Shadow Of Sanctuary

'Hort!' Terci was hurrying towards them. 'Whafs going on? Why are there cut throats on the dock?'

'The Old Man hired them,' Hort explained. 'Have you seen him?'

'Not since last night,' the lanky fisherman replied. 'He came by late and gave me this to pass to you.' He dropped three silver coins into the youth's palm. 'He said if he wasn't here by mid-day that you were to use this to pay the men.'

'You see!' Hort called to the mercenaries as he held up the coins. 'You'll be paid at mid-day and not before. You'll just have to wait with the rest of us.' Turning back to Terci he lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. 'What else did the Old Man say - anything?'

'Only that I should load my heaviest net this morning,' Terd shrugged. 'What's going on?'

'He's going to try to fish for the monster,' Hort explained as the Old Man's plan came clear to him. 'When I got here his boat was gone.'

"The monster,' Terd blinked. The Old Man's gone out alone after the monster?'

'I don't think so. I've been here since before first light. No, even the Old Man wouldn't take a boat out in the dark - not after the monster. He must be...'

'Look there! There he is!'

The sun had finally appeared over the horizon and with its first rays the mist began to fade. A hundred yards offshore a small boat bobbed and dipped and in it they could see the Old Man pulling frantically at the oars.

As they watched he suddenly shipped the oars, waiting expectantly. Then the boat was jerked around, as if by an unseen hand, and the Old Man bent to the oars again.

'He's got it! He's got the monster!' Terci shrieked, dancing with delight or horror.

'No!' Hort disagreed firmly, staring at the distant boat. 'He doesn't have it. He's leading it, baiting it into shallow water.'

It was all clear to him now. The metal trap! The monster was used to raiding the Old Man's traps, so he fed it one that couldn't be crushed. Now he was teasing the unknown creature towards shore, dragging the trap like a child drags a string before a playful kitten. But this kitten was an unknown, deadly quantity that could easily attack the hand that held the string.

'Quick, Terci,' Hort ordered, 'get the net! It won't follow him on to the shore.'

The lanky fisherman was gaping at the scene, his mind lost in his own thoughts. 'Net the monster?' he mumbled. 'I'll need help, yes, help ... HELP!' He fled down the dock screaming.at the still-dark, quiet huts.

This was not the Maze where cries for help went unheeded. Doors opened and bleary-eyed fishermen stumbled out to the wharf.

'What is it?'

'What's the noise?'

'Man the boats! The Old Man's got the monster!'

'The monster?'

'Hurry, Ilak!'

'The Old Man's got the monster!' The cry was passed from hut to hut.

And they came, swarming over their boats like a nest of angry ants: Haron, her sagging breasts flopping beneath the nightdress she still wore; Omat, his deformed arm no hindrance as he wrestled his boat on to the water with one hand, and in the lead, Terci, first rowing, then standing, in the small boat to shout orders at the others.

Hort made no move to join them. They were fishermen and knew their trade far better than he. Instead he stood rooted on the dock, lost in awe of the Old Man's courage.

In his mind's eye Hort could see what his father saw: sitting in a small boat on an inky sea, waiting for the first tug on the rope - then the back-breaking haul on the oars to drag the metal trap landward. Always careful not to get too far ahead of the invisible creature below, yet keeping its interest. The dark was the Old Man's enemy as much as the monster was; it threatened him with disorientation - and the mist! A blinding cloud of white closing in from all sides. Yet the Old Man had done it and now the monster was within reach of its victims' net.

The heavy net was spread now, forming a wall between the mystery beast as it followed the Old Man and the open sea behind them. As the boats at either end of the net began to pull for shore, the Old Man evened his stroke and began to move steadily through the water ... but he was tired now; Hort could see that even if no one else could.

'There!' Hort called to the mercenaries, he pointed towards the shore-line. 'That's where they'll beach it! Come on!'

He led their rush down the dock. He heard rather than saw the net scoop up its prey; a cheer went up from the small boats. He was waiting waist-deep in the water when the Old Man's boat finally reached the shallows. Grabbing on to the cleats, Hort dragged the boat to the beach as if it were a toy while his father sagged wearily between the oars.

'The trap,' the Old Man wheezed through ragged gasps, 'pull it in before those fools get it tangled in their nets!'

The rope was cold and hard as cable, but Hort dragged the trap hand-over-hand away from the sea's grip. Not surprisingly, it was full of Nya that shimmered and flopped in the morning sun. Without thinking, Hort reached behind his father and dumped the fish into the boat's live-well.

All the boats were ashore now, and there was splashing and thrashing around the net in the shallows.

'What is it like?' the Old Man gasped; he could scarcely raise his head. 'What's the monster like?'

'It looks to be a large crab,' Hort announced, craning his neck. 'The mercenaries have got to it.'

And they had; waving the crowd back they waded into the water to strike at the spidery giant even before the net was on the shore.

'I thought so,' the Old Man nodded. 'There weren't any teeth marks on the traps. Some damn sorcerer's pet run loose,' he added.

Hort nodded. Now that he could see the monster it fitted the rumours he had heard from time to time in the town. The Purple Mage had kept large crabs to guard his home on the White Foal River. Rumour said he was dead now, killed by his own magic. The rumour was confirmed by the crab; it must have wandered downstream to the sea when its food no longer appeared.

'Whose catch is that?'

Hort turned to find two Hell Hounds standing close beside him. Simultaneously he noticed the crowd of townsfolk which had gathered on the streets.

'Everybody's,' the Old Man declared, getting his strength back. 'They caught it. Or anybody's. Maybe it's Terci's - it's mangled his net.'

'No, Old Man,' Terci declared, approaching them. 'It's your catch. There's none on the wharf who'd deny that - least of all me. You caught it. We netted and gaffed it for you after the fight.'

'It's yours then,' the Hell Hound decided, facing the Old Man. 'What dp you plan to do with it?'

It flashed across Hort's mind that these soldiers might be going to fine his father for dragging the crab to the beach; they might call it a public nuisance or something. He tightened his grip on the Old Man's arm, but he'd never been able to hold his father. -

'I don't know,' Panit shrugged. 'If the circus was still in town I'd try to sell it to them. Can't sell it for food - might be poisonous wouldn't eat it myself.'

'I'll buy it,' the Hell Hound announced to their surprise. "The Prince has tasters and a taste for the unknown. If it's poisonous it will still make table talk fit for an Emperor. I'll give you five silvers for it.'

'Five? Ten - times're hard; I've got debts to Jubal for my fish-stall,' the Old Man bargained, no more awed by the Hell Hounds than he had been by Jubal himself.

At the mention of the slaver's name, the tall Hell Hound scowled and his swarthy companion sucked air noisily through his teeth.

'Jubal?' the tall man mumbled as he reached for his pouch. 'You'll have your ten silvers, fisherman - and a gold piece besides. A man should have more than a slaver's receipt for this day's work.'

'Thank ye,' Panit nodded, accepting the coins. 'Take your watch to the marshes and swamps; there's never one crab but there's ten. Corner 'em on dry land an' Kitty-Kat'll eat crab for a month.'