bluff.
They looked each other hard in the eye. Man and boy they stood there on the heaving deck, the shadows of evening darkening all around them.
'You're dead meat,' said Arabin, with death in his voice.
'Aye, and so are we all in the end,' said Drake, more confident than ever that he would not be forced forward, and that Arabin would find another way to deal with the monster.
At that moment, the thing's tiny little disorganized brain finally cottoned onto the fact that it could get a clean run at its antagonists by backing off toward the stern, pulling its feeding spikes clear of the wreckage which kept its head from striking at will.
Its eight crocodile-sprawling feet scrabbled splinters from the deck as it went into reverse, dragging the Valence cordage with it. Arabin, who had the coil slung over his shoulders, had no chance to pay out any slack. Dragged off his feet, he hit the deck heavily.
The Neversh lowered its feeding spikes and charged like a bull. Arabin lay helpless. Drake ripped off his sealskin jacket and flung it to the wind. The Neversh saw something flying in the air, reared up as if to spike it – then crashed back to the deck.
Drake helped Arabin scramble to his feet. Retreating together, they paid out plenty of slack. By the time the Neversh had stopped puzzling over the flying jacket, the two humans had gained the fo'c'scle wreckage.'Well done,' said Arabin.
But Drake took no joy in the compliment. His legs gave way. He clutched the strongest bit of timber he could find, and wept. He was too tired, too cold, too dizzy. He was finished.
Arabin drew his falchion, as if to renew his threat – then a wave burst over them, knocking away the falchion and smothering them under a mountain of water. Drake, snatched from his timber, grabbed at guess – and hooked an arm round Arabin's neck. Arabin clung to the rope, the far end of which was knotted round the neck of the Neversh.
The wave eased away at last to nothing, leaving the two of them sodden, dripping, shuddering. Arabin gripped Drake by the arm. Hard. His fingers dug deep into Drake's biceps.
'It's my plan or nothing, now,' said the Warwolf, his voice urgent.
Drake, released, collapsed to the deck. Helpless as a jellyfish. Arabin grabbed him by the scruff of the neck, hauled him to his feet, then laid a firm hand on his shoulder.'Courage, boy!' said Arabin. 'Courage!'
Drake stared at his captain. The sky of the man's eyes was entirely lost in the gloom. Drops of sea-spray clung to his bald head, which looked, in the gathering night, like an egg going black with rot. Beyond was the monster, wings still whirring, feet scraping and clawing as it made ineffectual stabs at the fo'c'sle wreckage. Beyond that, the rest of the ship. He half-heard the weapons muqaddam shouting orders.
All about was the wilderness of the sea, an upthrash of confused grey, smeared cloud and horizon-menacing gloom. If they were to act, it would have to be now, for soon the night would make it impossible.'Show me the place,' said Drake.'This way, then,' said Arabin.
They went further forward, paying out more rope as they went, then the Warwolf took his footing in the wreckage of the fo'c'sle and made ready to belay.
'I've lost my knife,' said Drake, thinking he might need one.
'Then take this,' said Arabin, drawing a fresh blade from the massive leather belt which sustained his falchion's sheath, his waterproof sea-pouch, a luck-stone, and a couple of dirks like the one he offered Drake. 'And keep it well, until the day you leave it in the heart of the Walrus.'
And Drake, sensing this was a project dear to Jon Arabin's heart, mustered a grin and cried: 'I live for that day!'
'Aye!' shouted Arabin, with a sudden onset of something like joy, his heart made glad to see Drake showing spirit. 'So do we all!'
Then Drake braced himself on the edge of the ship, tested the rope, and made ready to do on the heaving hull what he had done often enough before on his father's coal cliffs.
Over the side he went, rappelling down, warding himself off from the hull with his feet, fearing at any moment to be dashed against that wooden cliff and shattered entirely.
