Together they ran to the port railing amidships, weaving their way among frantic sailors adjusting the cannons. Many others stood at the railing with long pikes. A few had cast their pikes at the beast to no effect, but the others had sense enough to hold their weapons until the beast rose high enough to strike. A look down showed thrashing waters and white and red scales flashing beneath the surface. The serpent was ramming its blunt snout into the hull repeatedly, chewing and gnawing as it did so. She had not yet made a hole, but the hard organic shell of the hull was scarred and creaking, the red flesh of the shipgut spines showing blood in the cracks. The sailors braced themselves against the impacts and yelled back and forth, confused and unsure of how to proceed.
“OUT OF MY WAY,” roared the captain, emerging from his cabin in the stern. He was holding a clay vessel larger than his own considerable torso, two arms wrapped around it, his third bracing it from beneath. The vessel looked much like the pots used to hold the anchorfish that Gamarron had seen near the prow, but much larger. Anchorfish had irreversible jaws, meaning once they closed, they could never open again. When caught young and confined to their pots, they could be gradually fused to a hemp rope and kept fed via nutrient broth until the ship needed to anchor. Then the pot was broken, and the fish thrown into the depths. The first touch of the seabed triggered the action of the fish’s jaw, latching it into the muck and allowing the ship to drag to a stop. If the captain were carrying an anchorfish now, it was by far the largest he’d ever heard of.
Someone must have asked the captain exactly that, for Gamarron heard him say, “Not an anchorfish!” He rested the heavy pot on the railing and steadied it there, looking at his crew with an evil glint in his eye. “It’s a pot full of devilfish I been keepin’… and I just threw in a bone.” The sailors cheered, and he heaved the earthen vessel over the rail right above the sea serpent’s head. The lid came loose as it fell, and when it hit the water, the turbulence in that spot doubled, then trebled. The water churned white as if a dozen men were thrashing just below the surface. In the spray Gamarron saw small black fish no larger than his hand darting back and forth. He had never heard of devilfish.
He looked to Kest, who saw his confusion. “Devilfish go into a frenzy when they taste meat,” he crowed over the noise. “A good-sized school can strip a rhino to the bone in twenty minutes!” Looking back down, he saw that the serpent had broken off its attack and was snapping at the water. The white froth of the water was turning pink with its blood, and it howled in rage. The sailors were jeering and throwing anything that came to hand at the beast. She writhed and flipped in the water, unable to escape her minuscule tormentors. Her head turned away from Serpentslip and she shot away into the dark blue waters, still twisting and diving. Seafarers embraced and yelled their praise to the skies, and for all his usual reserve, Gamarron could not hold back a whoop of his own. He and Kest grinned at each other, though the young man’s joy quickly soured as he realized who he was smiling at.
The lad turned away and found himself face to face with boatswain Danica, who swept him up into an embrace, laughing behind her grotesque mask. Before Kest could do anything, she took his face in both hands and pressed her face against his, kissing him through the purple flesh of the jellyskin. His eyes went wide and he stumbled back, mouth smeared with slime residue. He spat and coughed, looking anywhere but at her. Far from being offended, the lass doubled over with laughter in the face of his disgust, and when he turned away, she cupped his rear end with a strong hand and squeezed. He jumped at the touch. Nearby sailors howled with glee, calling out foul-minded suggestions to the saucy girl for her next move. Even the fanged mouth on the girl’s knee gave a coughing squawk that might have been a laugh. At a total loss for how to respond, Kest retreated to the poop deck with stiff dignity, lewd catcalls following after him. Gamarron allowed himself a quiet chuckle. Relief made every moment sweeter.
Then the call came down from the rigging. “It’s turning back!” All laughter died instantly, and dread settled over the deck like a fog as the serpent’s watery scream returned in strength. Turning out to sea, he spied the horned crest of the massive serpent cutting through the water at high speed, headed directly for their broadside. He could see the spines of her back snaking through the water behind – and then her head disappeared. “Diving!” reported the sailor in the crow’s nest.
“It’s going to try to swamp us,” growled the captain, thinking fast. “All hands on weapons and clear the main deck!” he called. “We rush her
