Текст книги "pell For Chameleon"

Автор книги: Piers Anthony

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It really was a basilisk! Bink quickly averted his eyes, lest he look directly at its horrible face and meet its deadly gaze.

The soldier dumped the thing into the cage, and another smoke-glass-protected soldier shoved on the lid. The remaining soldiers relaxed visibly. The basilisk scrambled around, seeking some escape, but there was none. It glared at the wire confinement, but its gaze had no effect on the metal. A third soldier dropped a cloth over the cage, cutting off the view of the little monster. Now Bink himself relaxed. The whole thing had obviously been carefully prepared and rehearsed; the soldiers knew exactly what to do.

"Bink, stand forth," Trent said, exactly as before.

Bink was terrified. But a comer of his mind protested: It's still a bluff. She's in on it. They have rigged it to make me think she was transformed, and that I'm to be next. All her arguments against Trent were merely to make her seem legitimate, preparing for this moment.

Still, he only half believed that. The omen lent it a special, awful conviction. Death hovered, as it were, on the silent wings of a moth hawk, close...

Yet he could not betray his homeland. Weak-kneed, he stepped forth.

Trent focused on him-and the world jumped. Confused and frightened, Bink scrambled for the safety of a nearby bush. The green leaves withered as he approached; then the net came down, trapping him. Remembering his escape from the Gap dragon, he dodged at the last moment, backtracking, and the net just missed him. He glared up at the soldier, who, startled, had allowed his smoked glasses to fall askew. Their gazes met-and the man tumbled backward, stricken.

The butterfly net flew wide, but another soldier grabbed it. Bink scooted for the withered bush again, but this time the net caught him. He was scooped inside, wings flapping helplessly, tail thrashing and getting its barb caught in the fabric, claws snarled, beak snapping at nothing.

Then he was dumped out. Two shakes, three, and his claws and tail were dislodged. He landed on his back, wings outspread. An anguished squawk escaped him.

As he righted himself, the light dimmed. He was in the cage, and it had just been covered, so that no one outside could see his face. He was a cockatrice.

Some demonstration! Not only had he seen Fanchon transformed, he had experienced it himself–and killed a soldier merely by looking at him. If there had been any skeptics in Trent's army, there would be none now.

He saw the curling, barbed tail of another of his kind. A female. But her back was to him. His cockatrice nature took over. He didn't want company.

Angrily he pounced on her, biting, digging in with his talons. She twisted around instantly, the muscular serpent's tail providing leverage. For a moment they were face to face.

She was hideous, frightful, loathsome, ghastly, and revolting. He had never before experienced anything so repulsive. Yet she was female, and therefore possessed of a certain fundamental attraction. The paradoxical repulsion and attraction overwhelmed him and he lost consciousness.

When he woke, he had a headache. He lay on the hay in the pit. It was late afternoon.

"It seems the stare of the basilisk is overrated," Fanchon said. "Neither of us died."

So it had really happened. "Not quite," Bink agreed. "But I feel a bit dead." As he spoke he realized something that had not quite surfaced before: the basilisk was a magical creature that could do magic. He had been an intelligent cockatrice who had magically stricken an enemy. What did that do to his theory of magic?

"Well, you put up a good fight," Fanchon was saying. "They've already buried that soldier. It is quiet like death in this camp now."

Like death-had that been the meaning of his omen? He had not died, but he had killed-without meaning to, in a manner completely foreign to his normal state. Had the omen been fulfilled?

Bink sat up, another realization coming. "Trent's talent is genuine. We were transformed. We really were."

"It is genuine. We really were," she agreed somberly. "I admit I doubted-but now I believe."

"He must have changed us back while we were unconscious."

"Yes. He was only making a demonstration."

"It was an effective one."

"It was." She shuddered. "Bink-I-I don't know whether I can take that again. It wasn't just the change. It was-"

"I know. You made a hell of an ugly basilisk."

"I would make a hell of an ugly anything. But the sheer malignancy, stupidity, and awfulness-those things are foul! To spend the rest of my life like that–"

"I can't blame you," Bink said. But still something nagged at his mind. The experience had been so momentous that he knew it would take a long time for his mind to sift through all its aspects.

"I didn't think anyone could make me go against my conscience. But this–this–" She put her face into her hands.

