” Irene asked. “If the storm is here to clear it from the seas, there should be some to clear.”
“I’m the raf’,” the raft explained. “You must be the rff’.” And it chuckled.
Now the rain pelted down full-strength. All of them were soaked in an instant. “Bail! Bail!” Chet screamed thinly through the wind.
Dor grabbed his bucket-actually, it was a bouquet Irene had grown, which his spelling had fouled up so that its nature had completely changed-and scooped out water. Smash the Ogre worked similarly on the other side, using a pitcher. By dint of colossal effort they managed to stay marginally ahead of the rain that poured in.
“Get low!” Grundy cried through the weather. “Don’t let her roll over!”
“She’s not rolling,” Irene said. “A raft can’t-“
Then the craft pitched horribly and started to turn over. Irene threw herself flat in the bottom of the center depression, joining Dor and Smash. The raft listed sickeningly to right, then to left, first throwing Irene bodily into Dor, then hurling him into her. She was marvelously soft.
“What are you doing.?” Dor cried as his wind was almost knocked from him despite his soft landings.
“, m yawing,” the raft said.
“Seems more like a roll to me,” Chet grumbled from the rear.
Irene fetched up against Dor again, hip to hip and nose to nose.
“Dear, we’ve got to stop meeting this way,” she gasped, attempting to smile.
In other circumstances Dor would have appreciated the meetings more.
Irene was padded in appropriate places, so that the shocks of contact were pleasantly cushioned. But at the moment he was afraid for his life and hers. Meanwhile, she looked as if she were getting seasick.
The craft lurched forward and down, as if sliding over a waterfall.
Dor’s own gorge rose. “Now what are you doing?” he heaved.
“I’m pitching,” the raft responded.
“We’re out of the water!” Chet cried. His head remained higher despite his prone position. “There’s something beneath us! That’s why we’re rolling so much!”
“That’s the behemoth,” Grundy said.
“The what?” Dor asked.
“The behemoth. A huge wallowing creature that floats about doing nothing. The eclectic eel led us up to it, to help weather the storm.”
Irene unglued herself from Dor, and all of them crawled cautiously up and looked over the edge of the raft. The storm continued, but now it beat on the glistening blubbery back of the tremendous animal. The craft’s perch seemed insecure because of the way it rolled and slid on the slick surface, but the enormous bulk of the monster provided security from the heaving ocean.
“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
