cutlass blade. He then offered the precious whetstone to the others, and when they took it, he watched keenly while it made its rounds before being returned. Dropping the stone back in his pouch, he carefully secured the flap. He took a deep breath and resumed his attack on the shoots. They continued moving slowly under the sweltering sun, through the rest of the morning and into the early afternoon. Eventually, finally, it appeared that the stalks were beginning to thin. After a little longer, Silva was sure of it, and he slew the final shoots like the helpless stragglers of a routed army.
Before him now stretched a virtual savanna, filled with long grasses of various types. Some looked like “normal” grass, like coastal Bermuda, but there were large, almost islandlike clumps of taller stuff that reminded him of kudzu, complete with blue and purplish foxtail blossoms congregated near the edges. Strange birds (real birds, it seemed) flitted and swarmed around the clearing on strange wings, almost like dragonflies. There were a few of the now ubiquitous lizard birds, which occasionally streaked in to snatch one of the inoffensive-looking things, but even the birds nearest the victims didn’t appear to give them any heed. Perhaps from within the apparent security of their multitudes, the weird little birds just didn’t notice.
“Every time I turn a corner on this goofed-up world, I see somethin’ even more goofed up,” Silva mumbled. He surveyed the expanse of the savanna for several moments, trying to divine if it represented a threat of any kind. There were few large animals on the island, and most of those behaved aggressively only within the bounds of their apparently single-minded desire to be left alone. They were retiring and extremely heavily armored in the manner of giant land tortoises, even if any physical resemblance was remote. The smaller ones could be killed, with the Doom Whomper at least, and their flesh was fat and wholesome, but they’d learned that killing anything on this island came with a dose of risk. They’d met an interesting variety of smaller predators and scavengers that were far more capable and dangerous than they appeared. All were smaller than a man and most were fairly skittish. Some were not, and those were usually more than happy to contest them for the meat.
So far, they’d encountered only one type of really large, dangerous animal during their brief, limited forays- and those didn’t exactly live there. Silva now knew from experience that they had to be particularly watchful for the occasional, early-arriving “shiksak.” He called them “shit-sacks”; of course, “shiksak” was a Tagranesi word and he tended to prefer his own names for things. No matter what anybody called them, the damn things gave him the creeps.
Once, if anybody had ever told him he’d run across anything scarier than a “super lizard” on land, he’d have called them a liar. Now he knew better. Shiksaks were almost as big as super lizards, and although generally slower moving, they were actually quicker in a sprint. Maybe “lunge” or “leap” was a better term. They struck him as kind of a twisted cross of a crocodile, an eel, and a frog. They had big, fat bodies with long swimming tails with a ridge or finlike arrangement beginning behind their heads that ran the length of their backs, all the way to the ends of their tails. Their forelegs were little more than stumpy, clawed “flippers,” but they had long, powerful hind legs with heavily webbed “feet” like those of a frog or toad. Add long, broad heads full of lots of teeth to the mix, and they even looked sort of comical in a way, like a giant pollywog that had swallowed most of an alligator. The young, towheaded Abel Cook, who’d once been fascinated with the dinosaurs of their “old” world, believed they were a type of mososaur that had evolved an amphibious capability to lay their eggs on shore, away from this world’s more treacherous seas. Maybe so. “Mosey-saurs” they may once have been, but Silva was only concerned with what they’d become.
Individually, they weren’t really that bad, he admitted to himself. A single shiksak wasn’t as scary as a single super lizard. Unlike super lizards, which seemed to possess a kind of creepy cunning, shiksaks apparently weren’t any smarter than pollywogs. Also, even if their thick, croclike skins made them practically bulletproof to the Imperial muskets, nothing was immune to his treasured Doom Whomper. No, so far the most pressing menace represented by the usually lethargic “early bird” shiksaks was that the sneaky bastards could change goddamn colors! That just wasn’t fair. They crept ashore, made a nest, and plopped down to lay their eggs. Sprawling there, in the dense Yap, or “Shikarrak ” Island jungle, they were difficult to see-and they would gulp down anything that came wandering by. Fair or not, even that wasn’t an insurmountable problem: be careful, watch where you’re going, and stay in pairs. Simple enough. The really big, scary problem-according to what they’d squeezed out of Lawrence (“Larry the Lizard”)-was that within a month the whole island would be working with the damn things like maggots in meat, and nothing that wasn’t armored like a tank, couldn’t climb a really big tree or squirm down a tiny hole, would survive.