Bink nodded silently. After a moment he shifted the subject. "Did you notice–those creatures were male and female."

"Of course," she said, gaining control of herself now that she had something to orient on. "We are male and female. The Magician can change our forms but not our sexes."

"But the basilisks should be neuter. Hatched of eggs laid by roosters–there are no parent basilisks, only roosters."

She nodded thoughtfully, catching hold of the problem. "You're right. If there are males and females, they should mate and reproduce their own kind. Which means, by definition, they aren't basilisks. A paradox."

"There must be something wrong with the definition,'' Bink said. "Either there's a lot of superstition about the origins of monsters, or we were not genuine basilisks."

"We were genuine," she said, grimacing with renewed horror. "I'm sure now. For the first time in my life, I'm glad for my human form." Which was quite an admission, for her.

"That means Trent's magic is all-the-way real," Bink said. He doesn't just change the form, he really converts things into other things, if you see what I mean." Then the thing that had nagged at his mind before came clear. "But if magic fades outside Xanth, beyond the narrow magic band beyond the Shield, all we would have to do–"

"Would be to go into Mundania!" she exclaimed, catching on. "In time, we would revert to our proper forms. So it would not be permanent."

"So his transformation ability is a bluff, even though it is real," he said. "He would have to keep us caged right there, or we'd escape and get out of his power. He has to get all the way into Xanth or he really has very little power. No more power than he already has as General of his army-the power to kill."

"All he can get now is the tantalizing taste of real power," she said. "I'll bet he wants to get into Xanth!"

"But meanwhile, we're still in his power."

She set out the bricks, catching the limited sunlight. "What are you going to do?" she asked.

"If he lets me go, I'll travel on into Mundania. That's where I was headed before I was ambushed. One thing Trent has shown me–it is possible to survive out there. But I'll make sure to note my route carefully; it seems Xanth is hard to find from the other direction."

"I meant about the Shieldstone."

"Nothing."

"You won't tell him?"

"No, of course not," he said. "Now we know his magic can't really hurt us worse than his soldiers can, some of the terror is gone. Not that it matters. I don't blame you for telling him."

She looked at him. Her face was still ugly, but there was something special in it now. "You know, you're quite a man, Bink."

"No, I'm nothing much. I have no magic."

"You have magic. You just don't know what it is."

"Same thing."

"I followed you out here, you know."

Her meaning was coming clear. She had heard about him in Xanth, the traveler with no spell. She had known that would be no liability in Mundania. What better match-the man with no magic, the woman with no beauty. Similar liabilities. Perhaps he could get used to her appearance in time; her other qualities were certainly commendable. Except for one thing.

"I understand your position," he said. "But, if you cooperate with the Evil Magician, I won't have anything to do with you, even if he makes you beautiful. Not that it matters–you can get your reward in Xanth when he takes over, if he honors his given word this time."

"You restore my courage," she said. "Let's make a break for it."

"How?"

"The bricks, dummy. They're hard now. As soon as it's dark, we'll make a pile–"

"The grate keeps us in; its door is still locked. A step won't make any difference. If just getting up there were the only problem, I could lift you-"

"There is a difference," she murmured. "We pile the bricks, stand on them, and push the whole grate up. It's not anchored; I checked that when they brought us in here. Gravity holds it down. It's heavy, but you're strong–"

Bink looked up with sudden hope. "You could prop it up after I heave. Step by step, until-"

"Not so loud!" she whispered fiercely. "They may still be eavesdropping." But she nodded. "You've got the idea. It's not a sure thing but it's worth a try. And we'll have to make a raid on the store of elixir, so he can't use it even if someone else comes out to tell him where the Shieldstone is. I've been working it all out."

Bink smiled. He was beginning to like her.

Chapter 10. Chase

At night they piled up the bricks. Some crumbled, for the scant sunlight had not been sufficient to bake them properly, but on the whole they were surprisingly sturdy. Bink listened carefully for the guards, waiting until they took what they called a "break." Then he stepped to the top of the brick pile, braced his hands against the edge of the grate and shoved.

As his muscles tightened, he suddenly realized that this was Fanchon's real reason for demanding the privacy curtain of the privy. It had not been to hide her unsightly anatomy, but to hide the bricks-so they would be preserved for this moment, this effort to escape. And he had never caught on.

