friend. He knew Rajendra and the other Imperials considered the boy expendable, but he didn’t, and he was beginning to suspect his princess didn’t either. With Brassey, and eventually even carpenter Hersh, on Silva’s side, that left only Rajendra, his engineer, and a single Imperial Marine objecting. There was no question of a democratic resolution, but the three holdouts doubted they could handle the “Mad American” by themselves, much less the rest of the heavily armed party. When Rebecca reluctantly decided to endorse the plan, the specter of treason reentered the dispute and open resistance melted away.
The second thing that almost destroyed them, despite the fact that they were molested by no more of the growing number of land-weary, lethargic shiksaks they saw, was the blistering, killing, physical pace Silva set beneath the murderous sun. The newly arrived shiksaks that had ventured so far from shore-probably staking an early claim to an ultimately less-crowded nesting area-would recover their “land legs” in time. They had to be finished by then. As the day wore on and they heaved the boat down the mild, much appreciated slope into the narrow savannah that Silva called the “kudzu patch,” the apparent tension of the island itself began to grow. Lizard birds squawked querulously and the strange little birds in the clearing swarmed erratically from place to place, or burst their formations completely into chaotically buzzing individuals. The odd, purplish flowers of the kudzu seemed to dance and sway with the breeze, as though imitating live creatures grazing about. The prickly thorns, so small and difficult to see when the group had passed this way before, were now larger and more erect on the vines. They carefully gave them a wide berth, laying the wooden rollers to clear the menacing patches of the weed.
Odd, hoarse cries resonated from the tall trees ahead that separated them from the beach, and they saw many small-and not so small-creatures beginning to gather there. Shrieks exploded as fights broke out between different species. Lawrence warned that the fights would become general among individuals eventually, as the furry, gourd-like fruits in the trees were exhausted. Saying he had an idea, he sprinted back the way they’d come. A smallish shiksak thundered ashore, bellowing its arrival, beyond the massive trees ahead that they’d chosen for their size. It thumped and thudded directly beneath them, headed toward the boat at first, but then steered hungrily toward the coyly twitching kudzu flowers, crashing into the patch with a triumphantly gaping maw. It snapped voraciously at the flowers for several moments, but then seemed to grow sleepy, as if sated and now torpid. A little unsteady, it groped its way out of the kudzu in the direction of a distant shiksak that was still resting from its arrival.
“Young bull,” Silva opined through gritted teeth as he reslung his weapon and took up his rope again. “Bet he don’t get to be an old bull. Kinda sets a fella back, thinkin’ ’bout all the times he’s acted the same damn way.” He gasped and heaved in time with the others. “Whoo-ee! Liber-tee! Where’s the grub? Where’s the broads?”
The raucous sounds of wildlife grew, birds erupted from the grass, the trees, everywhere, swirling madly and densely enough to create a kind of shade. Small shapes scampered in all directions to the extent that tripping became a concern. It was as if they somehow knew the full infestation was finally at hand. Even Rajendra quieted his objections and laid to with a will. It was late afternoon when, exhausted, panting, they finally placed the boat between the two trees they’d chosen, more by size, direction, and proximity than anything else. They rested briefly, gulping the rum-tinged water Brassey shared out with a tin cup. They’d already laid in plenty of water, and most of Silva’s surviving “prize” rum he’d taken during their escape from Billingsley had gone to purify it into a kind of grog. Most, but not all. There were still medicinal purposes to consider. They didn’t have a moment to lose, but they had to rest a little before they attempted their next pair of tasks. A misstep now or a mishandled line would doom them all.
“Are you ready for this?” Sandra finally asked.
Captain Lelaa nodded, looking at the trees, ears twitching appraisal. “I have been climbing masts since I was born,” she said confidently. “These ‘trunks’ will be simpler.”
“Them double-block falls are kinda heavy-an’ you gotta make sure they don’t get tangled up,” Silva fussed. When they’d escaped, they unhooked the falls, thinking at least the rope might be handy. Now the heavy block- and-tackle arrangement might prove their salvation. They never could have built a set in time.
Lelaa practically sneered at Silva. “Mind your own business. Just keep those creatures up there away from me,” she said. The creatures in question, a wild variety perched high in the tree’s broad canopy above, had stopped squalling and now peered sullenly down at them.