No human or ’Cat would fit down a hole small enough that the shiksaks couldn’t dig it out, and the trees… would be full of other dangerous things. Larry had been here before when things got like that, during his “trial,” and he’d survived. That was the point of the trial-to test his wits. But he’d been all alone, with only himself to look after. Dennis Silva had to make sure nothing happened to Princess Rebecca, Lieutenant Tucker (the Skipper’s dame), the Lemurian Captain Lelaa, Sister Audry, and the gawky but gutsy Abel Cook. Maybe he would concern himself a little with a few of their Imperial companions who didn’t like him very much-or maybe not. As he saw it, his plate of responsibility was pretty damn full.
Larry hadn’t been willing to “blow” about the danger at first, even though he blamed himself for their presence there in the first place. He’d sworn an oath. He finally agreed to tell Rebecca and Miss Tucker, since no female was ever expected to undergo the trial. Even that might have been stretching things, but he just couldn’t bear to let his precious Rebecca face the dangers unprepared. Silva was still a little put out that Larry hadn’t just told him. He had to know the girls would blow. Oh, well, at least this way Silva got the word without Larry having to technically break his. One way or another, he’d learned what he was up against, as far as looking after the girls was concerned, and ultimately that was all that really mattered. Larry could look out for himself.
Dennis examined the tall grass a little longer, then shrugged. He couldn’t see anything dangerous, but that didn’t mean much. He thrust his cutlass into the scabbard tied to his belt and unslung the Doom Whomper. The big, heavy thing had been strapped diagonally across his back to keep it out of the way. “All right, fellas, come on out, I guess,” he said. “If there’s any boogers out there, I can’t see ’em. Just keep your eyes peeled.”
Abel Cook emerged first from the bamboo forest. He’d also secured his cutlass and was awkwardly carrying an Imperial musket in what he seemed to consider a proficient and vigilant manner. He managed a relieved, tired smile as he joined Silva. Midshipman Brassey of the Imperial Navy appeared next. The dark-haired boy was no older than Cook, and even if he was more accustomed to his cumbersome musket, he seemed just as relieved to escape the oppressive, confining thicket.
Captain Rajendra was close on the boy’s heels. He was the only one of the marooned survivors with skin darker than Silva’s, and whereas all the color had been bleached from Silva’s, Rajendra’s hair, bushy mustaches, and short, thick beard remained jet-black. In Rajendra’s case, it was probably racial, but Silva had never asked and didn’t care. Courtney Bradford might have been fascinated to learn more about Rajendra’s genealogy, but God knew where Bradford was now. He might be in Baalkpan or points west. He might even be ironically near, with the Skipper, searching for the castaways. It was ironic because even if that were true, they would never find them. The Skipper had no way of knowing that the survivors of Ajax had become castaways and Ajax herself had literally ceased to exist. Silva usually enjoyed irony to a certain degree, even if he’d only recently learned the word. He even managed to glean a small measure of amusement from it in the current situation. He recognized irony for the bitch she could be and tended to be philosophical about it when she turned around and bit him on the ass.
Rajendra didn’t appreciate irony at all, as far as Silva could tell. Apparently he didn’t appreciate much of anything. Even after all these weeks, he seemed able to summon only a scowl when his eyes fell upon Dennis. Silva was philosophical about that too. He’d saved the man’s life. He’d saved all their lives. But the way he’d gone about it
… He supposed it was inevitable there’d be a touch of resentment. Like the others, Rajendra went armed with a musket, but he also carried a brace of pistols and a sword. Occasionally, absently, Silva wondered if the man’s desire to use the weapons on him had waned at all. He didn’t lose sleep over it, but it could be distracting to know he really needed to watch his back as well as his front.
At least one other “person” looked after him besides the wellintentioned Abel Cook. Larry the Lizard may not have been willing to technically spill the beans about the island, but he was Silva’s friend. Larry was a Tagranesi, a species strikingly similar in appearance to the hated Grik. He was colored differently and not as big, but those distinctions hadn’t been particularly clear when they’d met.
There’s irony for you, Dennis thought, remembering that he’d actually shot Larry, thinking he was a Grik, but the little guy didn’t hold it against him. Hell of a lot more forgiving Than Rajendra. I didn’t even shoot him. Irony again. Of course, having now seen the Grik and participated in the Battle of Baalkpan, Larry understood why Dennis