The revelation gave him strength. He shoved hard-and the grate rose with surprising ease. Fanchon scrambled up beside him and jammed the privy pot under the lifted edge.

Ugh! Maybe some year someone would develop a pot that smelled of roses!

But it did the job. It supported the grate as he eased off. Now there was room to scramble out. Bink gave her a boost, then hauled himself up. No guards saw them. They were free.

"The elixir is on that ship," Fanchon whispered, pointing into the darkness.

"How do you know that?" Bink asked.

"We passed it on our way to the-transformation. It's the only thing that would be guarded so carefully. And you can see the catapult aboard it."

She had certainly kept her eyes open. Ugly she might be, but she was smart He hadn't thought to survey the premises with such an analytic eye!

"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. Sa 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.

Bink found the anchor chain and hauled on it. The thing snagged infuriatingly, because he did not know how to make it let go, but finally he got it up.

"What did you do to this guy?" Fanchon demanded, kneeling beside the fallen sailor.

"I threw him. Crombie showed me how."

"Crombie? I don't remember-"

"A soldier I met in Xanth. We got caught in a hailstorm, and I was going back after Dee, but-well, it's complicated."

"Oh yes-you did mention the soldier." She paused. "Dee? You went after her? Why?"

"She had run out into the storm and-well, I liked her." Then, to cover up what might have been taken as a slight to his present company, who had shown extreme sensitivity about such things before, he said: "What happened to the other sailors? Did they drown?"

"I showed them this," she said, pointing to a wicked-looking boathook. "They swam for shore instead."

"We'd better get moving. If we can figure out the sail"

"No. The current is carrying us out. Wind's the wrong way. We'd just mess it up, trying to handle the sails when we don't know what we're doing."

Bink looked across at the other ship. Lights were on it. "Those sailors didn't swim ashore," he said. "They went next door. They'll be coming after us-under sail."

"They can't," she said. "I told you-the wind."

But now it was unmistakable. The other sail was being spread. They were using the wind.

"We'd better find that elixir," she said.

"Yes." He had forgotten about it. But for that, they could have run across the land and been lost in Mundania. But could he have lived with himself, buying his own freedom while leaving Xanth subject to the siege of the Evil Magician? "We'll dump it overboard-"

"No!"

"But I thought-"

"We'll use it as hostage. As long as we have it, they won't close on us. We'll take turns standing on the deck and holding the vial over the sea so they can see us. If anything happens to–"

"Beautiful!" he exclaimed. "I never would have thought of that."

"First we have to find our hostage. If we guessed wrong about the ship, if they put the catapult on this one and the elixir on the other-"

"Then they wouldn't be chasing us," he said.

"Yes they would. They need the catapult too. And most of all, they need us."

They searched the ship. In the cabin was a chained monster of a type Bink had never seen before. It was not large, but quite horrible in other respects. Its body was completely covered with hair, white with black spots, and it had a thin tail, floppy black ears, a small black nose, and gleaming white teeth. Its four feet had stubby claws. It snarled viciously as Bink approached-but it was chained by the neck to the wall, its mad leaps cut brutally short by that tether.

"What is it?" Bink asked, horrified.

Fanchon considered. "I think it's a werewolf."

Now the creature looked halfway familiar. It did resemble a werewolf, fixed in its animal stage.

"Out here in Mundania?"

"Well, it must be related. If it had more heads, it would be like a cerberus. With only one head, I think it's a dog."

Bink gaped. "A dog! I think you're right. I've never actually seen a dog before. Not in the flesh. Just pictures.''

"I don't think there are any in Xanth today. There used to be, but they must have migrated out."

"Through the Shield?" Bink demanded.

"Before the Shield was set up, of course-though I'd thought there were references to dogs and cats and horses within the past century. I must have misremembered the dates."

"Well, it seems we have one here now. It looks vicious. It must be guarding the elixir."

"Trained to attack strangers," she agreed. "I suppose we'll have to kill it."

"But it's a rare creature. Maybe the only one left alive today."

"We don't know that. Dogs might be common in Mundania. But it is rather pretty, once you get used to it."

The dog had quieted down, though it still watched them warily. A small dragon might watch a person that way, Bink thought, if the person were just outside its striking range. With the proper break, the person might come within range...