A big sea came shuthering up around him. Lost in the wave-sway, he clung to the rope as best he could. And broke free of the waters. Gasped for air. And was gasping still as a greater sea-thrash smashed him loose from the rope.
In the sea's despairs he tumbled. Then something brutal crunched him. He grabbed it. And, as the waters lumbered away, found himself clinging to the shank of the anchor. He swung his legs over its arms, and, as the seas roistered around him, clung to the ugly mass of barnacle-crusted iron.
Something like a snake whipped round his neck as he clung amidst cataracts. As the waters baffled away, he fought with the strangling thing.'Demon's grief!' he said, getting it free at last.
And found what he held was no snake but the end of the rope. Swiftly, he hauled in as much slack as he could, and took a couple of turns around the anchor before the next sea. Then, between one assault of the sea and the next, he knotted the Valence cordage as best he could, hoping the rope lived up to its reputation. His hands ran dark with his blood, for he was gashing himself on barnacles in his haste.'Done!' said Drake.
And a sea came up and almost did for him.
As the waters dipped away, he risked the hard part – and started to climb the rope. It had just a little slack in it. But, as he climbed, the Neversh on the deck above jerked its head, pulling the rope taut. Drake was almost tossed off. But he was strong, yes, and desperate, and clung on with a grimness death itself would have envied.
He gained a little more height, then felt a strong hand grab him. It was Jon Arabin, who hauled him up to the deck. Drake fell into his master's arms, and was held in the refuge until his shuddering eased.
'Now, boy,' said Arabin. 'Do you know how to release the anchor?''No,' said Drake, honestly.
'Then I'll manage that myself,' said Arabin. 'Stay here.'
Then Arabin sought out the trapdoor he knew to be in amongst the wreckage of the fo'c'sle, and crawled down through that narrow way into the utter dark below, where the hugeness of the anchor cable coiled in the rat- haunted gloom. He found'the safety chain, unwound it from the grab cleats, jerked it clear – and heard the rope begin to whip away as the anchor fell sheer to the seas of night.
The anchor hit the sea, dragging the Valence cordage down with it. The cord tightened round the neck of the Neversh, jerking the monster sideways. Screaming, it fought against the weight. For a few moments it held its ground. But the pain was intolerable. At last, it let go of the mainmast with its whiplash tail, and, wings beating, clawed feet skidding across the deck, was dragged to the side and pulled over.
The Neversh smashed into the water and disappeared from sight.'Drake!' yelled Arabin.
But the word was savaged by surf and by water-slop, tangled by ropes and baffled by echoes. What Drake heard was only an incomprehensible cry of human anguish. He was sure something terrible was happening to Arabin below decks. For more than a moment, he was tempted to ignore the cry. Then it was repeated.'Courage, man,' said Drake to Drake.
And crept through the dark wet scrabble-wood wreckage of the fo'c'sle, until he heard Arabin call out yet again – and recognized the shout as his own name.'What is it?' yelled Drake. 'Rats?'
'Rats?' roared Arabin. 'What are you blathering about? Is the monster over?''Aye,' said Drake. 'Over, and sunk from sight!''Good, then,' said Arabin.
And grabbed in the dark for the anchor axe which was always kept handy in case the ship had to quit a mooring in a hurry, cut away its restraining cords with one of his dirks, then hacked and chopped until he had cut clean through the cable, setting the anchor free to fall away to the cold dark hell of the seabed, dragging the Neversh with it.
Shortly, Arabin was on deck again, with Drake. As they picked their way back to their comrades, he said to Drake, as quietly as the weather would permit:
'Few enough have seen that and lived. Fewer still have helped tackle it. You did well.'
And that accolade, Drake knew, was to be valued more than the honours of many a kingdom.
'Now get yourself down to the kitchen, boy,' said Arabin. 'We've a hard night coming on, and the men will be wanting their soup.'And Drake went, thinking his captain a hard man.
'Where have you been?' demanded the cook, when he got below.'Helping Jon Arabin.''With what?''Oh,' said