Silva nodded, and setting down the Doom Whomper, he selected a loaded musket from within the boat. “You got it, Cap’n.”
“What can I do to help?” Sister Audry asked, still somewhat breathless.
“Nothin’ right now. Might not have to do anything a’tall ’til you climb aboard,” Dennis answered, “unless you want to try your hand at shootin’?”
Sister Audry shook her head. She had no experience with firearms of any sort. She still looked concerned. “But the boat is so heavy! How will we lift it up there?”
“A double-block rig’ll let you lift four times the weight as usual. I can hoist a thousand pounds easy as peein’ with that rig.. . if you’ll ’scuse me for sayin’ so.” He paused. “Just take my word for it. Five big fellas, two strong ladies-countin’ the squirt-a ’Cat that’s prob’ly stronger than me, and a fuzzy, stripey lizard-I figger we can lift close to twice what that damn boat weighs. We oughta be able to manage without you and Mr. Cook.” He looked around. “Say, where’s that stripey lizard, anyway?”
Lawrence reappeared, trotting carefully around the kudzu with something almost as large as he was slung on his back. As he drew near, Sister Audry wrinkled her nose and Rebecca scolded, “What is that vile, revolting stench?”
Lawrence flung his burden down unapologetically, and Silva stooped to examine it.
“Yuk,” Dennis said. “What the hell’s that?”
“The scent glands o’ that shiksak us killed,” he said. There was a little blood around his mouth-he’d apparently paused long enough for a quick meal while he hacked the reeking things off with his cutlass.
“Aggh, they stink!” Silva exclaimed as the full force of the stench hit him. The glands were little more than pebbly, scaly slits in two large, dark patches of skin. “How’s that work?” he wondered aloud. “I seen deer tarsals an’ such, but you’d think a sea monster wouldn’t do that.”
“They aren’t sea ’onsters on land,” Lawrence pointed out.
“Well… what are you gonna do with ’em? Roll around on ’em an’ pretend to be one?”
Lawrence actually seemed to consider it before shaking his head. “He’ig ’ull,” he said.
“Bull?”
“Yess. His scent keeph others a’ay. I tie these to trees, other ’ulls, at least, stay a’ay.”
That made sense. Dennis had been a little worried about that. Big as these trees were, their roots weren’t all that deep. He figured a really big shiksak might knock one over if he decided to whack on it.
“Good thinkin’, twerp. Course, now you got that stink all over you, where are you gonna stay?”
“He can stay with us,” Lelaa snapped, starting her climb. “If I can stand your stink, I can learn to put up with his.”
For the first time since they’d been marooned on Yap Island, Dennis Silva heard Rebecca’s sweet, unfettered laugh. He grinned. “I guess I am gettin’ a little ripe,” he confessed, “but with mucho respecto, Cap’n, you smell kinda’ like a hard-used hairball.”
Lelaa snorted and scampered up the tree. About forty feet up, still short of the lower canopy, she stopped and began expertly rigging a seizing around the trunk. Something quick and leathery, with what looked like gliding wings stretched between its front and back legs, lunged down at her. Rajendra’s musket flared, and light, fleshy bark sprayed at the creature’s face. Never stopping, it leaped over their heads with a shrill cry, arrested its gliding fall on their other tree about fifty feet away, then raced into its darkening bower of leaves.
“Missed!” Silva said grandly, laying his musket against the boat and retrieving the Doom Whomper in case anything large chose to investigate the noise of the shot.
“So?” Rajendra said hotly. “I did my job!”
“Yeah,” Dennis replied, looking back at the clearing, “about as well as usual. Half-assed. Spoiled my shot.”
“Boys!” Sandra insisted, steel in her voice. “You will stop baiting each other and cooperate!” She knew she wasn’t being quite fair to Rajendra. Silva had started it-as usual-but erratic as Silva sometimes was, he was a lot steadier than Rajendra. For Rebecca’s sake, she wouldn’t single him out. She was “playing favorites” and knew it, but Rajendra had proven time and again, once that very day, that her control over him was tenuous. He might be loyal to the princess, but not to the group, and his judgment had always been questionable. Silva couldn’t be