"Maybe we could revive the sailor and have him tame it," Bink said. "The animal must be responsive to members of this ship's crew. Otherwise they could never get at the elixir."

"Good idea," she agreed.

The sailor had finally recovered consciousness, but he was in no condition to resume the fight. ''We'll let you go," Fanchon told him; "if you tell us how to tame that dog. We don't want to have to kill it, you see."

"Who, Jennifer?" the man asked dazedly. "Just speak her name, pat her on the head, and feed her." He lay back. "I think my collarbone's broke."

Fanchon looked at Bink. "Can't make him swim, then. Trent may be a monster, but we aren't." She turned back to the sailor. "If you will give your word not to interfere with us in any way, we'll help you recover as well as we can. Deal?"

The sailor didn't hesitate. "I can't interfere with you. I can't get up. Deal."

This bothered Bink. He and Fanchon sounded just like Trent, offering better terms to a captive enemy in return for his cooperation. Were they any different from the Evil Magician?

Fanchon checked the sailor's body around the shoulders. "Yow!" he cried.

"I'm no doctor," she said, "but I think you're right. You have a broken bone. Are there any pillows aboard?"

"Listen," the sailor said as she worked on him. He was obviously trying to divert his attention from the pain. "Trent's no monster. You called him that, but you're wrong. He's a good leader."

"He's promised you all the spoils of Xanth?" Fanchon asked, with an edge to her voice.

"No, just farms or jobs for all of us," he said.

"No killing, no rapine, no loot?" Her disbelief was evident.

"None of that. This ain't the old days, you know? We just protect him and keep order in the territory we occupy, and he'll give us small land grants where nobody's settled yet. He says Xanth's underpopulated. And there'll be-he'll encourage the local gals to marry us, so we can have families. If there aren't enough, he'll bring in gals from the real world. And meanwhile, he'll transform some smart animals into gals. I thought that was a joke, but after what I hear about those cocks-" He grimaced. "I mean those basks-" He shook his head and grimaced again, in pain.

"Keep your head still," Fanchon told him, too late. "It's true about the cockatrice and basilisk; we were them. But animal brides–"

"Oh, it wouldn't be so bad, miss. Just temporary, until real gals arrived. If she looks like a gal and feels like a gal, I wouldn't blame her for being a bitch before. I mean, some gals are bitches–"

"What's a bitch?" Bink asked.

"A bitch? You don't know that?" The sailor grimaced again; either he was in considerable pain or it was a natural expression. "A female dog. Like Jennifer. Hell, if Jennifer had human form-"

"Enough," Fanchon muttered.

"Well, anyway, we'll get homesteads and settle in. And our kids will be magic. I tell you, it's that last that recruited me. I don't believe in magic, understand-or I didn't then-but I remember the fairy tales from when I was a little tyke, about the princess and the frog, and the mountain of glass, and the three wishes–well, look, I was a metalworker for a crooked shop, know what I mean? And I really wanted out of the rat race."

Bink shook his head silently. He understood only part of what the sailor was saying, but it did not make Mundania look very good. Stores that were built off balance, crooked? Rats that raced? Bink would want to get out of that culture, too.

"A chance to have a decent life in the country," the sailor continued, and there was no question about his dedication to his vision. "Owning my own land, making good things grow, you know? And my kids knowing magic, real magic-I guess I still don't really believe that part, but even if it's a lie, you know, it's sure nice to think about."

"But to invade a foreign land, to take what doesn't belong to you-" Fanchon said. She broke off, evidently certain that it was pointless to debate that sort of thing with a sailor. "He'll betray you the moment he doesn't need you. He's an Evil Magician, exiled from Xanth."

"You mean he really can do magic?" the man asked with happy disbelief. "I figured all this stuff was sleight of hand, you know, when I really thought about it. I mean, I believed some of the time, but-"

''He sure as hell can do magic," Bink put in, becoming acclimatized to the sailor's language. "We told you how he changed us-"

"Never mind about that," Fanchon said.

"Well, he's still a good leader," the sailor insisted. "He told us how he was kicked out twenty years ago because he tried to be King, and how he lost his magic, and married a gal from here and had a little boy-"

"Trent has a family in Mundania?" Bink asked, amazed.

