'Now, getting that elixir will be a problem,' she continued. 'I think we'd better take the whole ship. Can you sail?'
'I've never been on anything bigger than a rowboat in my life, except maybe Iris's yacht, and that wasn't real. I'd probably get seasick.'
'Me too,' she agreed. 'We're landlubbers. So they'll never look for us there. Come on.'
Well, it was better than being changed into a cockatrice.
They crept down to the beach and entered the water. Bink looked back nervously-and saw a light moving toward the pit. 'Hurry!' he whispered. 'We forgot to put the grate back down; they'll know we're gone right away.'
At least they were both reasonably good swimmers. They shed their clothing-what had happened to it during the transformations? Again, no explaining the details of magic-and stroked silently for the sailboat moored a quarter mile out. Bink was alarmed by the dark depths of the water beneath him; what type of monsters dwelled in Mundane seas?
The water was not cold, and the exertion of swimming helped warm him; but gradually Bink tired and felt chilled. Fanchon suffered similarly. The ship had not seemed far, viewed from land-but that had been walking distance. Swimming distance was quite another matter.
Then the hue and cry commenced back at the prison pit. Lights flared everywhere, moving around like fire-flies-but setting no fires. Bink had an infusion of new strength. 'We've got to get there fast,' he gasped.
Fanchon didn't answer. She was too busy swimming.
The swim was interminable. It drained strength from Bink, making him become more pessimistic. But at last they came up to the ship. A sailor was standing on the deck, a silhouette in the light of the moon, peering at the shore.
Fanchon drew close to Bink. 'You go-other side,' she gasped. 'I-distract.'
She had guts. The sailor might put an arrow in her. But Bink stroked laboriously around the keel, moving to the far side. The ship was about forty feet long, large by Xanth standards. But if any part of what Trent had said about Mundania was true, there were much larger ships there.
He reached up and put his fingers on the edge of the hull. He tried to think of the name of this portion of a ship's anatomy, but could not. He hoped there weren't other sailors watching. He had to haul himself up slowly over the gunwale-that was the name- as not to rock the boat.
Now Fanchon, with superlative timing, made a clamor, as of someone drowning. The sailors went to the rail-four of them in all-and Bink heaved himself up as silently as he could. He scraped, for his muscles felt leaden, unresponsive. His wet body slapped against the deck, and the ship tilted back a bit under his weight-but the sailors stood riveted to the other side, watching the show.
Bink got to his feet and slunk up to the mast. The sails were furled, so that it offered scant concealment; they would see him when they turned with their lamps.
Well, he would have to act first. He felt ill equipped to indulge in combat, his arms and feet cold and heavy, but it was necessary. He walked silently up behind the four, his heart pounding. They were leaning over the rail, trying to see Fanchon, who was still making a considerable commotion. Bink put his left hand against the back of the nearest sailor and caught the man's trouser with his right hand. He heaved, hard and suddenly-and the sailor went up and over with a cry of alarm.
Bink swung immediately to the next, grabbing and shoving. The man had started to turn toward his companion's exclamations-but too late. Bink heaved, and the sailor went over. Almost over-one hand caught the rail. The sailor clung, twisting around to face inward. Bink knocked at his fingers and finally pried them loose, and the man dropped into the water.
But the loss of time and momentum had been crucial. Now the other two were upon Bink. One wrapped an arm around Bink's shoulder, trying to choke him, while the other hovered behind.
What had Crombie said to do in a situation like this? Bink concentrated and remembered. He grabbed the man, bent his knees, leaned forward, and heaved.
It worked beautifully. The sailor sailed over Bink's shoulder and crashed on his back on the deck.
But the last one was stepping in, fists swinging. He caught Bink on the side of the head with glancing but numbing force. Bink fell to the deck himself, and the man dove on top of him. To make things worse, Bink saw one of the others climbing back aboard. He put up his feet to hold off his opponent, but this was only partially effective. The burly sailor was pushing him down, pinning him-and the other was about to join in.
The standing figure lifted a foot. Bink could not even flinch; his arms were tangled, his body held down. The foot swung-and struck the head of Bink's antagonist
The man rolled off Bink with a groan. It was not fun, being kicked in the head. But how had the kicker missed the proper target, at such close range? The lamps had all gone into the water along with their owners; maybe in the dark a mistake-
'Help me get him over the edge,' Fanchon said. 'We've got to secure this ship.'
And he had mistaken her for a sailor, though she was naked! Well, blame the inadequate light again. Moonlight was pretty, but in a situation like this-
But the remaining two sailors were already rising over the gunwale. Acting on a common impulse, Bink grabbed his erstwhile opponent's shoulders, and Fanchon grabbed his feet. 'One-two-three-heave!' she gasped.
They heaved almost together. The man swung up and into his two companions. All three went over the edge to splash in the sea. Bink hoped they were all lively enough to swim. The fourth one lay on the deck, apparently unconscious.
'Pull up the anchor!' Fanchon ordered. 'I'll get a pole.' She ran to the ship's cabin, a lean figure in the moonlight.
