Page 346

She surveyed the loose dry sand and the stretches of uneven black rock-face that made up the beach and her heart sank.

The tide was at full ebb now. Soon it would turn and gradually cover the beach once more.

The men at the boat expected them to return by high tide.

It would make more sense for her to run ahead and see if Wintrow was there first, instead of forcing Kennit to lurch the length of the beach.

She nearly spoke out. Then she straightened her spine and took Kennit’s arm.

He knew all those things as well as she did.

He had said to help him get there. She would.

The backs of his hands were scraped and bleeding and his arm was throbbing by the time he lifted the first block from its bed.

It had been heavier than he expected, but the tight fit had been the biggest obstacle.

He braced his hands against the floor as he sat by the block, and then used both his feet to shove it out of the way.

The base of one bar was now exposed. He stood up, arched his aching back, and then gripped the bar in both hands.

He lifted it. It grated against the stone as he raised it, and the serpent in the pool suddenly lashed its tail in excitement.

‘Don’t get your hopes up yet,’ Wintrow grunted.

The bar of metal was heavier than he had expected.

The higher he lifted it, the longer it seemed to be.

He braced his shoulder against it, took a fresh grip, and lifted again.

He suddenly saw the end of the bar. He pulled it at an angle, and was rewarded with a shower of old mortar from above.

He lost his grip on the bar, but it did not slide back into the hole.

It fell with a heavy thud to the stone. He caught his breath, took another grip on the shaft, and dragged the loose end of it towards the cave’s entrance.

It came slowly, screaming in protest as the metal scraped and dragged against the stone.

When the top finally came free, it overbalanced him.

He lost his footing and fell, while the length of metal clashed to the stone with a ringing like a hammer on an anvil. It echoed in the small cave.

Wintrow stood up. ‘Well. That’s one,’ he told the serpent.

Transparent lids briefly covered the great gold eyes.

It lifted its head from the water and shook it.

A fleshy starburst suddenly bloomed around its throat.

When it twisted in the water, he now saw that a faint pattern ran the length of its body.

The variation in colour reminded him of the eyes on a peacock’s tail.

He suddenly wondered if the display meant it was angry.

Perhaps it felt threatened by what he did.

The poor creature had probably been confined here all its life.

Maybe it thought he threatened its lair.

‘Next time the water rises, you’ll be able to go free. If you want to.’ He spoke the words aloud, knowing they were just noises to it. It probably couldn’t even interpret the reassuring tone of his voice. He knelt and went to work on the next block.

This one went much faster. The mortar had long ago weakened into clumps of sand.

He had the empty space vacated by the other block; it gave him room to wiggle this one.

He sheathed his knife and took a grip on the block.

He did not even have to lift it all the way out of the hole.

Once he had pushed it to one side, he went to work on the bar.

This second one was looser than the first, and he had the knack of it now.

As the metal shrieked against the stone and mortar rained down once more, it suddenly came to Wintrow that perhaps someone would be angry at what he had done.

Perhaps all this noise would attract their attention.

As the pole clattered to the stone, Wintrow jumped aside to avoid it.

Then he went to the mouth of the fissure and peered out.

There was no one in sight. But another threat was immediately visible.

The tide had turned and was creeping back in over the stones.

There were storm-clouds on the horizon. The wind seemed to be blowing the tide in with its force.

Bladderwort that had lain flat on the rock now swayed with the incoming water.

The rising tide could trap him here. Even if it did not, there were other matters to consider: the Treasure Beach, the Oracle, and the boat that was expecting them to return by high tide.

Kennit was probably furious with him.

He stood, cradling his sore arm, and watched the tide spilling up over the slope of the beach. It was coming fast. He had no control at all over that one factor. If he stayed, he was going to be trapped here. As it was, he was going to get wet wading around the headland.

He’d have to leave. He’d done all he could.

He heard a sound from within the fissure, a metal bar rolling on stone. Frowning, he stepped back within, and then gasped at what he saw.

It had heaved itself out of the pool and flung itself at the walls of its prison.

Its head, turned sideways, was wedged in the opening he had created.

Its dwarfed and twisted body was still powerful as it lashed and thrust against the confines of the pool.

‘No, go back!’ he cried futilely. ‘It’s too small! There’s no water yet!’

It could not understand him. The animal lunged again against the bars, but only succeeded in wedging itself more tightly. It screamed its frustration, the starburst around its neck standing out as it raged. It tried to jerk its head back through the bars, but could not. It was stuck.

With a sinking heart, he realized he was stuck as well.

Wintrow could not leave it like that. Its gills worked as frantically as its gasping jaws.

He did not know how long it could survive with its head out of the water.

There was already an air of desperation to the lashing tail.

If he could just loosen one more bar, perhaps it could slip back into the pool.

It wouldn’t be free, but it wouldn’t be dead.

If he hurried, he might live too.

He approached it gingerly to see which bar would be best to work on.

Its wedged struggles had actually loosened one of the blocks.

It had also coated it with slime. That wasn’t going to make lifting it any easier.

He took up one of the bars he had worked loose.

It was horribly long, but at least he wouldn’t have to touch it.

Any trapped animal might bite, and if one that size bit, not much would be left of him.

He shoved the freed bar between two of the remaining bars and used it as a lever.

Unfortunately, this meant pushing the bar even tighter against the creature.

It roared, but surprisingly it did not strike at him.

The block of stone that secured the bar at the base grated against its fellows as it shifted.

Wintrow immediately repositioned his lever in the widened crack between the blocks.

The pole was too damn long. It jammed against the walls of the fissure.

But finally it worked, shoving the stone over a bit. Now for the bar.

‘Don’t hurt me!’ he cautioned the creature as he approached it, and for a wonder it seemed to understand his intention if not his words.

It stilled, gills working heavily. Or perhaps it was simply collapsing as it died.

He couldn’t think about that, nor about the passing time.

He seized the bar in his hands and lifted it up.

He screamed.

His hands burned and froze to the slime-coated metal.

But the agony on his skin was as nothing compared to the agony of knowing.

He knew her pain, and he grasped suddenly the torment of a sentient creature imprisoned for time past his ability to imagine.

With her, he breathed the scalding air. His tender skin cracked and stung in the dry, while he knew with terror that soon it would be too late.

She must escape now, or it would soon be too late for all of them.

He convulsed away from the bar. The strength of his body’s rejection of the pain flung him to the floor of the prison.

He lay there panting. Nothing in his life had ever prepared him for that blast of sharing.

Even the bond he had with the liveship was a clumsy and insensitive bridge compared to that joining.

For a brief moment, he had been unable to distinguish between himself and the creature.

No. Not creature, not unless he too was to be considered a creature. She was no less than he was; as he considered all he had experienced, he wondered if she was more.

An instant later, he was on his feet. He tore his shirt off, wrapped it about his hands, and approached the bar again.

This time he had to recognize the intelligence that was fading in the great gold eyes.

He seized the bar in his muffled grip and lifted.

It was difficult, for whatever coated the bar made it slippery.

He heaved up on it twice before he lifted it from its deep bed in the stone.

The moment it had cleared the lip of the block, the sea serpent surged against it.

Her greater bulk pushed it aside as if it were a straw.

Wintrow went with it, not only flung forcefully aside by her passage but also brushed with the slick coating of her scaled hide.

It seared him where it touched his flesh.

He cried out as he saw even his heavy canvas trousers fraying away like crumbling ashes.

He knew her determined intent. It appalled him.

‘No water below!’ He conveyed the information with voice and thought as forcefully as he was able. ‘Rocks. Only rocks. You’ll die.’

‘Death is preferable.’