"We don't call our country that," the sailor said. "But yes-he had a family. Until this mystery bug went around-some kind of flu, I think, or maybe food poisoning-and they both got it and died. He said science hadn't been able to save them, but magic could have, so he was going back to magicland. Xanth, you call it. But they'd kill him if he just walked in alone, even if he got by the thing he called a Shield. So he needed an army-oooh!" Fanchon had finished her work and heaved his shoulder up onto a pillow.

So they had the sailor as comfortable as was feasible, his shoulder bound up in stray cloths. Bink would have liked to hear more of the man's unique viewpoint. But time had passed, and it was apparent that the other ship was gaining on them. They traced its progress by its sail, which moved laterally, back and forth, zigzagging against the wind-and with each pass it was closer. They had been wrong about the capabilities of ships in adverse wind. How much else were they wrong about?

Bink went into the cabin. He was feeling a bit seasick now, but he held it down. "Jennifer," he said hesitantly, proffering some of the dog food they had found. The small spotted monster wagged her tail. Just like that, they were friends. Bink screwed up his courage and patted her on the head, and she did not bite him. Then, while she ate, he opened the chest she had guarded so ferociously and lifted out the vial of greenish fluid he found therein, in a carefully padded box. Victory!

"Miss," the sailor called as Bink emerged with the vial. "The Shield-"

Fanchon looked about nervously. "Is the current carrying us into that?"

"Yes, miss. I wouldn't interfere, but if you don't turn this boat soon, we'll all be dead. I know that Shield works; I've seen animals try to go through it and get fried."

"How can we tell where it is?" she asked.

"There's a glimmer. See?" He pointed with difficulty. Bink peered and saw it. They were drifting toward a curtain of faint luminescence, ghostly white. The Shield!

The ship progressed inexorably. "We can't stop it," Fanchon cried. "We're going right through."

"Throw down the anchor!" the sailor said.

What else was there to do? The Shield was certain death. Yet to stop meant capture by Trent's forces. Even bluffing them back by means of the vial of elixir would not suffice; the ship remained a kind of prison.

"We can use the lifeboat," Fanchon said. "Give me the vial."

Bink gave it to her, then threw over the anchor. The ship slowly turned as the anchor took hold. The Shield loomed uncomfortably close-but so did the pursuing ship. Now it was clear why it was using the wind instead of the current; it was under control, in no danger of drifting into the Shield.

They lowered the lifeboat. A reflector lamp from the other ship bathed them in its light. Fanchon held the vial aloft. "I'll drop it!" she screamed at the enemy. "Hit me with an arrow-the elixir drowns with me."

"Give it back," Trent's voice called from the other ship. "I pledge to let you both go free."

"Ha!" she muttered. "Bink, can you row this boat yourself? I'm afraid to set this thing down while we're in range of their arrows. I want to be sure that no matter what happens to us, they don't get this stuff."

"I'll try," Bink said. He settled himself, grabbed the oars, and heaved.

One oar cracked into the side of the ship. The other dug into the water. The boat skewed around. "Push off!" Fanchon exclaimed. "You almost dumped me."

Bink tried to put the end of one oar against the ship, to push, but it didn't work because he could not maneuver the oar free of its oarlock. But the current carried the boat along until it passed beyond the end of the ship.

"We're going into the Shield!" Fanchon cried, waving the vial. "Row! Row! Turn the boat!"

Bink put his back into it. The problem with rowing was that he faced backward; he could not see where he was going. Fanchon perched in the stem, holding the vial aloft, peering ahead. He got the feel of the oars and turned the boat, and now the shimmering curtain came into view on the side. It was rather pretty in its fashion, its ghostly glow parting the night-but he recoiled from its horror.

"Go parallel to it," Fanchon directed. "The closer we stay, the harder it'll make it for the other ship. Maybe they'll give up the pursuit."

Bink pulled on the oars. The boat moved ahead. But he was unused to this particular form of exertion, and not recovered from his fatigue of the swim, and he knew he couldn't keep it up long.

"You're going into the Shield!" Fanchon cried.

Bink looked. The Shield loomed closer, yet he was not rowing toward it. "The current," he said. "Carrying us sideways." He had naively thought that once he started rowing, all other vectors ceased.